32. Sienna
Sienna
September 5th, 2022
Today was day 1236.
1236 days since what I referred to as The Incident occurred, and 1237 days since my last proper night of sleep. Nearly three and a half straight years of looking over my shoulder whenever I left the house, enduring stomach-twisting anxiety, and jerking awake drenched in sweat from the nightmares when I finally managed to get a few hours of rest.
It was no way to live, but somehow it was my life anyway.
“Hey.” Tate looked at me, brows furrowed. “You okay?”
I bit my lip, hoping the maelstrom of emotions churning inside me wasn’t showing on my face too much. I definitely wasn’t okay, and I was only slightly closer to getting my shit together today than I was a year ago. But I damn well intended to try anyway. I was sick of languishing. Sick of feeling sorry for myself. Sick of making my friends and family feel sorry for me too.
Tate would know if I lied to him, though. So would Michaela, the third member of our trio; a friendship that had lasted since we were all seven years old.
“Honestly, I’m a little nervous,” I admitted, glancing at the belltower to our left. It was the centerpiece of Worthington University, made of gray stone with a spire proudly stretching toward the heavens as its bells softly chimed in the wind. Carved gargoyles perched on the edges, their weathered stone faces seemingly judging everyone who passed.
“About what?” Tate asked, cocking his head.
“Just being here, I guess,” I said, gesturing around us. I didn’t want to tell the whole truth. Not even to my best friends. I was tired of looking and sounding unhinged to everyone around me.
Michaela hooked her arm in mine. “Don’t worry. The campus seems massive at first, but once you get used to it, it’s really easy to find your way around.”
“Is that what you meant?” Tate asked. “You’re worried about getting lost?”
“No, it’s not just that.” I twisted my lips, looking back at the belltower again. A cluster of students had gathered at the base, and they were loudly discussing their schedules for the upcoming semester. “I feel kind of weird starting so much later than everyone else.”
He laughed. “Trust me, that’s not an issue at all. There are lots of older students. A guy in one of my classes last semester was in his fifties.”
“Exactly,” Michaela chimed in. “Besides, you’re nineteen! Practically an embryo. So you don’t even count as an older student. You basically just took a gap year. Tons of people do that.”
“I guess that’s true.” I forced a smile and shook my head. “Don’t worry, I’m just being stupid. I’ll be fine.”
A girl walking in the opposite direction slowly passed us, eyes lingering on me. I swallowed hard and looked down. Maybe she was simply admiring my camel suede jacket… or maybe she recognized me.
Was I even recognizable on the streets these days? I’d changed a lot—dyed my hair, started wearing makeup, ditched my reading glasses for contacts. Still, if anyone looked closely, they could probably tell it was me. It mostly depended on how much they followed the Forrester case back in the day.
As if she’d read my mind, Michaela lightly touched my hip with her right elbow. “I forgot to say—I love the new hair color. It’s perfect.”
“Thanks.” I patted the side of my head. “It looks way more natural now, right?”
“Yeah. But the highlights you had before still looked really nice,” Tate replied, looking over at me with a faint smile. “It actually feels kinda weird seeing you as a brunette. I’m so used to the blonde.”
Michaela raised a brow. “Get used to it. It’s the new Sienna,” she said, sweeping one arm out like she was announcing the new and improved version of a tech product.
Tate laughed and dipped his chin toward the left. “That’s Whittaker Hall over there,” he said. “You’re on the fifth floor, right?”
“Yep. Dorm 512,” I said, eyes skating over the majestic grey stone building. It matched the other stately buildings on campus with its ornate arched windows and ivy vines clinging to the walls.
“I’m on the fourth floor,” Michaela said. “We’re practically neighbors!”
When we finally reached Whittaker, we hauled my suitcase and bags up to the top floor, shoes clattering loudly on the marble stairs. As I fumbled in my pocket for my new dorm key, Michaela gave Tate a side-eyed look, lips twisting with amusement.
“Why do you two look like you’re up to something?” I asked, brows scrunching together.
Tate grinned. “I know you absolutely hate surprises, but we had to do it anyway.”
“Do what?”
He nodded toward the door. “You’ll see.”
I finally located my key and turned it in the lock, pulse racing with anticipation. Tate threw open the door for me, and Michaela squealed right in my ear. “Ta-da!”
A sparkly banner reading ‘Welcome to Worthington!’ stretched across one of the walls of the spacious dorm. Colorful streamers hung from the other walls and bathroom door, and an enormous cake adorned with my name in pink frosting sat on the desk by the window.
“Oh my god.” I laughed softly and turned to my friends. “Thanks, guys. The cake looks awesome.”
“We managed to convince one of the RAs to let us in this morning,” Michaela explained, hurrying over to the desk. She produced a large knife from her coat pocket and raised a brow. “Want a piece now?”
“Sure! Thanks.” I tilted my head. “Have you been carrying that knife around all day?”
“Guilty as charged. Thank god we didn’t get pulled over and searched by cops on our way here,” she said with a grin. “Imagine trying to explain that one.”
She handed me a slice of cake—banana, my favorite—and cut herself and Tate a piece as well.
“Wait a sec.” Tate lifted a hand, signaling for her to put his piece back down. “There’s one more surprise.”
“Oh?” I raised my brows. “What is it?”
He produced a plastic card from his pocket and held it out to me. “Fake ID,” he said, eyes glimmering with mischief. “So we can hit all the bars. It has your real name and address, but it says you’re three years older than you actually are.”
“Half the places around here don’t even card,” Michaela added. “But it’s always helpful to have a fake, just in case.”
“Wow, thanks.” I briefly scratched my ear and smiled. “It looks so real.”
Tate frowned. He must’ve caught the split-second of uncertainty on my face when I first laid eyes on the card. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I shook my head. “It looks awesome.”
Michaela glanced over at the fake driver’s license and huffed. “Tate, you forgot!”
“Forgot what?” he asked, looking helpless.
Michaela snatched my new student ID off the welcome pack on my desk and dangled it in front of his face. “Remember?” she said. “She’s Sienna McConville now. Not Sienna Holland.”
Tate’s face fell. “Shit. Sorry. I totally forgot you changed your last name.”
“It’s fine.” I waved a hand. “No one’s going to see this fake ID except for a few bouncers, so it really doesn’t matter.”
“True.” He stooped to pick up my suitcase and dumped it on the bed. “All right. I’ll get started on this one. You two can unpack the bags.”
I raised a hand in protest. “You guys don’t have to help me unpack. Seriously.”
“The sooner you’re done here, the sooner we can show you the best stuff in the dining hall,” Michaela said. “Also, I’m way better at organizing things than you. I’ve watched every Marie Kondo episode ever made.”
I smiled and laughed softly. “Fine. If you insist. But you guys have to let me pay for your food later, okay?”
“Deal.” Tate’s eyes lingered on my admission pack as he placed my laptop charger on the desk. “How’s your class schedule looking?”
“Not bad. I managed to fit all my lectures into three days.”
“Lucky you. You should try doing forensics.” He grimaced. “I’m in back-to-back lab classes five days a week.”
Michaela lifted a palm. “Um, if we’re doing the whole Suffering Olympics thing, then you should award the gold medal to me. I’m doing a double degree.”
“Yeah, in politics and international relations. So at least there’s no lab work,” Tate said.
“It’s still hard!”
“I know. Just messing with you,” he replied with a grin. He looked back over at me. “You know, I was really surprised when you told us you enrolled in journalism.”
“Me too,” Michaela said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Just… you know.” She lowered her gaze to the bag she was yanking clothes out of and bit her bottom lip. “You weren’t exactly treated fairly by any of those reporters back in the day.”
“Exactly,” Tate said, eyes narrowing. “They were total assholes to you.”
“Well, that’s actually what inspired me to do it,” I said, reaching into my other big bag.
Michaela arched a brow. “So you know there’s at least one reporter in the world who isn’t a total vulture?”
“Yeah. I mean, I have other reasons too. I’ve always loved writing.”
“True.” She nodded slowly. “Plus you’re great at it.”
“Thanks. Also, my dad helped me get an internship at the Worthington Observer. So that should help,” I said, pulling a pair of boots out of my bag.
“The college paper?” Michaela’s brows shot up again. “That’s awesome! Your dad is the best.”
“It’s really competitive,” Tate added. “Hardly anyone gets an internship spot there.”
“Oh.” I frowned. “Damn. I hope I didn’t steal it from someone else who was meant to have it.”
Michaela snorted and flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Don’t worry. Your only competition would’ve been a bunch of other nepo babies, so you don’t need to feel bad.”
“Hey! Sienna’s not a nepo baby!” Tate said.
I laughed. “It’s fine. Like I said, my dad got the internship for me because he knows a bunch of people here. So technically, I am a sort of nepo baby, right?”
Michaela waved a hand. “Don’t worry. Half the world runs on nepotism. Especially in DC. I think the three of us know that better than most,” she said. She waltzed over to my closet and opened the door. “By the way, you’re so lucky to have a single! I was in a double room for my freshman year, and my roommate had a parrot. That fucking thing squawked constantly. And there was nothing I could do, because she was allowed to have it for some reason.”
“Yikes.” I grimaced and turned to Tate. “Speaking of pets, how’s your cat?”
“She’s okay. Getting old, though. She has arthritis in her hips and hyperthyroidism.”
“Poor thing.” I looked back at Michaela. “That’s what you have, right?”
“Arthritis?” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“No, the other one. The thyroid thing.”
“I have hypothyroidism,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s different.”
“Oh, that’s right. How’s that been for you?”
She shrugged. “I’m always cold and tired, but it isn’t life-threatening. Mostly just a huge bummer.” She paused and stared right at me, brows dipping in a slight frown. “Speaking of health stuff… are you completely done with New Zealand?”
I inwardly sighed. I knew this question was coming eventually.
After our high school graduation last year, Tate and Michaela—along with everyone else I knew from Forrester Academy—had either gone to college or found themselves jobs. I wasn’t able to do the same. Spending my last two and a half years of school being hounded by the media and called a liar, attention whore, or crazy by every second person I encountered had really done a number on my head. All because I accused the wrong guy of committing one of the worst crimes of the century.
Supposedly, anyway.
By the time my senior year was over, I was a total wreck. Therapy hadn’t helped at all, and I desperately needed a break from the world before I fell apart. My father knew that, so the day after graduation, he generously presented me with a one-way plane ticket to New Zealand along with a six-month admission to a holistic wellness retreat on the South Island.
At first I felt terribly guilty for needing the extended break from reality. It didn’t make any sense. Why was I so much more traumatized than Tate and Michaela after everything that went down in 2019? They were survivors too—hell, Tate lost his brother that awful night—but they were both able to get on with their lives easily enough after a few months of counseling sessions. Something about my brain was different. I couldn’t shake what happened. Couldn’t stop obsessing over it.
The online and in-person abuse didn’t help, either.
Once I settled in to Harmony Haven, I realized it was actually perfect for me. No one knew me. No one asked me anything, apart from the program counselors who only wanted to help. No one harassed me or called me a dirty liar or crazy bitch. I spent my days helping out on the retreat farm, which was hard but satisfying work, and attending holistic therapy sessions in the evenings.
No phones or computers were allowed in the lodgings, which was difficult at first but wound up being the best thing I’d ever done for my mental wellbeing. Once a week, I was allowed to make a call to a friend or family member or send a letter from the admin’s office, so I was still able to keep in touch with people without ruining my progress.
Six months stretched into twelve. Before I knew it, fourteen months had passed, and I realized it was finally time to stop hiding from the world. I enrolled in Worthington, where both of my parents had gone to college—as well as my two best friends—and waited with bated breath to see whether or not I was accepted. As soon as the acceptance email arrived, I giddily hopped on the next plane and returned home.
Now, here I was. Ready to give the world a real shot.
“I’m not going back there,” I said, lifting my chin. “I’m ready to be here with you guys. Just like we planned when we were kids.”
Michaela gnawed at the inside of her cheek. “It’s just… oh, never mind. It’s super rude of me to ask,” she said.
“No, what is it?”
“I ran into your dad a few months ago. He basically implied that Harmony Haven was actually…” She hesitated again and affected a more delicate tone. “Well, he called it a nuthouse.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, don’t worry, I know about that. Every time I called him from there, he asked ‘How’s the asylum?’ He thought it was hilarious.”
Tate’s nose wrinkled. “I know he paid for it all, which is cool, but honestly, he’s kind of a dick sometimes.”
“I know.” I let out a sigh. “But like you said, at least he was generous enough to pay for it. That’s more than what most people get, right?”
“So it was really just a wellness retreat like you said in all your letters?” Michaela cut in, eyes flashing with concern. “You didn’t have a full-on breakdown or something? Because I was really worried when he said that stuff. I swear I’m not trying to be rude, by the way.”
“No, I didn’t have a full-on breakdown. But if I didn’t go there, I think I would’ve had one,” I said, casting my eyes to the floor. “I really needed to get away from the world for a while.”
The wellness center actually had a section for inpatient treatment for people suffering from addictions, eating disorders, and other mental health conditions, but that was on the other side of the property. I was in the low-risk patient area, where people could simply go to clear their heads if they were having a rough time.
I looked up at Michaela again. “And don’t worry,” I added. “I don’t think you’re rude. It was hard for us to stay in touch properly when all I could do was write you letters. So you didn’t really have any way of knowing everything that was going on.”
She smiled and wrapped her arms around me. “We really missed you,” she murmured, resting her chin on top of my head. “And we’re so glad you’re back.”
“For sure,” Tate said, stepping over to join the group hug.
“This is going to be so cool,” Michaela said, worming out of the hug a moment later. “The three of us finally hanging out together, just like old times.”
“Well, uhh…” It was Tate’s turn to look nervous, though I couldn’t imagine why. “Speaking of hanging out… I’ve got a season pass to the Worthington Blades, and I bought two extra tickets for tonight’s exhibition game. I was hoping we could all go together. But I totally understand if you don’t want to, Sienna. You know, considering…”
He trailed off, and I furrowed my brows. “Who are the Blades?”
“It’s the hockey team here. They’re one of the latest additions to the NCAA,” he explained hurriedly. “Basically a feeder team to the NHL. They’ve only played one season so far, but they’re awesome.”
My chest tightened as a mix of dread, fear, and disappointment welled up inside it, pouring over my ribs like ice water. God, it was just a sport. Just a game. Why the hell did the mere mention of it still elicit such a raw physical reaction from me? It was so stupid. So childish. So weak.
I thought I was doing better than this. Apparently not.
“Oh.” I cleared my throat and tried my best to keep a neutral expression on my face. “Right.”
“Like I said, I totally understand if you don’t feel up to it.” Tate lifted his palms. “No stress. I really don’t mind skipping tonight’s game if you’d rather do something else.”
Michaela snickered. “Since when do you not mind skipping a hockey game?”
“I told you, it’s just an exhibition game tonight. As in a pre-season thing,” Tate replied, frowning at her. “Honestly, I don’t mind. We’ll just go and do something el—”
“No.” I took a deep breath and cut him off. “I’ll come to the game with you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” I lifted my chin and forced a smile. “I mean, hockey is literally your favorite thing in the whole world, right?”
Michaela snorted with amusement. “No shit,” she said. She looked at Tate. “By the way, aren’t tickets free for Worthington students?”
“Yeah, in the shitty upper section where you’re far away from all the action,” Tate said, rolling his eyes. “That’s why I prefer to pay.”
“Must be nice having all that trust fund money,” Michaela said, elbowing him with a cheeky grin on her face.
“Oh, as if your family is broke,” Tate shot back. “Didn’t your dad get in trouble for accepting millions in dark money for his Super PAC a few years ago?”
As the two of them jokingly sparred, I kept an amiable smile pasted on my face so they wouldn’t realize how much I was spiraling. This stuff wasn’t their problem—it was all mine. I had to move on and stop being so damn weak-willed. Had to stop myself from falling apart when someone suggested something as simple as a local sports event.
The game started at seven, so the three of us ate at the dining hall before traipsing north across the campus.
“The new arena looks awesome,” Tate said as we huddled together against the sudden cold wind blowing through the area. “Apparently it took five years to construct it all.”
“So this new team has been planned for a while?” I asked, glancing at him.
“Yeah, there weren’t any NCAA teams in DC before this. So it was in the works for a long time.”
“I’m just trying to picture a giant new arena amongst all these old buildings,” I said, making a sweeping gesture at the towering Gothic buildings surrounding us. “Doesn’t it look out of place?”
“Nope. It’s in the new section on the other side of 23rd Street. Where the old treasury building used to be.”
I groaned. “You mean there’s even more to explore?”
“Yup. Sorry. We really should’ve taken you there earlier.”
It felt like we’d already wandered around Worthington for hours today. I had no idea there was another section of the campus on top of all that. It honestly blew my mind how they managed to pack so much into such a small pocket of Foggy Bottom.
Michaela shrugged one shoulder. “I doubt any of your classes will be in the new buildings,” she said. “It’s mostly for sciences over there.”
“Including sports science, presumably?”
Tate nodded. “Yup. I have a friend studying physical therapy. He gets to do prac stuff with the Blades.” He paused and pointed ahead of us. “There it is.”
Even from across the street, the grandeur of the arena was impossible to ignore. It was huge and imposing, fashioned with sleek modern lines of glass and steel that embodied power and athleticism. Towering banners, emblazoned with the Blades’ red, black, and white team colors and logo fluttered in the wind, signaling the arena’s allegiance.
“Let’s go.” Tate grinned and motioned for us to cross the street after a car cruised past us. “Don’t worry about the tickets. They’re on my phone.”
I tucked my hands in my jacket pocket and took a deep breath as we stepped through the entrance to join the hordes of fans making their way to their seats. Excited energy thrummed throughout the arena as upbeat music pounded through the speakers, and several groups of fans unfurled banners to hold up once the game started. Every so often, someone set off an air horn, which would always be followed by a rousing cheer.
We located our seats in the ticket-holder section—Tate was right, they were good spots in the lower rows close to the rink—and settled in. I looked around, taking in the bright lights, enthusiastic fans, and pumping music. This place was nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be. In fact, I felt totally fine. Even a little excited.
A crowd of people in black and orange attire sat on the other side of the ice, holding matching banners and tassels. “Is that the other team?” I asked, nudging Tate. “Their supporters, I mean.”
“Yup. From Princeton.” He cocked his head and gave me a side-eyed glance. “I should’ve asked earlier. How much do you actually know about hockey?”
“Well, you’ve talked about it almost every day since we were kids, so let’s see…” I jokingly tapped the side of my head. “Somehow I’ve managed to retain zero information.”
He let out an amused snort. “Really? None of my obsessive ranting and raving got through?”
“Sorry.” I grinned. “You know I’ve never been sporty. I did try to listen, though! I swear.”
“I know. Just like I’ve always listened to your nutty fan theories about Supernatural.” He returned my smile and ruffled my hair. “Don’t worry, it’s easy to understand, so you can pick it up as they play. But I’ll give you one tip to enjoy it better.”
“Yeah?”
He dipped his chin toward the rink. “When it gets started, don’t always follow the puck. A lot of the action takes place away from it.”
“Uh… how so?”
He laughed and shook his head. “You’ll see.”
Michaela leaned over from the seat on my other side. “Hey, are you sure you’re okay with this?” she asked in a low voice.
I nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”
Uncertainty flickered in her eyes, but she didn’t say anything more on the matter.
The lights dimmed, and an announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers to introduce the Princeton Tigers. The fans in their section whooped and cheered, jumping out of their seats to wave their flags and banners as the Tigers streamed onto the ice.
“And now, for the home crowd… let’s welcome our team!” the announcer boomed. “The Worthington Blades!”
A door opened diagonally across from us. The Blades burst onto the ice, clad in black and white gear with red accents. They started doing loops on the rink, zooming around to tap on the plexiglass and raising their gloved hands in the air to acknowledge their fans. The crowd replied with shrieks and frantic waving, along with a few flashed boobs from some girls in nearby rows.
“Now we know why Tate loves these games so much,” Michaela murmured to me, raising a brow.
I stifled a giggle and leaned forward to get a better look at the team as they circled the ice. One of them seemed to be getting more attention from the crowd than the rest of the team. More attention from the female members of the crowd, to be specific. Girls screamed and giddily jumped up and down as he passed. Some even pretended to faint when he tapped his stick on the boards near them.
I craned my neck, trying to catch a proper glimpse of him. He had his helmet tucked under one arm, but he was angled away from our section, so I couldn’t see his face. Just dark floppy hair. I couldn’t make out the name emblazoned on his jersey, either. Only the number was big enough to read from where I was sitting. Number eleven.
He lifted his right hand to wave up at the student section in the arena. Then he rapidly spun around on the ice—a cocky show-off move to impress the boob-flashing girls, no doubt—and zipped around to our section.
I finally caught a glimpse of his handsome face as he turned to bang on the plexiglass right in front of us. His ocean-blue eyes focused right on me for several seconds, piercing in their intensity. My heart instantly dropped into my stomach.
It was Paxton Cole.
My high school boyfriend… and the man who tried to kill me.