Elijah studies me for a beat, then finally nods back. He glances over at Coach Hopper, then returns his gaze to me. "Alright. Go. Do what you gotta do. But you come back in an hour, and when you do—your head better be all on the game. Got it?"
"Got it."
Elijah smirks faintly, clapping a hand to my shoulder. "Good. I'll cover you from Hopper. Now move before I change my mind."
I don't waste another second. I bolt for the locker room, the clang of my skates on concrete echoing down the tunnel. My gear comes off in record time—pads, jersey, everything hitting the floor in a heap.
I yank on jeans, hoodie, cap, hands shaking like I just slammed three Red Bulls back-to-back.
No one stops me. Good. I don't think I could explain myself if they did.
Minutes later I'm in my car, the engine roaring louder than it needs to. My grip on the wheel is white-knuckle tight, pulse hammering in my throat the whole drive.
Caroline's dorm looms in my mind like a finish line I'm not ready for. It's already past ten—she could be in class, could be anywhere. But I have to try there first.
Because if I don't? If I waste more time? This knot in my chest is never gonna loosen, and I'll be useless tonight.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ZACH
Iknock once. Twice. Nothing.
"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, jaw tightening.
Did she already leave for class? I should've called Sam first, or at least texted before sprinting out of the rink like a fugitive. But I was too busy sneaking out before Coach Hopper noticed.
The dorm hallway is alive with traffic — girls shuffling past in slippers, others heading out with backpacks slung over one shoulder.
A group of them glance my way, all giggles and whispers the second they clock me. My jersey doesn't help. Meant to change into my Ridgewater sweatshirt, but in my rush I yanked my practice jersey back on instead.
"Hey, Zach," one of them sing-songs, batting her lashes.
Another pipes up, "Good luck tonight! Score one for us!" A couple more shoot me those knowing looks — half flirty, half like they're already picturing me shirtless on the ice.
I smile back, robotic. A nod here, a quiet "Thanks" there, the same auto-pilot response for all of them. But my brain? Nowhere near here.
I knock again, harder this time. "Caroline, are you in there?"
Silence.
"Please open the door. I just need to talk to you." My knuckles rap the wood again, hope draining with each unanswered hit.
I check my phone. Nothing from Sam. Just the old text I sent a few minutes ago asking where she was, asking for Caroline's new number.
The screen glares 10:28 back at me. I've been standing here for ten minutes like a desperate idiot.
I curse under my breath. I should've cut my losses and headed to the Drama building already, started scouring classrooms one by one.
I'm about to turn away when the knob twists. Relief hits me in the gut like a cold splash, but it drains just as fast when it's not Caroline who opens the door.
It's my sister.
Hair sticking up every which way, eyes half-shut, yawning so big it makes my jaw ache just looking at her. "Za... Zachy?"
"Hey, angel." I don't wait for an invite — just shoulder past into the dorm. "Is Caroline here?"
She rubs her eyes, shutting the door behind me with a sleepy grunt. "No... she left like two hours ago. She's at the rehearsal studio in the Drama building."
