Chapter Twenty-Five Sadie
It’s Friday night and I have a shift at the café that I’m already late for.
Practice was awful. I angrily ran through the jumps for my long program, sloppy the first handful of times because all I could think about was Rhys.
He texted after our mishap on the quad, but I’d ignored it at first, focused solely on the weekend’s schedule: work, practice, and Oliver’s game.
I planned to message him back after Oliver’s game, to apologize for getting so upset—because the truth was that Oliver didn’t care, not enough for this to bother him. I was the one who was hurt and I should have been honest with Rhys about it.
But then, Friday night came, and we never made it to Oliver’s game.
Instead, I spent the night hunting down my father, who’d stolen my car while we were packing Oliver’s gear bag and getting Liam dressed after his bath.
Oliver missed his game, Liam became more aware of exactly how terrifying his father could be, and I called every bar within fifteen miles until I found him.
I had to hitch a ride in a too-expensive taxi, fight off grabby hands from drunk older men in a seedy dive bar, and grapple with my own father for my car keys.
So Rhys’s text sat unanswered, and the self-hatred swallowed me whole until I made a decision: bringing Rhys Koteskiy into the mess of my life was something I wasn’t willing to do.
I texted a quick, I don’t think we should do this anymore . I couldn’t bring myself to block him, but left the rest of his messages unread and unopened.
It has been a week of absolute hell since then, avoiding Rhys at every turn and focusing solely on school, work, skating, and my family.
Tonight, my coach kept me late after practice, running me ragged with new additions to level up my short program.
Then, because of my academic probation, he had me do my homework in front of him, sitting in his cramped office until well past my clock-in time for work.
I knew Ro would cover me, but it made me sick with anxiety.
Being at the rink late meant I hadn’t had time to see my brothers before work, and I had to trust that Ms. B, our elderly neighbor, would hold down the fort until I clocked out.
I know that Coach Kelley is very aware of that fact, of my other responsibilities, but I can’t hate him for pushing me to be my best.
He’s only like this because he believes in me. He’s the only one who does.
Even though I hate how much I have to work, I love weekends at Brew Haven. Especially Friday and Saturday nights, when the shop stays open late for open mic nights.
Some people sing or play the guitar, some do poetry or excerpt readings—we’ve even had a stand-up comic before, which, while cringy, was definitely a fun distraction while washing dishes.
Tonight is the first open mic night of the school year, so we’re expecting a semi-small crowd.
Partially because it’s the first one we’ve hosted this year.
But mostly because there are about a hundred parties on and off campus we will have to compete with until close.
Including one at the “hockey dorms” that both Ro and I received invitations to via text.
I was surprised to receive one, from Freddy of all people, to celebrate their first home game win. But I know I can’t go—I can’t risk running into Rhys because I know I’ll give in.
Ro is sitting on the countertop, staring intently at her phone while I make a decaf latte. I imagine she’s poring over Matt Fredderic’s text again. “Are you going to go?” I ask her. “You should.”
“I can’t,” she answers, but her eyes don’t leave the screen and she’s nearly drawing blood where she’s gnawing on her bottom lip.
There’s only one thing I know of holding her back.
“Where is he?”
“Who?”
“Satan—I mean, your boyfriend.” I giggle, but cut myself off at the sight of her slightly stricken expression.
“He… he blocked me again. I think we’re broken up.” There’s a little quiver in her voice as she says it, even as her shoulders attempt a casual shrug.
It isn’t the first time Tyler has done something like this. I try to limit my time around him as much as possible because I have neither the patience nor self-restraint to keep from causing a problem, and the little I’ve seen of him, I despise.
It’s a vicious cycle too; if Ro breaks up with him, he pesters her at our apartment and place of work for weeks until they get back together. But when he decides he’s changed his mind, or that Ro has messed up in some way, he blocks all contact from her with no notice.
Once, I had to pick her up off the side of the road ten miles from campus because they’d fought at dinner and he’d left her there.
I hand the latte I’ve finished to Ellis, one of the new freshman employees, before putting my hands on either side of the counter where Ro’s perched, trying to stop her legs’ anxious swinging.
“You okay, Ro?”
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah. Actually, I think I’ll go home after shift and have a self-care night.”
I smile back. “I’ll see if Betty can keep the boys at her place tonight. You and I can do face masks and watch Because I Said So .”
Ro’s smile grows as she spoons a heap of homemade whipped cream into her mouth and nods. She lets the spoon dangle from her lips as she pushes off the countertop. “Perfect.”
The door chime goes off and I look over my shoulder to see Paloma Blake flounce through the door.
As usual, she’s dressed in a way that makes me want to simultaneously tear her hair out and steal the clothes off her body for myself.
Sometimes, when our paths unfortunately cross, I imagine she’s walking in slow motion to a personalized soundtrack of “Maneater” or “Bubblegum Bitch,” the click of her heeled knee-high boots on beat.
Paloma Blake and I have woven in and out of each other’s lives since sophomore year, attending most of the same parties and often, we realized, hooking up with the same guys. For that reason, it almost felt like a competition between us.
She comes to stand in front of Ellis, but her eyes are only on mine as she leans lightly on the counter like a feline stretching in the sun.
“Paloma.” I nod, crossing my arms subconsciously as I can’t help staring at her cleavage sitting on display, almost spilling from her lavender corset top.
“Sadie Brown,” she coos, plump lips spreading wide over white teeth. “Just the person I was hoping to see. Mind if we chat?”
Yes.
But I slink around the countertop, promising Ellis that I’ll be right back, and slip out the front door. Paloma and I walk together to the little alleyway between Brew Haven and the off-campus bookstore.
“What do you need?”
“I hear you and Rhys are talking.” She leans back against the brick.
The sound of his name hurts, and I hate it.
“Fascinating,” I say, deadpan. “Nothing better to do with your time than play town crier?”
She rolls her eyes. “I came to ask if it’s true.”
“Paloma.” I scrub my face with my hands. “You are constantly dating someone, particularly in the sports arena. Why don’t you just ask him?”
“I dated Rhys,” she spouts.
I hate the possessive clench in my gut. I know he’s dated before— look at him—but hearing it makes me a little nauseous.
“And?”
“And so I know him. And, unfortunately for my psyche, I know you.” She drops her fake smile and stands up straight. “He doesn’t need you around him. It’s their final year to win the Frozen Four and get attention for the draft.”
I clench my jaw, hating that, as much as I want to fight her in this alley, I can understand her worries.
Not only that, but I agree with them.
“You think he gives a shit about taking time away from your dreams? From your brothers?” Coach Kelley’s heated whisper reverberates in my head. “He’ll never understand .”
“Last year, we—”
“This isn’t like last year,” I snap, cutting her off.
For a moment last year, Paloma and I had almost been friends. A little truce as we self-destructed together. I’d seen her spiraling the same way I was, so the implied accusation cuts deeper. As if she’s suddenly all better, with her refreshed highlights and summer tan.
If she gets a fresh start, why not me?
Paloma starts to speak again, but I raise my palm.
“Save it,” I whisper. “I was talking to him, I guess. But you’re right. Don’t worry, I’ve already told him it’s over. I’m leaving him alone.”
I wondered briefly if he’s doing the same thing, but I muted his messages, trying to quell my need to look.
“If you want him, fine. Just leave me out of it.”
Oliver. Liam. Ro. The custody hearings. Work. School. Skating .
Surviving. That’s what is important.
“It’s not a question of if I want him.” Paloma rolls her eyes, adjusting her top just so. “It’s just—you know what? Never mind.”
I walk away before she can.
I expect to feel lighter somehow, as if I’m truly shedding Rhys and his haunting, sad eyes.
But I don’t. If anything, I feel worse.