Chapter 1 #3
"Thank you," I manage, still processing the fact that she just slammed a door in the face of the hockey team's star captain without blinking.
Definitely an ally. Someone I want in my corner.
I make my way down the hall, taking in the space that will apparently be my home for the next six weeks. Or two weeks, if Miss Phillip works her magic and finds me alternative housing.
The common area is spacious and surprisingly cozy. Overstuffed couches in deep jewel tones. A fireplace that looks like it actually gets used. Bookshelves crammed with paperbacks and textbooks and what looks like an alarming number of romance novels.
étienne's, probably. Given the worn paperback he's been clutching like a lifeline.
The kitchen is open-concept, all stainless steel appliances and granite countertops. There's a coffee maker that looks more complicated than my car, and a refrigerator covered in hockey schedules and takeout menus.
Four doors branch off from the main space.
Three of them are clearly claimed, decorated with nameplates and personal touches.
Rafe's door has a captain's C mounted on it.
Cal's has a whiteboard covered in what looks like tutoring schedules.
étienne's is plain except for a small Post-it note that says 'knock first, please' in neat handwriting.
The fourth door is smaller. Plainer. Tucked into a corner like an afterthought.
My room, probably. Looks more like it used to be a storage closet.
I push open the bathroom door and flip on the light, grateful for the moment of privacy.
The mirror shows me exactly what I expected: a disaster.
Blue raspberry stains streak across my sweater like abstract art.
My hair has escaped its messy bun, frizzing around my face in a halo of humidity-induced chaos. My mascara has migrated south, giving me raccoon eyes that scream, 'I've had a day.'
But underneath all of that, I can still see her.
The girl who survived sixth grade.
Who put herself back together piece by piece when the bullies took everything.
Who had taught herself to stand tall even when her knees were shaking.
You're still here. Fighting. Don't let them win.
I strip out of the ruined clothes, careful to fold étienne's jersey neatly. It still smells like him, like evergreens and safety, and part of me wants to keep wearing it.
Bad idea. Very bad idea. That's exactly the kind of thing that leads to feelings, and feelings lead to hurt, and hurt is not on the agenda for this six-week escape plan.
I change into the spare outfit I'd crammed into my purse: soft leggings and an oversized sweater the color of dusty rose. Not exactly fashion-forward, but clean and dry and blessedly slushie-free.
A quick washcloth to my face removes the worst of the mascara migration. I finger-comb my hair into something resembling order and pull it back into a fresh ponytail.
There. Acceptable. Functional. Ready to face whatever fresh hell this tour has in store.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Miss Phillip is waiting in the common area, scrolling through her tablet.
"Better?" she asks, looking up with an approving nod.
"Much." I hold up étienne's jersey. "Is there somewhere I should put this? I should probably return it."
Something flickers across her face. Curiosity, maybe. Or understanding.
"Just leave it on the couch for now. I'm sure Mr. Laurent will find it." She tucks her tablet away and gestures toward the door. "Shall we?"
The tour that follows is a blur of impressive facilities and overwhelming information.
The Omega Lounge is everything Miss Phillip promised: plush seating, soft lighting, a tea station that rivals any upscale café.
The nurses' station is efficient and welcoming, staffed by a kind-eyed Beta who takes my vitals and schedules a follow-up appointment without making me feel like a specimen under a microscope.
The Omega shops are a revelation.
Everything from specialty heat supplies to comfort items to an entire section dedicated to nest-building materials. I spend longer than I should have browsing the weighted blankets, imagining how nice it would be to cocoon myself away from all of this chaos.
But it's the rink that steals my breath.
Miss Phillip saves it for last, leading me through a set of double doors into an arena that makes my heart ache with longing.
The ice is perfect. Smooth and pristine, gleaming under the arena lights like a frozen mirror. The stands are empty now, but I can imagine them full. Can hear the phantom echo of blades cutting through the silence, the roar of a crowd, and the pounding of my own pulse as I prepared to perform.
Home. This feels like coming home.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Miss Phillip's voice is soft, like she understands what this moment means.
"Yeah," I whisper. "It really is."
We stand there for a moment, neither of us speaking.
The cold air seeps through my sweater, raising goosebumps on my arms, but I don't want to leave.
This is why you're here.
Not for them.
For this.
The ice.
To chase and find the girl you used to be.
Finally, Miss Phillip checks her watch.
"We should head back. I'm sure your roommates are pacing holes in the hallway by now."
I snort.
"Good. Maybe they can let a bit of that aggravated steam off."
She laughs, the sound warm and genuine.
As we walk back toward the dorm, she turns to me with an expression that's surprisingly earnest.
"I hope the next six weeks are life-changing for you, Mabeline."
Life-changing.
Six weeks ago, I was drowning in spreadsheets and existential dread, watching the clock tick toward my twenty-fifth birthday like a condemned prisoner counting down to execution.
Now I'm standing in a prestigious academy, surrounded by ice and possibility and the scents of three Alphas who might just be my undoing.
Life-changing. Yeah. That's one way to put it.
I think about the rink. The figure skating club. The professional team in the works.
Then thoughts about Rafe's storm-gray eyes and the guilt I saw flash through them.
Cal's dimples and the way his scent makes me want to curl up and stay forever.
étienne's quiet understanding and the jersey that smelled like safety.
I think about Vanessa ‘Viper’ Voss and her threats. About the chants that still echo in my nightmares. About the girl I was and the woman I'm trying to become.
Six weeks.
Six weeks to prove that Nerdy MaeBell is dead and buried.
That the woman who rose from her ashes is stronger, fiercer, and absolutely not going to let three Alphas with pretty faces and intoxicating scents derail her plans.
Miss Phillip is watching me, waiting for a response.
I smile. And for the first time today, it feels real.
"I hope so too."