"What kind of proposition?"
"Not one I can actually refuse, apparently." Kentaro's mouth twists, dark and bitter.
"He said if I don't get on a plane after graduation, he's cutting my sister off. No more tuition, no more Paris, and he's pulling the plug on Mom's treatments. Just... boom. Like we're all pawns on his fucking chessboard."
"Jesus."
"Yeah. Real nice guy, huh? The perfect father. He knows exactly how to twist the knife."
My chest tightens. I bitch about Caroline not texting me back, and this guy's over here trying to keep his family from falling apart. No wonder he looked like a storm cloud all practice - he's basically skating with the weight of the world on his shoulders.
I thump my glove against his shoulder pad, solid. "I'm sorry, man. That... really fucking sucks."
Kentaro just shrugs, scowl still carved into his face. "Yeah. Guess I better get used to it. It's not like this is the first time he's pulled this shit."
He swings a leg over the boards and steps onto the bench, already done with the conversation. And honestly? I don't blame him. Some shit's too heavy to unload twice in one day.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CAROLINE
The steam from my shower still clings to the mirror, fogging up the edges as I wrap my towel tighter around me. God, I love this dorm. Having an ensuite bathroom feels like a luxury at Ridgewater — one I refuse to take for granted.
I've heard the horror stories about the first three floors. Communal bathrooms. Fighting for mirror space, dodging wet towels on the floor, finding other girls' hair in the drain.
No, thanks.
Floors four and five are where it's at — private bathrooms, hot showers on demand, no one banging on the door telling you to hurry up.
I step out of the bathroom, still warm from the shower, and crouch to pull my weighing scale out from under the bed. It's part of my routine — once a week, every week. I don't obsess about it, but I like to know where I stand.
I step on and watch the numbers blink to life:129.4 lbs.Perfect.
A little smile tugs at my lips.
This — this right here — is why I eat clean and drag myself to the gym even when I'd rather be binging Netflix with a pint of Ben & Jerry's. It's why I pass on late-night pizza with the girls and plan my meals like it's a full-time job.
It's not always easy, but moments like this make every early-morning run worth it.
I step off the scale and slide it back into its spot, feeling lighter — literally and figuratively.
Today's got that weird Florida chill in the air — yeah, you heard me right. Florida. Chilly. Shocking, I know.
It's been raining for days, the wind's been rude enough to turn every walk across campus into a hair-whipping battle, and somehow the air still feels damp no matter how many layers you wear.
But honestly? I kind of love it. Days like this are rare, which means I finally get to play dress-up without sweating through my clothes by noon.
I pull on my outfit for the day: a cream knit sweater, soft and a little oversized, tucked just enough into the waistband of a black A-line skirt. Black tights slide over my legs, smooth and snug, and my favorite pair of tall heeled boots finish the look.
When I check the mirror, my lips tug into a slow, satisfied curve.
God, I love dressing up now. Clothes actually fit me — like fit-fit me.
No more crying in fitting rooms under those soul-crushing fluorescent lights. No more wrestling myself into jeans two sizes too small and pretending it's fine while slowly losing circulation.
I do a little twirl, my skirt flaring out just enough to make me laugh at my own reflection.
I then grab my phone off the desk before reaching for my bag, the screen lighting up with three unread messages.
