Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Devin
The locker room thunders with celebration, ice packs passing through my hands like victory tokens as I check Spencer’s jammed fingers.
The kid winces but grins through it, too high on the win to care about pain.
Around us, the team hollers and chest-bumps, their energy bouncing off the concrete walls.
But it’s Oliver who draws my attention—his joy radiates differently than the others, pure and uncomplicated in a way I haven’t seen since our early days.
Strange how a high school victory lights him up more than any professional win ever did.
Back then, each triumph came weighted with the next game’s pressure, the next season’s expectations.
I watch him high-five one of the freshmen, remembering nights when he’d stand in similar locker rooms, jaw tight even after dominant performances, already dissecting what went wrong instead of celebrating what went right.
“That was sick!” One of the players shouts, and Oliver laughs—actually laughs—not the practiced media smile I grew accustomed to, but something genuine that crinkles his eyes.
Five years ago, I’d packed my life into cardboard boxes while he was at practice, each piece of shared history wrapped in newspaper and resentment.
Now here he is, looking more like the twenty-five-year-old who’d nervously asked me to dinner after a campus game than the anxiety-ridden professional athlete I’d left behind.
Those post-game celebrations haunt me still.
Sprawling parties at teammates’ mansions where Oliver would match everyone drink for drink, then keep going long after they’d crashed.
I’d curl up on leather couches that cost more than my car, listening to bass-heavy music shake crystal chandeliers, wondering when exactly we’d lost ourselves.
He’d stumble in at dawn, reeking of whiskey and expensive cologne, already talking about tomorrow’s practice.
The partying was armor, I realize now. Each shot, each beer, another layer between him and the crushing weight of expectations. But I’d never said anything, just added each concern to my mental inventory of grievances, letting them simmer until they boiled over into that final, explosive fight.
“Hey.” Oliver appears beside me, chest still heaving from post-game adrenaline.
“Hi.” My weight shifts from foot to foot, caught between professional distance and personal pull. “Congrats.”
He shrugs, but pride flickers across his features. “It wasn’t me.”
“You know it was.” The laugh escapes before I can stop it. “At least part of it was you.”
His grin walks the line between humble and cocky, so perfectly Oliver that my chest tightens. “Jeff and I are heading out for a celebratory drink. Would you like to come?”
The invitation hangs between us, loaded with history. My hesitation must show because he rushes forward, words tumbling over each other.
“Just a drink or two. It won’t be like how I used to celebrate. Those days are done.”
My bottom lip catches between my teeth. “I was going to say yes anyway... but it’s good to hear you say that. I, uh, need to head home and change first. Is that okay? I won’t be long.”
“Yeah, of course!” His voice cracks with enthusiasm before he clears his throat, reeling it back. “I’ll text you where we go.”
My eyebrow arches. “You have my number?”
Pink spreads across his cheeks, and suddenly he’s that college boy again, confident on ice but fumbling with feelings. “Unless you changed it.”
My head shakes slowly, the admission barely audible. “I didn’t change it.”
His eyes catch the fluorescent lights, sparkling with something I’m not ready to name. “Good.”
I turn to leave, then pivot back. “Hey, who were you waving to at the beginning of the game? You looked spooked.”
Shadow crosses his features like clouds over sun. “Do you remember my former teammate Mark Bailey? He was randomly here at the game. I was just surprised.”
“Oh, that is random.” My shrug feels too casual for the tension in his shoulders. “Maybe he’s just passing through and decided to catch a hockey game.”
“Yeah, maybe.” The words fall flat, but he forces brightness back into his tone. “So, I’ll see you in a bit?”
My smile comes unbidden. “Yes, see you soon.”
The drive home blurs past, my mind already in my closet. Showing up in my athletic trainer uniform isn’t an option—hours of sweat and anxiety have left their mark. But this isn’t about impressing some random guy. This is Oliver, and I want to feel... something. Put together. Confident. Sexy, even.
Steam fogs the bathroom mirror as I rush through a shower, washing away the game but not the anticipation. My closet door swings open to reveal a collection of practical choices and forgotten dresses, none quite right for drinks with an ex who might be becoming something else entirely.
Jeans and a t-shirt would be safe. Years ago, I’d promised myself to never chase a man who wouldn’t want me in my simplest form. But tonight defies those rules. This isn’t some forgettable hookup or casual fling. This is Oliver, with all our messy history and uncertain future.
My phone weighs heavy in my hand. Jemma would know exactly what to wear, her fashion sense as natural as breathing.
But explaining who I’m meeting would unleash a storm of protective fury.
She’d accuse him of manipulation, me of weakness, as if five years hadn’t taught me anything about my own mind.
Hannah’s number appears on screen instead. Same neighborhood, same size, and most importantly, someone who might understand nuance. Hopefully, she’s home from her shop, Knit Happens.
“Hey,” she answers on the second ring.
“Thank God.” Relief floods through me.
“What is it?” Her tone sharpens to a blade. “Did you faint? I’m on my way.”
“Oh, no, no! Sorry. Everything’s fine... I just... Do you have a dress I can wear for a date tonight? Something sexy but that doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard.”
“Of course. Um, hold on. Gimme ten minutes and I’ll be over.”
“Thank you. You’re a life saver.”
My phone buzzes with Oliver’s text while I wait, the Portsmouth Pizzeria lighting up my screen.
The same place we’d accidentally met last month, when seeing him had knocked the breath from my lungs.
His contact sits unchanged in my phone, a digital ghost I could never quite exorcise.
Some doors, even closed, deserve to keep their handles.
Hannah’s knock echoes through my house. “Come in!”
She appears in my bedroom doorway, winter dresses draped over her arms like armor for a different kind of battle. “Okay,” she says, breathless from hurrying. “Who are you going out with? Is it David?”
Her nose wrinkles at the bartender’s name. David with his easy smile and easier exits, never asking for more than I’m willing to give, never giving enough to matter.
“No.” David hasn’t crossed my mind in weeks. “It’s... Do you remember the hockey player that Noah was so crazy about?”
“Who just moved to town?” The dresses lower slowly to my bed as understanding dawns across her face. “Wait. Is that Oliver?”
“Yeah.” My teeth find my lip again, a nervous habit I thought I’d outgrown.
Her jaw drops, processing this information like a computer encountering unexpected code. “Wait. What? You’re going out with Oliver?”
“Kind of.” The bed dips under my weight as I perch on its edge. “We’re going out to get drinks with the head coach to celebrate the night’s win.”
Her frown carves shallow lines between her eyebrows. “I thought he was terrible to you.”
“He was... Years ago. We’ve hung out a little bit since he moved to town, and he’s... different.”
“Different, how?”
“Like how his values have changed? When his team won tonight, it was so different from when he was playing. Everything was so serious then, and now it’s just..
. He’s less high strung.” Air fills my lungs for what feels like the first time all evening.
“Also, I had a part in our relationship being what it was. I never told him that it wasn’t okay for him to talk to me like he did. ”
“It wasn’t your fault—”
“I know it wasn’t my fault. Everyone is responsible for their behavior. Looking back, though, I wonder what might have been different if I pointed out how wrong his behavior was. Would he have changed it? Would things be different now?”
“Hmm.” The mattress shifts as she settles beside me.
Silence stretches between us, elastic with unspoken concerns. My reflection in the mirror across the room looks small, uncertain. Does she see weakness where I’m trying to find strength?
“I understand wanting to give it another go,” she finally says, each word carefully chosen. “Just be careful, okay? Take it slow.”
“I am.” My head bobs emphatically. “We got coffee together already, and we’ve been seeing each other at the rink.”
Her gaze holds mine, steady and serious. “If you think he’s worth giving a second chance, I believe it too. I trust your judgment.”
“Thank you.” Tension I hadn’t realized I was carrying releases with my exhale, shoulders dropping from their defensive position.
“Does anyone else know?”
“Maya, but I haven’t told anyone else.” The rug’s pattern becomes fascinating. “I’ve been worried about how it looks. You know, like I’m weak and going back to an abusive ex-boyfriend.”
“Life isn’t black and white. Sometimes a person is an asshole because they have good intentions and they just don’t know how to put them into action. But also...”
“It could be the other thing,” I finish, the possibility sitting heavy between us.
“You know it’s my job to worry about that. As your friend, I have to make sure you don’t walk blindly into the same shitty situation you left behind.”
“I know.” Gratitude warms my chest. “Thank you. I’ll let you know how tonight goes. I do want your feedback... and Flick’s and Alexis’s too.”
“What does Jemma think?”
Air catches in my throat. Hannah’s only met my twin a handful of times, but twin bonds are obvious even to casual observers. “I haven’t told her. She would freak out.”
“Ah. Well, if you and Oliver do turn into something, you’ll have to tell her eventually.”
“I know. I just don’t know how to convince her that this time is different.”
“Maybe it’s not your job to convince her of anything. It’s your job to live your life. If you’re happy, there’s no arguing that. She’ll see it and probably come around eventually. If she doesn’t...” Her shoulders lift and fall.
The simplicity of her words belies the complexity of twin dynamics. Jemma isn’t someone I can hold at arm’s length over a disagreement. We shared a womb, share pieces of soul that can’t be divided by disapproval.
“Come on.” Hannah springs to standing with renewed energy. “Let’s make you sexy... sexier,” she corrects with a grin.
Laughter bubbles up, carrying with it the giddy anticipation of possibility.
Ten years. A decade since Oliver first walked into my line of sight and rearranged my molecular structure. Through all the pain, the leaving, the careful reconstruction of my life without him, this feeling persists—butterflies awakening from chrysalis at the mere thought of his presence.
Even if Jemma can’t understand, even if no one can, this means something profound. I’d be a fool to not at least step through this doorway and see what waits on the other side.