Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Sammie
The days after New Year’s pass in a blur of ordinary life. Practices. Errands. The smell of pine finally fading from the house. On the surface, everything looks unchanged.
But nothing feels the same.
My father is quieter than ever. His silences used to feel like cages. Now they feel like… surveillance. He watches. Weighs. Waits. He hasn’t given his blessing, but he hasn’t torn us apart either. That, in its own way, is something.
The team pretends nothing happened, but I catch the way they look at us now—at me, at Triston. Less like a scandal, more like inevitability.
And me? I’m lighter. Not always. Fear still whispers, reminding me how fragile this balance is. But when Triston’s hand finds mine, when his eyes meet mine across a crowded rink, I remember the kiss at midnight. I remember that he sees me not as something fragile, but as something fierce.
That’s enough to keep me standing.
Still, sometimes at night, I lie awake with the ribbon wound tight around my wrist and wonder what comes next. Christmas gave us a storm. New Year’s gave us light. What will the next season bring?
It’s a Tuesday when I find it.
A folded piece of paper tucked into my bag, messy block letters scrawled across the outside:
My pulse jumps. I slip into my room, shut the door, and sit on the bed. My hands shake as I unfold it.
The handwriting is terrible. The message is perfect.
I press the note to my lips, laughing and crying all at once. Because he doesn’t just ask me to be his Valentine. He dares me to step into the next storm with him.
And I already know my answer.