"Like hell..."
"Luca." I met his eyes, letting him see every ounce of fear and determination I had. "Please."
Something in my expression must have reached him because he stopped, his hands curling into fists at his sides. His jaw worked like he was physically fighting himself.
Finally, he stepped back.
"This isn't over," he said quietly.
"I know."
He held my gaze for another long moment, then turned and walked back toward the training rink. I watched him go, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The second he was out of sight, my knees gave out.
I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor, my camera bag forgotten beside me. My hands were shaking. My suppressants were still failing, my scent leaking out in waves I couldn't control.
This had been a shit show just like I’d been afraid of.
An impossible fucking shit show.
And somehow, I had to fucking survive it just like I always did.
3
LUCA VALE
The eeiry silence of my apartment clawed at my skin like a cat that had been caged for too long.
I stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of my high-rise, staring out at the city that loved and revered me like a god. My practice gear was in a heap by the door where I'd dropped it. I should have showered and eaten something. Should have done literally anything other than stand here replaying the last four hours on a loop.
Reina.
Twelve years and her name still tasted like a prayer dripping from my lips as if it were warmed honey.
I turned away from the window, my eyes landing on the bookshelf in the corner. Most of it was filled with hockey memorabilia, trophies and game pucks and photos from championship wins. But there was one frame I kept separate from the rest, tucked back where most people wouldn't notice it.
I walked over and picked it up.
Three kids stared back at me from the photograph, grinning at the camera with missing teeth and grass-stained knees. Fourth grade, maybe fifth? Reina was in the middle, her blondehair in two puffy buns on either side of her head, wearing a dress that was already dirty from playing. Jaxon was on her left, one arm slung over her shoulders, his smile wild and carefree. And I was on her right, standing a little straighter, already trying to be the responsible one even then.
We'd made a pact that day. Sealed it with juice boxes and pinky promises.
Friends forever.
The memory hit me like a punch to the chest.
"We're gonna be best friends forever," Reina had said, her voice serious in that way only nine-year-olds could manage. "Right?"
"Forever," Jaxon had agreed immediately. "We'll never leave each other."
I'd nodded, solemn and certain. "Forever."
Forever had lasted until she was fifteen.
I set the frame down harder than I meant to, the sound sharp in the quiet apartment. My jaw was tight, my fists clenched. The rational part of my brain knew I should let it go. She'd had her reasons for leaving. The incident had been traumatic for everyone involved.
But the part of me that had spent twelve years wondering if she was alive, if she was safe, if she ever thought about us, that part wanted to put my fist through the wall.
