“It’s my friend,” I whisper, panic clawing at my throat. I look around the room, at Raiden half-dressed on my bed, at my jumper on the floor. It’s a disaster.
I snatch my jumper and pull it on. “Okay,” I say, my voice a frantic whisper. “Okay, listen. I’ll go out into the hall. I’ll tell her I fell asleep, I’ll distract her and walk with her down theotherhall, toward the common area. That will give you time. Just grab your stuff and get out. Quickly.”
I look at Raiden. He hasn’t moved.
He’s just sitting up on the edge of the bed, watching me with a dark, unblinking gaze that makes my stomach swoop. His expression is closed off, impossible to read. The wild, vulnerable man from moments ago is gone, replaced by this stone-faced stranger.
The knocking comes again, more insistent this time. “Artie, come on, I know you’re in there, I can hear you talking!”
“Shit,” I breathe. I have to go. But I can’t leave him like this. “I’m sorry,” I say, moving toward him. “We agreed to meet, I can’t blow her off completely. I’ll call you, okay? Do you… do you want me to call you?” I finish uncertainly.
The silence stretching between us feels heavy, charged with something I don’t understand.
Instead of answering, he just keeps staring at me with those intense, shadowed eyes. I make a split-second decision. I lean in to give him a quick, placating kiss on the lips.
The second our mouths touch, his hands come up to cup my face, holding me fast. He pulls me into a deep, bruising kiss that steals my breath and leaves me dizzy.
He pulls away abruptly. “Okay,” he says, his voice flat.
His abruptness is jarring, hiding something I don’t have time to analyze. I just nod, turn, and wrench open my door.
Twenty minutes later, after a masterclass in deflection and promising Karolina I’d buy her coffee for a week, I finally get back to my room.
I close the door, lean against it, and let out a laugh that sounds suspiciously like a sob. The sheer whiplash of the last hour is staggering.
I was going to call Raiden, as promised, to apologize, to try and explain.
I flop down on my bed, the lingering scent of him on my sheets rising to meet me, and pull out my phone. My thumb hovers over the screen.
And then I remember.
I don’t have his fucking number.
Frustration mixes with a helpless sort of hope. I guess I’ll have to find him tomorrow morning? First thing. The thought sends a thrill through me. I’ll go to the arena. I’ll wait for him after practice. We need to talk. We need to figure out what this… whatweare.
I finally fall into a restless sleep, my dreams filled with the phantom touch of calloused hands and the image of piercing blue eyes.
The shrill ring of my phone jolts me from sleep. I grope for it on my nightstand, my eyes bleary. The caller ID says ‘Ashford Sec’. My heart lurches. It’s barely dawn.
“Hello?” I answer, my voice thick with sleep.
“Artie Patton?” The voice is familiar. Frank, the night guard. But his usual warmth is gone, replaced by a tense urgency.
“Yeah, Frank? What’s wrong?”
“Son, you need to get down here,” he says, his voice strained. “To the old common room. There was a fire.” My stomach plummets. “Don’t panic,” he adds quickly. “It’s out. The sprinkler system kicked in right away, thank God. It’s been extinguished. But you should probably check the damage.”
10
Chapter 10
The words “there was a fire” echo in my head all the way across the frosted quad.
I’m not running, but it feels like I am, my feet crunching on the icy grass, each step a jarring impact that travels up my spine.
My mind is a frantic slideshow of worst-case scenarios: the whole common room gutted, the rink melted, all our work, my one chance at a good Christmas, turned to ash.
When I get there, the door is propped open.
