Mom went back home and the Frost went back on the road. I was alone again—just Aspen and, occasionally, Hana to keep me company.
I was doomscrolling in Derek’s bed when an unknown call came in from a 416 area code. Toronto.
I’d changed my number when I moved to Chicago, so seeing that area code made my stomach dip. I normally ignored unknown calls. Telemarketer, scam, wrong number.
But something made me swipe anyway.
“Hello?”
“Théo.” The voice was unmistakable. “It’s Coach Renaud.”
The air left my lungs.
I sat back against the headboard as the room tilted a fraction. I hadn’t heard from him since rehab. No call. No message. Not even the thin performance of concern.
My mom had fired him as my coach once she found out everything—the pressure, the impossible standards, the way he’d turned a blind eye to what was happening between me and Nico while simultaneously making it impossible for us to exist openly. It wasn’t entirely his fault, what had happened to me. But hearing his voice still made my spine go rigid.
“Coach Renaud,” I said, forcing neutrality. “What a surprise.”
“I assure you, this isn’t a call I wanted to make.” Cold. Perfunctory. “But the nature of this call is deeply personal and I trust you can be discreet.”
“Uh, yeah. Sure.”
A pause—just long enough to let dread bloom.
“It’s about Nicolas,” he said. “He’s in hospital.”
The word hit like a punch. “What—why? Is he okay?”
“No.” Renaud’s voice stayed clinical, the way he spoke to skaters who hadn’t made the cut. “He attempted to harm himself. Pills.”
I couldn’t breathe for a second. “Fuck. Is he—did they—”
“He survived. He’s stable. Physically.”
I gripped the phone tighter. “Why are you calling me?”
“Because Nicolas asked.” Renaud’s tone shifted, almost reluctant—as if this part inconvenienced him. “He wants to see you.”
I swallowed. “When?”
“Visitors are restricted,” he said. “Technically family only. But I can make arrangements for you to see him. I’ll text you the address.”
My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my teeth. “I need to book a flight but I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“And Théo,” he added, voice mild in a way that set off every alarm in my body, “this is not about you.”
I went still.
“You and Nicolas have…history,” he continued, the word edged with disdain he tried—and failed—to hide. “Whatever your interpretation of it, he is fragile right now. The last thing he needs is emotional volatility.”
“I never meant to hurt him,” I said. My voice sounded small.
“Intentions don’t change outcomes,” Renaud said, as if he were delivering a training note. “His mother—my sister—blames you, in part. The way you ended things. The way you left.”
The way I left to survive, I thought.The way I ran because staying would have killed me.
I shut my eyes. Breathed deeply the way I had learned in rehab. In. Out.
