Chapter 7 Wren
The Uber pulls away from the arena, and for the first time since I walked into the Boston Reapers’ locker room, I’m alone.
No crashing bodies
No shouting players
No dangerous, unreadable looks from Kael
No flirtatious smiles from Finn
No burning, silent intensity from Atlas
Just the hum of the car heater and the city lights smearing across the windows.
My hands shake in my lap.
I keep them tucked under the sleeves of Kael’s hoodie—not because of the cold, but because the lingering heat from Atlas’s proximity and Finn’s softness and Kael’s intensity still hasn’t left my skin.
I shouldn’t feel like this after one day.
But something about those men feels like... gravity.
Pulling me in three different directions.
At once.
Stronger every time I try to breathe.
The car rolls to a stop in front of my apartment building—a narrow, old brick structure wedged between a laundromat and a bakery that opens at 4 a.m. The windows glow faintly with warm light. A comfort I desperately need.
“Have a good night,” the driver says.
“You too,” I murmur.
I climb the steps two at a time and unlock the front door, breathing in the familiar scent of old wood and vanilla plug-ins I bought in bulk. Inside, the hallway is quiet. My boots echo lightly on the floor as I approach my door.
Apartment 3B.
Home.
Safe.
A place where the past can’t reach me and the present hasn’t fully caught up.
I unlock the door.
Step inside.
Lock it again—out of habit, not fear.
My apartment is small but warm—soft lighting, thrifted furniture, a stack of medical textbooks on the counter, and a skating poster I keep telling myself to take down but can never quite bring myself to.
I toss my bag on the couch and pull out my phone to text Finn, because God help me, I promised him.
Me:
Home safe. Thanks again.
His response is immediate.
Finn:
Good. Don’t make me come check.
(Unless you want company. Then I can run.)
My face heats.
Before I can reply, another text comes through.
But... not from Finn.
Not from anyone in my contacts.
Unknown number.
My stomach dips.
I open it.
Unknown:
You shouldn’t be around them.
My pulse stutters.
Another message hits instantly.
Unknown:
You don’t belong on the ice.
Ice crawls up my spine.
Not figuratively.
Exact.
Cold.
Bone-deep fear.
I swallow hard and lock my phone, pressing it to my chest.
Someone found me.
Already.
And that’s when I see it—
A small white envelope on the floor, slid under my door while I was gone.
My heartbeat thunders in my ears.
I kneel slowly and pick it up.
My name is written on the front.
Not printed.
Not typed.
Handwritten.
I force my fingers to tear it open before I can talk myself out of it.
One piece of paper.
One sentence.
STAY AWAY FROM THE REAPERS.
OR YOU’LL FALL AGAIN.
Every breath whooshes out of my lungs.
Again.
They know.
They know about the accident.
The fall.
The humiliation.
My hands start to tremble.
Suddenly the apartment doesn’t feel warm.
It feels suffocating.
I stumble back against the couch and sink down, pressing my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound of my shaking breath.
Not again.
Not this.
I rebuilt myself once.
I can’t do it twice.
My phone buzzes again.
Finn.
Finn:
Hey you good?
You stopped texting.
Tell me you’re good.
I stare at the screen.
I could tell him.
I could tell any of them.
Kael would show up.
Finn would worry.
Atlas... he’d burn the world down.
But this is my first day.
My first chance.
I can’t let fear rip it away.
So I type:
Me:
I’m fine. Just tired.
Goodnight, Finn.
I set the phone facedown on the couch.
But sleep isn’t coming.
Because for the first time in a long time...
The past is knocking again.
And this time, it found my new address.