Chapter 10 Adela
The rink is colder than I expected.
I pull my coat tighter and climb to the third row. Not too close — that would be presumptuous. Not too far — I need to see, to observe, to learn something from being here.
Cody never invited me to practice. Not once. I only went to games when my schedule allowed, when he remembered to tell me they were playing. Sitting in these bleachers feels like trespassing on a version of his life he never showed me.
I try to shake it off and watch.
The guys move through drills with focused intensity — sticks cracking, skates hissing, voices calling out plays I don't understand. I find Beckett by his number. He moves with aggressive confidence, body-checking a player into the boards hard enough that I flinch.
Is any of this sincere? I study them, looking for something. But they're just guys, playing hockey, and being a team.
The longer I watch, the less certain I feel about why I came.
When practice ends, I wait in the hallway outside the locker rooms. The door swings open, and Beckett emerges with a few others — tall, flushed, still carrying the energy of the ice. He gestures toward me.
"This is Adela."
Brief, assessing glances. No introductions. They nod and move past like I'm part of the wall.
Then it’s just me and Beckett left in the hallway.
"Don't you have class?" he asks.
"Yeah." I shift my weight. "But I figured I would thank you for…” I catch the look in his eyes and shake it off. “Sorry,” I say, feeling awkward. He waits patiently. “Cody never invited me here before."
"I know."
Two words. Simple. But they land like a slap, because of course, he knows. If Cody had, we would have seen me.
Heat crawls up my neck. "Right."
"Meet me for lunch today."
The eagerness in my response comes out before I can shape it. "Really? Okay."
He adjusts his gear bag. "I'll text you."
He walks off. The rest of the team files out behind him, past me, through me, like I don't exist.
Did Cody ever mention me at all?
None of the guys seems to recognize me.
The question follows me out into the gray morning.
My phone buzzes during a conversation with my professor after Political Theory — a required course I didn't choose, in a major that wasn't my idea. I silence it and keep nodding while she tells me how much I'm going to love UW.
Outside, I check the screen.
Beckett: Still in class?
I call him.
"Where are you?" he asks.
"Just got out. I live at Elm Hall — we can meet there."
A beat. "Inviting me over already?"
I stop walking.
There's something in the way he said it. Casual, but pointed. Testing something. I stand on the pavement and let the silence run for a moment longer than feels comfortable. A shiver runs down my spine.
"I'll meet you there," I say.
The call ends.
I stand for another second, Maeve's voice surfacing in my head — the asshole on Nob Hill — before I start walking again.
I called her after their practice ended. I told her about Beckett at my car window, how he gave me his number, and he invited me to practice this morning. I also told her how the team walked past me like I was furniture, not even recognizing me.
"You can't keep talking to this guy," she said.
"Why not? He's been helpful."
"He was a dick at the party, Adela. Now he's suddenly your guide to campus life? That's suspicious."
I sighed. "You're still upset I moved."
"Of course I am! Cody is in the hospital, and you've completely—" She stopped. "I'm worried. That's all."
I told her not to be. I told her he was nice. I ended the call before she could say anything else that I'd have to sit with.
Walking to Elm Hall now, I wonder if I should have listened to her.
He's already there when I arrive. Hood up, one hand in his pocket, paper bag in the other. Something about the way he's standing makes me think he's been there for a while.
"You brought lunch for me?"
"My favorite." He holds the bag out.
We find a table in the student lounge near the window. He unwraps both sandwiches and pushes one toward me. I offer to pay him back, but he waves it off.
"We're even for the creatine."
I almost smile. Then I remember why I'm here.
"Tell me what you know about Cody."
He takes a slow bite and chews, watching me. The pause stretches longer than is comfortable. "Not much."
"As in?"
"I didn't know he had a girlfriend." His eyes stay level on mine. "Not until the hallway anyway. When he corrected me."
The air goes out of me quietly.
I take a bite of my sandwich, so I don't have to respond immediately. The bread feels like nothing in my mouth.
"What else?" I ask.
"That he's entitled." He says it the way you'd say someone is left-handed. A fact, not a judgment. "He doesn't ask. He just takes."
I set the sandwich down, feeling on edge. "Give me an example."
He shakes his head slightly. "I think you already know what I mean."
I want to argue. But something stops me — the way Cody's name was apparently never attached to mine on this campus. The way his teammates walked past me as if I didn't exist in his life.
"It sounds like you weren't close," I say.
"We're teammates. We're supposed to know each other's weaknesses." He leans back. "I know his."
I shift in my seat. "Did any of you know anything real about him?"
Something crosses his face — fast, unreadable. "Define real."
"Friends. Girlfriend. What he cared about outside the rink."
He turns his cup slowly on the table. "We knew what he showed us."
I hold his gaze. "And what was that?"
He picks up his sandwich again. "Someone who wanted to be here very badly."
I smile at that briefly, knowing what he means. Cody really wanted to attend UW. I remember the day he told me he got in and got a spot on the team.
I want to get to know him better, so I ask, "Is that what you wanted too?"
He looks at me for a long moment. "He and I are different."
I don't push it. But I feel something shift — like I found a seam, just barely.
He glances at his phone and stands. "I need to go."
"When will I see you again?" The words are out before I can decide whether to say them.
He picks up his bag and studies me. "This doesn't have to end here."
It should sound like an offer. Something about the way he says it makes it feel more like a door closing than opening.
He leaves without saying anything more.
I sit with the half-eaten sandwich and the silence. I wasn’t a secret, exactly. Just — omitted.
It feels worse.
I have class in twenty minutes. I should go too.
Instead, I stay a little longer, trying to understand what it means that the most honest conversation I've had about Cody since he went under happened with someone who barely knew him.
Or says he barely knew him.
I gather my things and walk out into the gray afternoon, and for the first time since I got here, I'm not just sad.