Chapter 13
Ibrace myself for the awkward questions, the pity, the million different ways this conversation could go wrong.
Instead, Karolina skates forward until she’s right at the edge of the boards, reaching out to grip my arm. Her touch is firm, grounding. “Okay,” she says again, her dark eyes fierce and unwavering. “Fuck Raiden Blackwell. Seriously. If he messed with you, we’ll handle him.”
“She means I’ll handle him,” Cameron says from behind her, trying for a joke but his jaw is tight. “No one gets to do that to my friend.”
“We’re with you, Artie,” Josh adds, his voice quiet but solid. “Always.”
A wave of gratitude so powerful it almost makes my knees buckle washes over me. I’m an idiot. I’ve been so consumed by Raiden, by this all-encompassing, confusing obsession, that I forgot I wasn’t alone. I’ve never been alone.
Only Stella remains silent, her brow furrowed. She props her arms on the boards, leaning closer. “Wait,” she says, her gaze sharp and analytical. “Why exactly are you so sure he was just playing with you?”
I flinch. How can I possibly explain the last weeks?
The locker room, the utility closet, the arguments, the confessions.
It’s too much, too raw, and a significant portion of it makes me look like a desperate fool.
“It’s just… a feeling,” I say evasively.
“He was talking to Professor Whitmore to make sure he got credit for ‘helping’. He needed me to lie for him. And now he’s ghosted me. It feels pretty clear.”
Stella looks at me with an expression of deep skepticism, like she can see every lie and half-truth I’m telling, but she doesn’t push.
Instead, she sighs. “Blackwell is an asshole. That’s a known fact.
But he’s also… intense. I’m not sure he does anything without a reason.
” Her eyes flick over my shoulder. “Speaking of intense.”
I turn to see Chase making a beeline for our group. He’s not in skates, just boots, and he’s carrying a box of tinsel.
“Hey guys,” he says, his smile a little too wide. “Artie. Sorry to interrupt. Just wanted to see if this last box of silver toys needed to go up anywhere.” His eyes are fixed on me, and there’s a strange gleam in them that I’ve never noticed before. It’s unsettling.
He steps a little too close, and the easy camaraderie he projected in the hallway after class now feels invasive.
“Uh, just anywhere there’s a blank space, I guess,” I say, taking a step back.
Before Chase can respond, another, much larger presence materializes at the edge of the rink.
It’s one of Raiden’s teammates, a blond guy with a crooked nose I recognize from the auditorium.
I think his name is Marlon. He was one of the ones snickering when Raiden was tormenting me on stage and…
snickering when I talked back at Raiden in the yard.
I tense up, expecting a sarcastic comment, but he just nods at the rink.
“This actually looks pretty cool, man,” he says, and I realize with a jolt he’s talking to me. “Thanks for the help bringing in the sign earlier, by the way.”
“Sign?” I echo dumbly. I hadn’t even seen him arrive.
“Yeah, the big ‘Merry P*cking Christmas from Ashford’ one for the entrance.” He shrugs.
“Figured I’d swing by. You know, you just need to stash a few cases of beer in a snowdrift and put the word out on the group chats, and this place will be packed tomorrow night.
” He says it so casually, like we’re friends, like he talks to me all the time.
The surreal nature of the evening cranks up another notch.
The door to the common room creaks open again.
My back is to it, but I don’t need to look. I know. The entire atmosphere in the room shifts, like the pressure has suddenly dropped. The easy chatter falters. A cold weight settles in the pit of my stomach.
I turn slowly.
Raiden.
He’s standing just inside the doorway, dressed in black jeans and a dark grey hoodie, his hands shoved into his pockets. He looks… exhausted. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his jaw is tight with a tension that seems to vibrate through the whole room. But he’s here.
My heart gives a single, painful lurch of hope.
He’s here. He came.
Our eyes meet across the room, and for a split second, I see something desperate in his gaze.
Then it’s gone, shuttered away behind a mask of cold indifference.
He doesn’t smile and doesn’t nod. He just scans the room, his gaze gliding right past me as if I’m not even there, before walking over to the far side of the rink to talk to Marlon.
The hope inside me dies. It withers and turns to ash.
So this is it. This is the end game. He got what he wanted—me lying to the professor, securing his alibi.
And now he’s here to make an appearance, to solidify his role as a helpful volunteer in front of witnesses before the big event tomorrow.
And to make sure I understand, definitively, that whatever happened between us meant nothing.
That it was all a lie to get me to cooperate. To laugh at my naivety, my innocence.
A cold, hard fury begins to build where the hope used to be.
“Artie?”
I’d forgotten Chase was still standing there. He’s moved even closer, his arm brushing against mine. “You okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
I finally see it clearly now, the way he’s looking at me isn’t just friendly. It’s predatory. The subtle touches, the intense eye contact… he’s interested. The realization makes my skin crawl. He must have seen my coming out speech to my friends.
“I’m fine,” I say through gritted teeth, my eyes still fixed on Raiden’s back.
“So,” Chase says, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “Got any plans for after Christmas? Once this whole party thing is done? Maybe we could… grab a drink somewhere? Or a movie?”
I should say no. Just that I’m not interested and walk away. But as he speaks, I see Raiden turn his head slightly. He’s watching us. He’s listening. His face is a dark mask of fury, his eyes blazing with a dangerous light from across the room.
And a petty, ugly, self-destructive part of me rears its head.
You want to pretend I don’t exist? Fine. Watch this.
I turn my full attention to Chase, forcing a smile onto my face that feels brittle and fake. “I’m not sure yet,” I say, deliberately letting my gaze linger on him a little too long. “But yeah, maybe we can think of something.”
I feel, more than see, the sheer force of Raiden’s anger. It’s a palpable wave of energy radiating across the room. I’m half expecting him to storm over, to grab me, to say something. Part of me, the pathetic part I despise, is hoping for it. A grand, jealous gesture. A sign that he cares.
But he doesn’t move.
He just watches us, his entire body rigid, his expression growing darker and more aggressive by the second.
Then, with a final, searing glare that promises violence, he turns his back on me completely and goes to the common room without a word to anyone.
The door slams shut behind him. The sound echoes the slamming of a door in my own heart.
The sick, hollow feeling that floods my body is worse than anything I’ve felt before. He’s gone. It’s really over. And I’ve just sunk to his level, using this creepy guy I have no interest in as a pawn in a game I’ve already lost.
I mumble an excuse to Chase and flee, skating be damned, practically running back to my dorm.
I don’t believe I could stoop so low. My silly fantasies…
that a jealous Raiden would rush to win me back from Chase, that my affection could tame the beast…
they crumble into dust, revealing the pathetic, naive loser underneath.
~ ~ ~
Christmas Day arrives not with a bang, but with a grey storm.
I wake up late, the dorm building eerily quiet. Everyone who had a home to go to is already gone.
I spend the day in a miserable haze, not painting, not sketching, just… existing.
I try to hold onto the memory of my mother, of cinnamon and twinkling lights, but it all feels a million miles away, a story about someone else. This is my reality now: a sterile dorm room and the bitter taste of regret.
Around four o’clock in the afternoon, I force myself to move. I have a party to run. Some of the food and drink deliveries are scheduled for late afternoon, and I need to be there to open the room and get things set up.
I pull on my boots and my heaviest jacket, the collar turned up against the biting wind. The walk across the deserted campus feels post-apocalyptic. It’s just me and the swirling snow.
When I reach the old common room, the quiet is profound.
I take a deep breath, trying to summon some last reserve of holiday spirit, of determination. This is for my mom. I won’t let him ruin this for me.
I slip the old iron key into the lock and turn. The heavy oak door groans open into the darkened hall.
I step inside, reaching for the light switch just inside the frame.
And before my fingers can find it, everything happens at once.
The door slams shut behind me, plunging me into absolute blackness. A large, rough hand clamps over my mouth, stifling my cry of shock. A powerful arm snakes around my chest, lifting me off my feet like I weigh nothing.
I’m being stolen. Right from the entrance. My mind screams, my body thrashes, but the grip is like iron. I’m being dragged backward, out another door—the side entrance—and into the freezing, disorienting air.
I try to kick, to bite, but it’s useless. The person is too strong, too big.
My feet hit the ground, and I’m shoved forward, stumbling toward a dark, idling car parked where no car should be. And a back door is wrenched open.