Chapter 13 Sloane
SLOANE
Winning is supposed to feel like relief.
Like your lungs finally unclench. Like your body can stop bracing.
The final buzzer sounds, and the gym erupts, our bench spilling onto the court.
The crowd roaring like this is the most important thing in the world.
Jade wraps me in a sweaty hug so hard my ribs complain, and Blakely presses into my other side, laughing breathlessly like she’s made of pure sunlight.
“We’re that team,” Jade says into my ear, voice vibrating with adrenaline. “Did you see their coach’s face? He looked like he wanted to call his therapist mid-timeout.”
Blakely snorts. “Jade, you can’t just assume everyone has a therapist.”
“They should,” Jade replies, dead serious. Then she pulls back and stares at me, eyes narrowing. “Rhodes. You were…weird tonight.”
I blink. “Weird?”
“Yes,” she says, pointing at my face like it’s evidence. “You did the thing where you’re here, but your soul is somewhere else.”
My throat tightens.
Blakely’s hand slides to my elbow, gentle. “Slo…”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically.
Jade groans. “Oh my God. Stop saying that. You sound like a customer service bot.”
I glare at her. “I’m not a bot.”
“You’re a bot,” she insists. “A very athletic bot. But still.”
Blakely bumps my shoulder, softening it. “You don’t have to be fine with us.”
I swallow hard and turn toward the locker room before my face betrays me. “Can we just…get out of here?”
They follow without pushing, and for a few minutes it almost works—noise, movement, laughter, the familiar chaos of post-game routine.
The locker room is bright and loud, music blasting from a speaker someone shouldn’t have, girls shouting over each other about stats and shots and that one ref who definitely hates us.
Normal.
A word that tastes like cardboard.
My hands move on autopilot. Jersey off. Shoes unlaced. Bag packed.
My phone buzzes in the side pocket, and my stomach drops like it already knows.
Hospice, reminding me of our first appointment with our nurse today.
I don’t look. I can’t. If I look, the night ends before it begins.
Jade slams her locker shut with unnecessary drama. “You’re coming out.”
I freeze. “No.”
“Yes,” she says, like it’s a settled fact.
Blakely nods. “Just for a little while.”
“I can’t,” I repeat, sharper.
Jade plants her hands on her hips. “Sloane. One hour. You can drink water. You can stand in a corner. You can judge people’s outfits if that makes you feel better; I don’t care, but you’re coming.”
Blakely’s voice is gentler. “You told us you needed a break.”
My chest tightens.
I did say that. I said it like a confession. Like a plea.
Now they’re holding it up to me like proof I can survive this.
“It won’t help,” I mutter.
Jade rolls her eyes. “Nothing helps. That’s not the point. The point is you don’t get to drown quietly while we watch.”
Blakely squeezes my arm. “We’ll leave whenever you want.”
The words land, and something in my chest softens in the smallest, most painful way.
I stare down at my hands. At my taped fingers. At the bruises blooming on my knuckles.
I think about Pops asleep down the hall. The hospice nurse’s clipboard. The phrase we’ll take good care of you.
I exhale slowly. “One hour.”
Jade’s grin is instant. “Yes. Okay. Perfect. We’re going to a party.”
I close my eyes like I’m bracing for impact. “Where?”
Jade’s eyes sparkle with evil. “PCU hockey house.”
My eyes fly open. “Absolutely not.”
Blakely coughs like she’s hiding a laugh. “Oh, come on.”
“No,” I say, already backing away. “Nope. Wrong. Not happening.”
Jade grabs my wrist before I can escape. “You’re not going because of Logan.”
My spine goes rigid.
“I didn’t say that,” I snap.
Jade leans in, smug. “You didn’t have to.”
Blakely’s tone is soft but firm. “Sloane…it’s a hockey house. It’ll be fine.”
It won’t.
Because Logan goes to PCU. Because his friends go to PCU. Because the universe loves to throw him in my path like a test I keep failing.
But Jade and Blakely are looking at me like they’ll carry me there if they have to, and I’m too tired to fight a battle that isn’t the real one.
I swallow hard. “Fine.”
Jade whoops. “Yes!”
Blakely exhales in relief. “Thank you.”
I mutter, “I hate you,” to both of them, because it’s safer than saying thank you.
Jade beams. “Love you too.”
An hour later, I’m standing in the PCU hockey house doorway, trying to convince my lungs that breathing is optional.
The bass hits first—music rattling the walls, the floor vibrating under my sneakers. The air is warm and thick with beer and perfume and sweat and something fried that makes my stomach flip.
Jade practically bounces beside me. “See? Fun.”
Blakely squeezes my arm. “We can leave anytime.”
I nod, even though my brain is already trying to map exits.
Inside, bodies pack the hallway. Someone shouts my name—maybe. Or maybe it’s a different Sloane. Someone laughs too loud. Someone spills a drink and doesn’t care.
Jade leads us through the crowd with purpose. “Kitchen. Anchor spot. Water. Chips. Corner.”
“I love you,” I tell her, deadpan.
She grins. “I know.”
The kitchen is worse. People pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, red cups everywhere, and someone is perched on the counter like it’s a stage. The lights are dim, but not dim enough to hide the way my hands tremble when I set them on the counter.
Jade disappears to grab drinks like she owns the house. Blakely stays close, scanning my face.
“You okay?” she asks.
I force a smile. “Fine.”
Blakely’s brows lift. “Customer service bot.”
I glare at her, but it’s weak. It has no teeth.
That’s when a guy slides into the space beside me like the universe is trying to give me a distraction.
He’s tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a beanie and a flannel like he’s auditioning for “nice guy at a party.” His smile is easy. Familiar in the way strangers can be when they want something.
“Hey,” he says, leaning in slightly so he can be heard over the music. “You’re Sloane Rhodes, right?”
I blink, guarded. “Yeah.”
His grin widens. “I knew it. I went to CSU—well, I’m still there. But my sister is playing ball in highschool, and she’s obsessed with you. She made me watch highlights.”
I stare. “That’s…unfortunate.”
He laughs. “It was actually kind of impressive. You’re a menace.”
I don’t smile, but the word menace is at least not hospice, so my brain clings to it like a lifeline.
“What’s your name?” I ask, mostly to be polite.
“Ethan,” he says. “I’m friends with a few of the hockey guys. I’m here with”—he gestures vaguely—“everyone.”
“Great,” I deadpan.
He laughs again, undeterred. “You don’t look like you want to be here.”
I glance toward Blakely, who is watching me with a careful expression, like she’s assessing whether I’m about to bolt.
“I don’t,” I admit.
Ethan’s eyes soften. “Bad week?”
The question lands wrong.
My throat tightens.
I lift my chin. “Just busy.”
“Yeah,” he says, nodding like he understands. “I get that.”
He’s quiet for a beat, then adds, “You want to get out of the kitchen? It’s like…a sauna in here.”
The suggestion is tempting purely because air sounds like a luxury.
Before I can answer, Jade reappears, shoving a water bottle into my hand like she’s trained for this. “Hydrate,” she orders, then gives Ethan a bright smile. “Hi! Don’t steal her.”
Ethan lifts his hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Jade’s eyes flick to mine, questioning.
I nod once, small.
Jade relaxes, then nudges Blakely. “Come on. Let’s go pretend we care about beer pong.”
Blakely hesitates, but I give her a look that says I’m okay, even if it’s only half true.
They melt into the crowd, leaving me with Ethan and my water bottle and the faint sense that I’m making a mistake.
Ethan leans closer again. “Backyard? There’s a firepit. Less…chaos.”
I inhale. Cold air. Space. Quiet.
“Sure,” I say, because my brain is tired of saying no.
He gestures for me to go first, and we weave through bodies toward the back door. The air shifts as soon as we step outside—cold night hitting my cheeks, clearing the fog in my head for half a second.
The backyard is strung with lights. People cluster around a firepit, laughing, holding drinks, wrapped in the kind of careless warmth I can’t access right now.
Ethan stands beside me, hands shoved into his pockets. “Better?”
“Yeah,” I admit quietly.
He looks at me, smile gentler. “You play like you’re angry.”
I blink. “What?”
“Basketball,” he clarifies. “You play like you’re mad at the world.”
The words hit too close. I swallow.
“Maybe I am,” I mutter.
Ethan nods like that makes sense. “Fair.”
We stand there for a moment, the fire crackling, music muffled through the walls. For the first time all day, my shoulders loosen an inch.
Then the back door opens again.
And my world tilts.
Logan steps outside.
Hoodie. Beanie. Brace. One crutch.
He pauses like the cold hits him, then his gaze sweeps the yard—
And finds me.
The eye contact is immediate. Sharp. Familiar.
Like being seen by someone who knows exactly where to aim.
My stomach drops. Heat rushes through my chest.
Logan’s face goes still for half a second.
Then something dark flickers in his eyes.
Jealousy.
Not soft. Not romantic. Not cute.
The same kind that burned through him freshman year.
My throat tightens.
Ethan follows my line of sight and glances back. “You know him?”
I don’t answer fast enough.
Logan’s jaw clenches as he takes a single step forward. Then another.
His crutch taps the ground, loud in the quiet outside. The movement draws attention. A few people glance over.
Logan doesn’t care. He’s looking at me like the rest of the world is just static.
My pulse hammers.
Ethan shifts, angling slightly closer to me like he’s reading the tension and deciding—without asking—that he should be in front of it.
Logan clocks that too.
His hand tightens around the crutch.
His shoulders square, like he’s about to do something stupid.
My chest tightens with a familiar, ugly mix of irritation and something worse.
Because I’ve been here.
This scene. This feeling.
A party. A guy. Logan walking in like he owns the air between me and whoever I’m talking to.
Freshman year flashes—the dare, the kiss, the way Logan’s eyes went cold, the way the words he threw at me afterward sank into my ribs and stayed there.
I don’t move. I don’t wave. I don’t give him anything.
Logan stops a few feet away from the patio, halfway between the door and the firepit, like there’s an invisible line he’s not sure he’s allowed to cross.
His gaze stays on me.
Not Ethan.
Me.
My throat tightens.
Ethan leans in, voice low. “Is that…a thing?”
“No,” I say too fast.
Logan’s eyes narrow slightly, like he heard the tone even if he couldn’t hear the word.
I lift my chin, holding his gaze across the space. The fire throws light across his face, sharp angles, stubble, eyes too intense for a stupid party.
For a second, it feels like the whole yard goes quiet, reminding me of moments where I’d be the one staring at him at a party while he was talking to other girls, even though he caught me every time. As if it made him happy that my attention was always on him.
Then Ethan’s hand lightly touches my elbow. “Come on,” he says gently. “Let’s go inside. It’s colder out here than I thought.”
My body tenses.
Logan’s expression shifts, like he’s about to move. Like he’s about to walk over and say something, do something, make this a confrontation, just like he did two years ago.
My pulse jumps.
Ethan starts guiding me toward the side of the yard, away from the door, away from the firepit, toward a cluster of people under string lights.
I don’t stop him. I don’t let him see my hesitation.
I keep my eyes on Logan as I move.
Logan looks like he’s going to follow.
His weight shifts forward.
His grip tightens, his gaze burning me from the inside out.
Then he stops.
He stays exactly where he is—frozen at the edge of the patio like a statue, like he’s fighting himself.
His jaw clenches once, hard.
And as Ethan moves me farther away, drawing me into a different pocket of the party, Logan doesn’t move.
He just watches as I walk away.