Prologue
Kyle
Six Months Ago
The house is already shaking by the time we pull up. I only agreed to this because Ryan and Nate wouldn’t shut up about hitting one last college party for old times’ sake. The Oregon night air wraps around me the second I step out, damp and cold enough to slip through my jacket. The whole street is humming like it’s game day—cars jammed against the curb, headlights cutting through the dark, and a two-story rental that looks one bad weekend away from collapsing.
“Welcome to the jungle,” my buddy, Ryan, says, dragging his hand through his mop of curls as he climbs out of the car.
He’s taller than me by a couple of inches, broad-shouldered with a build that says he works out just enough to get away with eating like trash. He’s got stubble that looks intentional, when it isn’t, and a grin that convinces strangers he owns the place before he even walks through the door.
Behind him, Nate lugs a case of beer like he’sdelivering a newborn. He’s stockier than Ryan and always dresses like he’s waiting for a camera crew to film a sneaker commercial. “If someone spills something on my Jordans again, I’m leaving. You’re all on your own.”
“You say that every time,” I mutter, shutting the car door.
The porch is crowded with girls perched on the railing, their legs swinging in time with the music, shrieking every time someone stumbles up the steps. It has all the unmistakable signs of a college rager—loud, sloppy, and full of people who probably won’t remember any of it tomorrow.
We barely cross the threshold before someone screams “CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!” and the room explodes like the Cup just hit the ice. Ryan dives right in, weaving through bodies and tossing out greetings like he’s running for office. Nate follows, trying to look annoyed and failing.
A guy in a foam Duck mascot head barrels past, the crowd erupting around him. The music glitches, drops, then slams back twice as loud, the vibrations rattling through my chest. I already want out. Noise this thick always hits me wrong, like my brain is tuning into a hundred signals and none of them matter.
Parties have never been my thing. Too many bodies, too many voices, everything bright and blurry at the edges. On the ice, every sound has purpose. Here, it’s all static. I keep waiting for anything to anchor me.
Since coming back to Oregon for Cooper’s retirement, it’s all anyone talks about—the hometown herohanging up his skates and becoming the new Timberwolves coach. People keep asking me how I feel, like sharing a last name means I’ve got insight they don’t. Half the time, I’m not sure anyone really sees me.
Ryan leans close, shouting over the noise. “You’re too serious, Hendrix. Try living a little.”
“At least don’t stand there like someone’s disapproving dad,” Nate adds, tossing me a beer.
I crack it open, foam spilling over my fingers. The taste is terrible, sharp and sour, but it gives me something to do with my hands.
Ryan slings an arm around a girl with neon-pink braids—five minutes in, and he’s already found a lap to sit on. “Loosen up, man. You look like you’re scouting a penalty kill.”
“You’re wound tighter than a goalie’s laces. At leastpretendthe beer won’t kill you.” Nate mutters, but my mind is already drifting.
I’m always either too much or not enough, and I can’t tell which I’m screwing up tonight. Sarcasm is easier. People laugh, and no one looks close enough to see I’m barely holding the noise at bay. I tell myself that if I keep drinking, maybe I can fade into the crowd until Ryan finds someone to go home with, and Nate decides he’s had enough. Then I can disappear without anyone noticing. I keep wishing for something to ground me and cut through all this static, and then her laugh cuts through everything. It slides under my skin before I can brace for it, sharp and warm at the same time. A sound I feel more than hear,like my whole body recognizes it before my brain catches up.
Not polite or practiced, just bright and unguarded. It finds me like it’s tuned to a frequency only I can hear. I don’t realize I’m turning until I’m staring across the room, and that’s where I see her standing with a group of girls. They all look like they’re in their mid-twenties, dressed as if they raided Forever 21 in a panic before the party. She’s wearing a simple black dress and has golden-warm skin with curls tumbling around her shoulders in wild, soft coils. She shouldn’t stand out in a room like this, but she does. Effortlessly. Like the air bends a little around her just to make space. The whole room is glitter and loud colors, but she pulls my focus without even trying.
She laughs again, and it lands like a blindside check I never saw coming. My chest tightens. I hate how fast it happens, like some stupid part of me has been waiting for that sound without even knowing it. This isn’t me simply noticing a pretty girl. The ice is cracking under my feet, and my instincts are screaming that something irreversible just happened. Every cell in my body is attuned to her, as if something wired me to recognize her. All I can think is that I’ve just found the person who is going to tear me apart in ways I didn’t even know I could break. It’s ridiculous how badly I want to keep looking. How something in me leans toward her like I’m already bracing for the loss of not knowing her.
“You’re staring, bro,” Nate says, nudging me.
“Am not,” I mutter, taking another drink.
“Damn. She’s out of your league, Hendrix.” Ryan whistles. “She has a five-year plan and a perfect credit score. The only thing you’ve got is hockey hair and a half-empty wallet.”
Ryan’s talking tome, but Nate never lets chirps go unanswered. Especially when Ryan’s the one throwing them. Those two can’t resist poking at each other.
“Better than your face,” Nate fires back.
They’re bickering again, but the sound fades. Her laugh threads through the chaos, pulling me toward it like gravity. My palms go damp, and the room tilts as she blurs with the crowd, then reappears, and every nerve inside me snaps awake. I tell myself it’s nothing, just attraction, but that’s a lie. Attraction doesn’t feel like gravity shifting under your feet.
There are moments that brand themselves into you while they’re happening. Rare, brutal, and permanent. This is one of them. I’ve been to a hundred parties like this, and I’ll forget ninety-nine of them. But not this one. This one marks the moment my heart stopped being mine and decided, without permission, to be hers. I try to shake it off, but it clings—this pull toward a stranger who shouldn’t mean anything yet feels like she already does. All I can do is stare into the chaos like it holds the answer to why this stranger feels inevitable.
“Oh, Hendrix. You’re a goner.” Nate shakes his head, eyeing me with sympathy.
“I don’t even know her,” I mutter, draining half the beer just to stop my mouth from running.
