Chapter 3
LEONORA
The party is exactly what I expected.
Which means it’s loud, overcrowded, and smells like cheap beer and someone’s failed attempt at a scented candle.
Willow, Katie and I find drinks, then a spot near the wall where we can lean and watch without getting jostled by every group that pushes past.
For a while it’s almost fun.
Willow occasionally flits away to chat to other people then returns to shove a drink in my hand. Katie stays with me, amused and unbothered. We laugh and watch people make fools of themselves. Normal college stuff.
Then the hockey talk starts.
It’s inevitable, I guess. Most of the people here are either in the team, friends of the team, or just fans. The ones who aren’t are pretending to be. And everyone has an opinion about tonight’s game.
“Blake was off. Did you see that shot?”
“Russo can’t carry the whole team forever. They need-”
I tune it out.
But not fast enough.
Their voices blur together, and suddenly I’m not in this crowded living room anymore. I’m twelve, sitting on the bleachers behind my dad’s bench, listening to him break down the game with his assistants while Markus skates drills on the ice below.
Hockey was everything back then.
It was the language my family spoke. The thing we all shared, all understood, without needing to explain. Dad coached. Markus played. I practiced in the junior leagues and watched and learned about the higher levels. I dreamed about the day I’d be out there too.
And I was good.
I was really good.
I push off the wall and scan the room for Willow. She’s across the room, laughing at something someone’s saying, drink in hand. Katie has floated over beside her, phone out, probably documenting the chaos for posterity.
I don’t want to pull them away.
I don’t want to explain why my throat feels tight.
I catch Katie’s eye, point toward the door, and mouth see you back at home. She nods, understanding without questions.
I slip through the crowd and out into the cold.
The porch is quiet. Frost glitters on the railing. The noise from inside fades to a dull thrum, muffled by walls and distance.
I pull my coat tighter and take a long breath.
Better.
I stand just outside the door and stare at the dark yard, letting my brain empty out for a minute. No hockey. No memories. Just frost and quiet and the slow return of normal breathing.
Then I realize I’m not alone.
Someone’s already here.
ZANE
The beer is definitely doing something to my brain.
Not in a bad way. Just… softening the edges. Making the noise inside the house feel farther away than it actually is. Making it easier to stand out here on the porch instead of working the room like I’m supposed to.
I don’t even know why I came tonight.
Calloway says it’s good for team morale to socialize, but he would also kill us if he knew we were drinking. Chen lasted forty-five minutes before disappearing.
Me?
I’ve been out here for ten minutes. Maybe twenty. Time moves weird when you’re half-drunk.
The door opens behind me.
I don’t turn around. I figure it’s someone else escaping the noise, same as me. We’ll do the nod, the awkward silence and then they’ll go back inside and leave me alone.
But whoever it is doesn’t move.
Just stands there, close enough that I feel the cold air shift.
I glance over my shoulder.
It’s a girl.
Blonde hair tucked behind her ears. Scarf pulled up almost to her chin like she’s trying to disappear behind it. She’s not looking at me - she’s looking at the yard, at the trees, anywhere but the house behind her.
Something about that makes me turn fully.
Most people at these things are trying to get into the party. She looks like she’s trying to escape it.
“You hiding too?” I ask.
She startles slightly. Like she hadn’t noticed me yet.
Then her eyes land on me, and I watch her clock who I am. There’s a flicker there - recognition, obviously, everyone at this college knows my face - but it’s not the usual thing. No wide eyes. No nervous smile. Just… acknowledgment.
Then she looks away again.
“Something like that.”
Her voice is quiet. Low. The kind of voice that makes you listen harder without thinking about it.
I turn back toward the railing, but I don’t move away. Neither does she.
We stand there for a minute. The noise from inside swells and fades as someone opens the door and lets it close again. Frost glitters on the porch steps under the weak porch light.
“Not a party person?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Not a this party person.”
“What’s wrong with this party?”
She shoots me a look - dry and amused.
“How much time do you have?”
I laugh, which surprises me. “Fair. I’ll try not to take offense.”
Another silence. Easier this time.
I take a long drink from my beer and watch her from the corner of my eye. She’s still not looking at me - she’s still watching the dark yard like it’s more interesting than anything inside - but she doesn’t seem uncomfortable. Just… present. That’s rarer than you’d think.
“I’m Zane,” I say.
She glances over. Nods.
“I know.”
No name back.
I wait for it. The normal rhythm of conversation - you say your name, they say theirs. That’s how it works.
She just looks at me. Not challenging. Not shy either.
The door bangs open behind us.
“Blake! There you are. Russo’s looking for you, something about-”
I hold up a hand without turning around.
“One minute.”
The guy - some freshman, I don’t remember his name - hesitates. Then the door swings shut again.
When I look back at her, I see she’s pulled her scarf higher. She’s taken a step toward the steps.
“Guess you have to go,” she says.
Not a question.
“Yeah.” I should. Russo won’t wait forever. But I don’t move. “I’m-”
I stop. I almost say I’m glad I came out here. Which is weird. And too much.
She tilts her head slightly, waiting.
“Forget it.” I shake my head, half-smiling. “See you around.”
She doesn’t say anything. Just gives me that look again - curious, unreadable - and then she’s gone down the steps, boots crunching on frost, disappearing into the dark before I can think of a reason to call her back.
I watch until I can’t see her anymore.
Then I go inside.
The rest of the night is noise and people wanting pieces of me I don’t feel like giving. I do the rounds. Smile when I’m supposed to. Let Russo drag me into conversations I don’t care about.
But my head keeps drifting back to the porch.
To the blonde girl who didn’t give me her name.
See you around, I said.
Stupid.
I wouldn’t even know where to look.