Send Me Love

Chapter 9

“Are you paying attention?” I ask Miles.

We’re sitting in the library with both parts of the assignment pulled up, comparing notes before our presentation in two weeks.

He snaps and sits up. “What? Yeah. I’m good.” Then shakes his head, like he’s not so good. “Just can’t believe we lost last night.”

My eyes dart up. I don’t have to ask to know he’s talking about the hockey game.

I didn’t go.

And…I didn’t “send love” before the game either.

I think I wanted to. But my brain was on overload last night.

I had this session with Miles to prep for, weekend tutoring, which no one’s signed up for, and the app getting out of control with new aliases making fun of me.

And I was certain my closet was closing in on me.

I knew what was happening. I knew why it was happening. But I didn’t have the physical space or the mental capacity for a breakdown.

I had to shut off the light, picture myself someplace else, and breathe through it until everything got quiet.

Until the panic loosened its grip.

This morning, I woke up early and made sense of it all.

Sending love once…twice…maybe even a third time is alright. But reading up about him online? Looking up practice schedules? Sneaking in to watch? That’s stalker material.

It’s unhealthy.

Delusional.

So, I banned myself from any more hockey games. At least until I can get a hold of myself. Because…what happens when the “hearting” stops?

What happens when I say something stupid? What happens when everyone finds out who Shadow is? That’s setting myself up for humiliation I would never recover from.

I can’t take that risk.

My first instinct is to tell Miles I don’t care about some game and that we have an assignment to prep for. But before I have a chance, my phone pings with a notification from Send Me Love.

Strange. I thought I shut these off. “Is there a game tonight?”

“The Knights? No, but there’s one tomorrow.” He leans in. “Why? You asking me out?”

I jerk back with a frown. “What? No.”

He shrugs, unoffended. “Okay. Waiting for me to ask you out? Because I was going to wait until this is over, but hey—”

“I’m not going out with you,” I snap, too distracted and annoyed to worry about my tone. I swipe down to see the notification.

Kane19 invited you to a

private locker room.

A what room?

Amber and Lisa never told me about any “locker room”.

I click on the notification, taking the bait like a dumb fish.

It opens to a page I don’t recognize in the app called The Locker Room. There is a single stall with a blue and white jersey on it, named Kane’s Shadow. Under it, a button reads Accept invitation.

My heart rate kicks up as my thumb hovers over the screen, itching to keep opening these secret doors and invitations.

My eyes dart up at Miles, who’s watching me with his arms crossed like I’m the one being rude now.

“Sorry.” I slam my phone face down. “Let’s just wrap this up.”

He smirks. “Oh yeah? You got a thing later?”

My eyes drop to my phone, to the mystery invitation waiting for me, already knowing I’m going to open it. “Yeah. I’ve got a thing.”

The second Miles leaves, I stack a few books on my desk and sink into the chair behind them like a fortress. Then I unlock my phone, thumb hovering over the notification. Heart beating as if I’m about to walk into a real live trap.

But that’s just my brain warning me, shielding me, reminding me that I’m the girl who’s always afraid. Whose instinct is to hide…panic…run.

Everything else? My heart, the flutter in my stomach, the ache for intimacy…is itching to open the door. And every door after if it means Kane is there waiting.

Licking my lips, I navigate slowly to The Locker Room…then to the Kane’s Shadow stall and hit Accept.

Then frown.

It’s empty. A blank screen with just the name of the private room up top and our usernames listed as members.

I stare blankly, not sure what I’m supposed to do with this, when a message pops up.

Kane19: About time you showed up.

I gasp, then glance around the library like I’m on some hidden camera prank.

Kane19: Missed you last night.

This can’t be real. Someone hacked into his account and is baiting me. Teasing me. That’s got to be it.

Kane19: I know you’re there. The messages are showing read.

I nearly drop my phone.

Kane19: Fine. I get it. You don’t have to talk. I will. Just glad you’re here.

My stomach dips and it feels like I’m dreaming.

Kane19: Sorry if I made things uncomfortable for you. I know the app can be… overwhelming.

Overwhelming is an understatement for someone like me. But I can only imagine how it is for him. He’s already proven he reads all the messages.

Kane19: Tried to get rid of the copycats but it’s apparently against the rules.

Copycats? That’s what he leads with? How about telling me why I’m here?

What you want. Please don’t say to meet me.

I’d like to continue living out this fantasy my way.

Where the captain of the hockey team—that I’ve uncharacteristically become infatuated with—is obsessed with me.

I’d hate to ruin it by letting you find out who I am.

Or rather…who I’m not.

Kane19: If it helps, they’re not making fun of you. They want to BE you.

I scoff. Joke’s on them.

Kane19: I need you at the game tomorrow, Shadow.

What? Now I know I’m dreaming. He needs me? Why?

Kane19: Blink once if you’ll come.

I glance up, eyes briefly scanning the empty library again.

Kane19: Made you look. Okay, all jokes aside. Will you be there?

I bite my bottom lip and hover over the keys.

Shadow: Blink.

A little red heart appears under my message.

The next day, I’m at the library, sitting at my usual desk, which has now become my tutoring desk. Mr. Ames said no one has signed up but I want to spend the day here anyway—even if I have to be off the clock.

By the third hour, I’ve finished all my schoolwork and spent the last twenty minutes trying to remember what I did on my weekends before.

The Northwind Knights game isn’t for another few hours but it’s not like I need to rush or anything. My ticket is in the last row. I’ll be the last one in and the first one out.

My phone vibrates with a notification and I glance down.

Message from Kane19 in

The Locker Room.

My heart skips a beat and it’s shocking how fast I open the thread.

Kane19: What’s your name?

Hmm. Nice try. I leave the question as read and don’t respond.

Kane19: Alright, I’ll go first. Kane Andrews. But you can call me your Dark Knight.

I bite my bottom lip as a smile spreads across my face.

Shadow: Shadow.

Kane19: You’re not playing fair, Shadow.

Shadow: You going to kick me out of your locker room now?

Kane19: Ah…a brat. I can deal with that.

I set my phone down. My hands shaking and my pulse on overdrive.

A minute barely goes by before my phone vibrates on the desk again.

Exhaling, I pick it up.

Kane19: You didn’t like being called a brat?

Oh, I like it. I liked a lot. Like the cliché I apparently am, I have the urge to fan myself.

Kane19: Shadow?

Shadow: Dark Knight.

Kane19: Don’t disappoint me tonight. Tell me what you want.

My brows twitch at the command. But I’m not going to act dumb to what he means.

Shadow: Why?

There’s a beat before he responds and I find myself holding my breath. Finally, the little dots jump around as he types.

In those three seconds, my imagination runs wild.

Because I want to picture it while I’m on the ice.

Because I think you see me the way no one else does.

Because…

Kane19: So I can score.

Wait. What?

So he can score? What does that mean?

Confused, I silence my phone and set it aside. After my brain’s overstimulation last night and the forty-two minutes it took me to settle my heart rate, I’m not risking another spiral today.

As impossible as it might be, I need to push Kane and these messages, and the idea that I might be his lucky charm—something I’ve never been for anyone—out of my head.

No one ended up showing for tutoring today and I’m equally disappointed at how grateful I am for it.

I need the money. I need to learn to be comfortable around people without the lingering tension.

But I can’t help the relief I feel at not having to people today.

I swear they see it. How could they not? I’m practically vibrating with anxiety.

Save for the text exchange with the captain of the school’s hockey team. And the two girls at the arena last week. And then there’s Miles. So I’m either making progress…or I’m selectively functional.

A little demon on my shoulder whispers in my ear.

The text exchange is a cop out on your part. The girls could have been something, but you ducked out of there with an awkward wave. And Miles? Guy never shuts up long enough for you to even have a moment of insecurity. Progress? I don’t think so.

Tough crowd.

Suddenly too jittery to sit still, I pack up my things and head out. There’s still two hours before the game and I could use it to walk off the excess energy.

I should be thinking about other ways to make money if no one ever shows up for tutoring. Or talking to Student Housing about next semester, since I think that closet is stunting my growth.

But no.

My brain is still zoned in on Kane. And how worked up I got between my legs at one of his texts.

Ah…a brat. I can deal with that.

I imagine him saying it out loud to me. Lifting my chin as he scans me head to toe. Deciding just how he’ll deal with me.

Fuck. This can’t be healthy.

What are signs that someone’s obsessed?

Forget that. What if this is some cruel trick on the new girl? Maybe the two girls saw the alias I created and tipped him off.

I exhale. “Get out of your head, Isla.”

Maybe you should be more focused on his last message and what it meant exactly.

I do manage to get out of my head long enough to enter the arena, finding my seat—the cheap one all the way in the back that I purchased.

Not the front row ticket Kane sent me an hour ago with a link to download.

Thanks, but not falling for it. I’m staying anonymous.

I wonder how many girls he’s picked up this way before. Invited them to a private chat room. Maybe it’s a weekly thing?

I glance down at the bare seat just as the Knights glide onto the ice for warm-ups.

Kane b-lines to the glass, and I know he’s glaring at the empty seat, ignoring the wild cheers in that section.

He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t even wave back. He almost looks…angry.

Within seconds, he’s racing off the ice—confusing some of his teammates.

Biting my lip, I clutch my phone, heart racing.

As if I didn’t know it was coming, I gasp when my phone vibrates.

Kane19: Where are you?

Swallowing, I respond instantly. As if his fingers were around my throat.

Shadow: I’m here.

Kane19: If the seat’s not good enough, I’ve got a better one for you.

Frowning, I start to type back and ask what could possibly be better than front row when he sends another message, causing my breath to catch.

Kane19: But sitting on a hockey player’s face during a game isn’t allowed. So it’s the best I could do.

A laugh bubbles out of me and I swear my face is glowing red enough to give me away. I’m still grinning foolishly as I attempt to text back that I’m staying put, but he beats me to it.

Kane19: Fine. Stay in the shadows. I’ve got to get back on the ice.

Is he seriously mad because I’m choosing to stay anonymous?

Shadow: Don’t be mad.

It’s a playful response but I still bite my bottom lip in fear of offending him.

Kane19: Damn. Didn’t think three words from a stranger could do me in. But okay. I’m not mad. You’ll just need to make it up to me.

My heart hammers in my chest as I watch the dots bounce on the bottom of the screen.

Kane19: Tell me, Shadow. What’ll it be tonight?

Biting my lip, I know what he’s asking for. And I know I’m going to give it to him.

It’s just a game we’re playing.

It’s not like he’ll ever find out who I am. He practically said so himself—I’m his good luck charm. A way to score—and not in any way that’s fun for both of us.

He doesn’t care who’s behind the mask, as long as Shadow keeps showing up.

The whole point of Send Me Love to cheer them on. To feed their egos. I literally signed up for this.

So just for today, I’ll play.

Taking a deep breath, I give him what he needs.

Shadow: I liked it when you called me a brat.

He doesn’t miss a beat.

Kane19: Good. But don’t just tell me.

Kane19 has left The Locker Room.

My pulse spikes as I switch over to the app’s home page and click on Kane’s jersey. Messages are flowing in one after the other.

I read through a few, as if I need some inspiration for what to tell him. The pressure. He’ll need to put his phone away soon. He’ll need to see my message.

I want to give it to him.

Because I saw the look on his face when he didn’t find me in my reserved seat.

This is no prank. This is real for him.

Those bubbles in my stomach fizz again and suddenly, I know exactly what I want to ask.

Shadow: I’ve been a bad girl. Deal with me.

My heart beats louder than the arena when I hit send. And beats and beats for seconds that pass.

So many seconds.

He didn’t like it. It was too much. I’ll probably have my account suspended for inappropriate—

The red heart pops under my message and I release a breath as if I’d been choking.

Another notification comes up on my phone. This time, it’s in The Locker Room.

The Locker Room

Kane’s Shadow

Kane19: That’s my girl.