Chapter 16
LEONORA
The walk to the rink is a blur.
Every few steps I replay Willow’s words. You really think he won’t notice?
He won’t. He can’t.
I wore a wig. Heavy makeup. The lights were dim. He was drinking. It was dark in his apartment.
There’s no way.
By the time I reach the side entrance, I’ve almost convinced myself.
Tara lets me in without comment, just a small nod as I slip past her into the corridor. I change quickly in the treatment room - skullcap, helmet, baggy jersey, extra padding to hide my shape - and by the time I step onto the ice, I’m Lee Shaw again.
The team filters in over the next few minutes. No one looks at me differently. Chen glides past with a small nod.
No one knows.
Zane is the last one on the ice.
He skates a slow warm-up lap, and I watch him from the corner of my eye the way I always do - tracking his movement, reading his body language. His ease on the ice. The slight tension in his shoulders.
He looks tired. Maybe a little distracted.
But when he glances over, he just gives me a small nod.
No sudden flash of recognition.
I exhale slowly.
See? I tell myself. Safe.
The drill starts.
I lose myself in it the way I always do - the puck, the scrape of blades, the calls from Coach across the ice. It’s the only place my brain stops spinning.
Halfway through, the whistle blows.
“Switch lines,” Coach calls. “Blake, Shaw, Russo - together. Let’s see that chemistry.”
I skate into position without hesitating, because that’s what Lee Shaw does. Lee Shaw doesn’t panic. He’s calm and focused.
The puck drops.
Russo wins it clean and slides it toward me along the boards. I collect it smoothly, head up, scanning-
Zane is right there.
Close. His eyes are on me through his helmet, unreadable.
For half a second, I hesitate - then I pass.
The puck lands on his tape perfectly, the way it always does, because that’s what we do. We read each other without thinking.
He catches it. Holds it for a beat.
Then he glances back at me.
Just a glance. Quick. Almost nothing.
But there’s something in it - a flicker of… what? Curiosity? Recognition?
I look away instantly.
The drill continues. I don’t look at him again.
But I feel his eyes on me for the rest of practice.
Afterward, I strip off my gear in Tara’s room faster than usual.
My hands are shaking.
He doesn’t know, I tell myself. He can’t know.
But Willow’s words won’t stop echoing.
You really think he won’t notice?
ZANE
Practice that morning is brutal. Not because Calloway is punishing us - though he absolutely would if we gave him a reason - but because half the team clearly stayed out too late celebrating the win.
I, surprisingly, feel fine.
Which Mercer finds deeply suspicious.
“Blake,” he says during a water break, squinting at me from the bench, “you’re way too cheerful for someone who was out as late as the rest of us.”
“I’m not cheerful.”
“You are.”
“I’m hydrated.”
“That’s not the issue.”
Russo drops onto the bench beside us, tugging off one glove. Sweat drips down his temples, but he looks as composed as always. “What’s the issue?”
Mercer gestures vaguely at me with his water bottle. “Blake’s weird mood. Has to be related to the girl he left with last night.”
Russo lifts an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Now the entire team is paying attention. Barrett skates over, blades scraping against the ice. Even a couple of the defencemen drift toward us, clearly sensing entertainment.
“It was just someone from the party,” I say, because it’s obvious they’re not letting this go.
“Who was at the party?” Barrett asks, catching a fragment of the conversation.
Mercer ignores the interruption. “So,” he presses, “when are you seeing her again?”
I take a long drink of water, buying time. “I don’t know.”
Mercer narrows his eyes. “You don’t know.”
“No.”
Russo tilts his head. “You didn’t text her today?”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
I hesitate for half a second. Then I admit it. “I didn’t get her number.”
The silence lasts exactly one beat.
Then Mercer explodes. “You didn’t get her number?!”
Russo looks genuinely offended, which is rare. “Blake.”
“She left,” I say defensively.
“Why didn’t you just get her number before she left?”
“Well, she-” I stop.
Mercer’s grin grows slowly, like a predator who’s spotted weakness. “She what?”
“She… left before I woke up.”
Russo slaps a hand over his face. “Oh my god.”
Mercer is laughing so hard he nearly drops his water bottle. “Blake,” he says patiently, like he’s explaining something to a child, “this is basic stuff. Basic. If you’re into her, you don’t let her leave without digits. It’s rule number one.”
Barrett shakes his head solemnly. “You deserve to lose her.”
“I didn’t lose her.”
“You absolutely lost her.” Barrett turns to the others. “He lost her.”
Chen finally speaks up from where he’s leaning on his stick. “What are we arguing about?”
Mercer gestures dramatically toward me. “Blake met a girl last night. Spent the whole night with her apparently. And forgot to get any method of contact.”
Chen considers this with the same focus he uses to study opposing shooters. “That seems… inefficient.”
“She said her name was Nora,” I say.
Mercer immediately points at me. “Okay. New plan.”
He turns toward the rest of the team, raising his voice. “Anyone know a Nora?”
A few guys glance up from their gear.
One defenceman near the boards shrugs. “Nope.”
Another calls from across the ice, “There are like… twenty Noras on this campus.”
Russo leans closer to me, dropping his voice. “You ask her last name?”
“No.”
“What she studies?”
“No.”
“Where she lives? What year she is? Anything?”
“No.”
Mercer slaps the bench triumphantly. “Blake’s imaginary dream girl. That’s what we’re dealing with. A ghost. The girl who got away before he even had her name.”
“She’s not imaginary.”
“Name: Nora,” Mercer says, counting on his fingers with exaggerated precision. “Description: blonde. Approximate height: unspecified. Last seen: fleeing the scene before sunrise, never to be heard from again.”
Barrett snorts. “Sounds like a myth.”
Chen nods thoughtfully. “Like Bigfoot.”
“Exactly like Bigfoot,” Mercer agrees.
I shake my head and stand up, grabbing my stick. “You’re all idiots.”
Mercer calls after me as I step back onto the ice. “Don’t worry, Blake! We’ll start a campus-wide search! Put up flyers! ‘Have you seen this woman? Answers to Nora. Last seen breaking our boy’s heart.”
I don’t turn around. But I’m smiling despite myself as I push off and skate toward center ice. Practice ends. The team filters toward the locker room.
I’m the last one off the ice, taking my time.
Shaw is already gone.
Typical.
I watch him disappear through the tunnel - that same quiet, efficient movement. No lingering. No small talk. Just… gone.
Something about him bothers me.
Not in a bad way. Just… I can’t figure him out. He’s good - really good - but he keeps everyone at a distance. The guys joke about it constantly.
But today, during that drill-
I shake my head.
I’m reading too much into nothing.
I push off toward the tunnel, letting the thought go.
But it lingers anyway.
The teasing about Nora sticks with me longer than it should. And they’re right about one thing.
I have absolutely no idea how to find her again.
After practice, I try anyway.
I grab lunch at the dining hall, scanning every table for blonde hair. Nothing.
I walk the long way back to my apartment, cutting through the quad where students always hang out between classes. Groups of girls sit on blankets, studying or laughing or scrolling through phones. I slow down, trying to be subtle about it.
Nothing.
By the time I reach my apartment, I’ve convinced myself this is ridiculous. I’m a college hockey player with a showcase to prepare for. I don’t have time to chase some mysterious girl who clearly doesn’t want to be found.
LEONORA
By the time afternoon rolls around, the adrenaline from practice has finally faded.
Which means my brain has had plenty of time to replay last night in painful detail.
And in daylight, with a normal brain and no party noise to hide behind, the whole thing suddenly feels like a logistical nightmare.
Because now Zane Blake knows a girl named Nora exists.
And unfortunately, that girl is me.
Which means the next logical step for him would be… finding me again.
I’m trying to explain my stress about it to Willow when we push open the door to the campus coffee shop.
The place is packed, as usual. Mid-afternoon between classes is prime caffeine hour at Blackwood, which means the line curls halfway toward the windows and the air smells aggressively like espresso and sugar.
I stop walking.
Willow takes two more steps before noticing I’m no longer beside her.
“Leonora?”
I grab her arm.
“Abort.”
“What?”
“Abort mission.”
“Why?”
I tilt my head slightly toward the corner of the room.
Willow follows my line of sight. He’s there. Zane.
Standing near the pickup counter with Russo, both of them still in Giants hoodies, talking to the girl behind the counter while they wait for their drinks.
Unbelievable.
I turn around immediately. “Nope.”
“Leonora-”
“I cannot be seen.”
Zane laughs at something Russo says, and the sound carries across the room.
I panic.
Bathroom. Immediately.
I slip through the crowd and duck down the hallway. The bathroom door swings shut behind me with a soft click.
I lean against the sink and stare at my reflection.
“Fantastic,” I mutter.
Of course he’s here.
A minute later the door opens and Willow slips inside.
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being cautious.”
Willow leans against the counter beside me, arms crossed.
“You realize this situation is extremely funny.”
“It’s not funny.”
“You’re secretly playing on his hockey team while simultaneously avoiding him as yourself.”
“Yes.”
“And he’s currently searching campus for a girl named Nora.”
“Probably not.”
“He absolutely is.”
I groan. “Please stop saying things like that.”
Willow grins. “So, what’s the plan?”
“You get the coffee.”
She raises an eyebrow. “And you?”
“I stay here until the coast is clear.”
She shrugs. “Alright. What do you want?”
“Large latte.”
“Milk?”
“Oat milk.”
“Sugar?”
“A little.”
“You’re very demanding for someone hiding in a bathroom.”
“Go.”
Willow laughs and heads back out.
The door closes again and I wait.
A few minutes later Willow slips back in carrying two cups.
“Mission successful,” she announces.
“You’re a hero.”
She hands me the latte.
“He’s still out there,” she adds casually. “But they look like they’re about to leave.”
I consider that.
“Back exit?”
Willow nods slowly. “Back exit.”
We wait another minute, listening carefully.
Then I open the door a crack.
The hallway behind the café is quiet, leading toward the delivery entrance at the back of the building. Perfect.
“Go,” Willow whispers.
We slip down the corridor and push through the rear door.
The alley behind the coffee shop is nearly empty - just a couple of bikes chained to the railing and a delivery truck idling farther down the street.
I take two steps outside and hear the front door of the café open behind the building.
Willow grabs my sleeve. “Move.”
We duck around the corner just as voices drift across the pavement.
Zane’s voice.
I don’t risk looking back until we’re halfway down the alley. There’s no sign of them.
I take a long sip of my coffee.
“See?” Willow says brightly. “Flawless escape.”
“This is getting ridiculous.”
“You’re the one living a double life.”
“On your advice!”
Willow grins. “You know what’s funny?”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“He was definitely looking for you.”
ZANE
That afternoon, I’m standing in the line of the campus coffee shop with Russo, trying to focus on the scouting report he’s showing me on his phone.
“Blake. You listening?”
“Yeah.”
“What did I just say?”
I glance at the screen. “Their goalie struggles with high glove.”
Russo stares at me. “I said their top line is weak on the backcheck.”
“Right. That too.”
He sets his phone down. “What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
I look around the coffee shop automatically. Groups of students at every table. Laptops open. Coffee cups everywhere.
No Nora.
“I’m just distracted,” I admit.
“By that girl.”
“Yeah.”
Russo nods slowly. “You’ve looked at every table since we walked in.”
“Have not.”
“You definitely have.”
“I don’t even know why I’m bothering. She clearly doesn’t want to be found.”
“Or she’s busy.”
“Busy.”
“People have lives, Blake. Classes and exams - part time jobs. She’s not just sitting around waiting for you to wander past. And she knows exactly where to find you if she wants.”
“Thanks. That’s very comforting.”
Russo shrugs. “I’m not trying to be comforting - I’m just trying to be realistic.”
He’s right. I know he’s right.
And yet it doesn’t make me want to stop searching.