Chapter 2
Ghosts And Growling Stomachs
~MABELINE~
The cold from the rink clings to my skin as we step back into the hallway, and I find myself already missing the smooth expanse of ice behind us.
Miss Phillip is saying something about paperwork, signatures, and orientation packets, but I'm only half-listening.
The other half of my brain is still standing at the edge of that rink, imagining what it would feel like to lace up my skates again. To push off from the boards and let the ice carry me away from everything.
Soon. If I can work up the nerve to actually try out for the club instead of just fantasizing about it like some pathetic ice-obsessed weirdo.
"Ms. Rose? Are you with me?"
I blink, snapping back to reality.
"Sorry. Yes. Paperwork. Got it."
Miss Phillip's lips twitch like she's fighting a smile.
"The administrative office is just around the corner. We'll get you sorted with your student ID, meal plan, and class schedule. Shouldn't take more than twenty minutes if the system cooperates."
If the system cooperates. Famous last words in any bureaucratic setting.
We round the corner, and that's when I hear it.
"MAE?!"
The voice cuts through the hallway like a blade, sharp and disbelieving and achingly familiar.
I stop dead in my tracks.
No.
No way.
There is absolutely no fucking way the universe is doing this to me right now.
Slowly, like I'm in a horror movie and the monster is right behind me, I turn and look over my shoulder.
Two figures stand at the end of the corridor.
And I'm pretty sure I'm seeing ghosts.
Not the translucent, rattling-chains kind. The worst kind. The type that crawls out of your past and forces you to remember things you've spent years trying to forget.
The girl on the left has hair that definitely wasn't that color the last time I saw her.
Dark navy blue cascades past her shoulders, shot through with streaks of emerald green that catch the light like gemstones. It's wild and bold and so completely…her.
Or at least the person she always yearned to express but never really could.
My chest aches with longing as I’m finally able to acquire her name from the depths of my memory.
Sage.
Sage Holloway.
My best friend from kindergarten through tenth grade.
The girl who held my hand on the first day of school when I was too scared to walk through the doors alone.
Who split her lunch with me every day for a month when my mom forgot to pack mine.
Who stood between the bullies and me more times than I could count, fists raised and eyes blazing, daring anyone to say another word about Nerdy MaeBell.
The girl who vanished without a trace when we were sixteen.
I gawk at her like an idiot, my brain short-circuiting as it tries to reconcile the memory of my childhood best friend with the woman standing in front of me now.
She's taller than I remember.
Broader in the shoulders. Built like someone who's spent years training for physical combat rather than cotillion classes.
Her uniform is a disaster in the best possible way: baggy pants that look three sizes too big, cinched at the waist with what appears to be a belt made of braided leather.
A white button-down shirt that's been rolled up to the elbows and left untucked.
The only thing that confirms she actually attends Valenridge University is the navy blazer slung over one shoulder like an afterthought.
Still a tomboy.
Refusing to conform.
The same Sage who told her mother to 'shove it' when she suggested Sage try wearing a skirt to picture day.
But it's her face that really gets me.
Those sharp green eyes, the same color as the highlights in her hair. The smattering of freckles across her nose that she used to hate and I used to envy. The wide, crooked grin that's spreading across her face as recognition dawns.
"Holy shit," she breathes.
And then she's running.
Full-on sprinting down the hallway like the building is on fire, her untied sneakers slapping against the floor, that too-big blazer flapping behind her like a cape.
I don't have time to brace myself before she skids to a stop in front of me, close enough that I can smell her scent. It hits me like a wave of nostalgia: fresh-cut grass and cherry blossoms and the sharp tang of peppermint.
The same scent I remember from sleepovers and study sessions and whispered secrets in the dark.
Omega.
She presented as an Omega after all.
"Oh my god." Her voice is shaking. Actually quivering. "Please tell me you're Mae. Mae Rose? Like, Mabeline Mae Rose? The girl I've known since we were literally in diapers? The one who used to make me watch figure skating competitions, even though I thought they were boring as hell? That Mae?"
I open my mouth.
Close it.
Try again.
"That's... that's me."
Eloquent, Mabeline. Really nailing this reunion thing.
Her grin threatens to split her face in half.
"I knew it! I recognized you the second I saw that ponytail. You always do the same little twist thing at the end. Like a signature."
She's bouncing on her heels now, practically vibrating with energy.
It's so achingly familiar that I feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.
Don't cry. Do NOT cry. You're in a public hallway, and you've already been humiliated enough today.
"And I dare guess you don't hate me, right?" The words come out before I can stop them, edged with thirteen years of hurt I hadn't realized I was still carrying. "Since you kind of just...uh…you know…poofed."
The bounce dies.
The grin falters.
Sage's face crumples into an expression of such genuine anguish that I instantly regret saying anything.
"Fuck." She drags a hand through her multicolored hair. "Fuck, Mae, I'm so sorry. There's so much to explain about that. So goddamn much."
"Language, Ms. Holloway."
Miss Phillip's voice cuts through the moment like a bucket of cold water. I'd almost forgotten she was standing there, watching this whole dramatic reunion unfold with the patience of a saint.
Sage cringes, her shoulders hunching up around her ears.
"Sorry, Miss Phillip." She has the decency to look genuinely contrite. "Got caught up in the moment."
"Clearly." Miss Phillip's tone is dry, but there's no real heat behind it. "Try to remember that profanity isn't part of the standard Valenridge greeting, hm?"
"Yes, ma'am."
I'm still processing, trying to wrap my head around the fact that my long-lost best friend is standing right in front of me, wearing the same uniform as me, attending the same university as me.
What are the odds?
Actually, given how my day has been going, probably pretty high. The universe clearly has a twisted sense of humor.
Movement at the end of the hallway catches my attention, and I realize there's someone else approaching. The tall guy who'd been standing with Sage before she went full Olympic sprinter.
He strolls toward us with an easy, unhurried gait. Hands shoved in his pockets.
A lazy smile played at the corners of his mouth.
I take in his appearance without meaning to.
Tall, maybe six foot one. Lean but muscular, like a swimmer or a tennis player.
Tawny brown skin and dark hair that's been artfully tousled in a way that probably took twenty minutes to achieve.
His eyes are a striking shade of gold, almost amber, with flecks of darker brown scattered through them like autumn leaves.
His scent reaches me a second later: sandalwood and sea salt and warm caramel. Pleasant. Inviting. But there's no spark. No flutter in my chest. No Omega hindbrain screaming about potential mates.
Alpha. Definitely an Alpha? Maybe…? But not one that makes my hormones sit up and take notice.
Which is honestly a relief. I've met enough Alphas today to last me a lifetime.
He stops beside Sage, his golden eyes sweeping over me in a quick assessment.
Not predatory. Not threatening. Just... curious.
Then he whistles, low and appreciative.
"Wow." His voice is warm, teasing. "You grew up nicely, MaeMae."
MaeMae.
No one has called me that since...
I blink at him, trying to place the face. The voice. The nickname that only a handful of people ever used.
"Do I... know you?"
His hand flies to his chest in mock offense.
"Damn. I'm that easy to forget? I'm appalled. Wounded. My ego may never recover."
Sage rolls her eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't get stuck.
"Hell yeah you are. Because you were a shy fucker who didn't talk to anyone, remember? You'd just lurk in the corner like some kind of social vampire, watching everyone else have conversations while you picked at your lunch."
"I was observing," he protests. "There's a difference."
"There really isn't."
"You're just jealous because I had an air of mystery and you had an air of 'please notice me, I'm desperate for attention.'"
Sage gasps, outraged.
"I was NOT desperate for attention! I was enthusiastic! There's a massive difference!"
"Sure. Keep telling yourself that."
They're bickering now, trading insults like tennis players trading volleys, and something about it tugs at the edges of my memory.
I know this dynamic. I know this banter… so why can’t I remember the face?
"Wait." The pieces click into place with an almost audible snap. "Jace? Jace Nakamura?"
The guy's face lights up like I just handed him a trophy.
"She remembers!" He spreads his arms wide. "The prodigal MaeMae recognizes me at last. My faith in our childhood friendship is restored."
"Don't be dramatic," Sage mutters. "She probably just recognized your ego. It's hard to miss."
"Jealousy doesn't look good on you, Holloway."
"Neither does that hairstyle, but you don't see me pointing it out every five seconds."
Jace Nakamura.