Prologue
Gwen
I am not supposed to be nervous.
This matters because if I’m nervous, it means something feels wrong, and when something feels wrong, something usually goes wrong. I don’t get nervous about things like this. I get annoyed. I get sarcastic. I get prepared. Nervous is reserved for dentist appointments and conversations that start with, “We need to talk.”
This is a charity ice hockey event. An event my stupid colleague, Leo, made me sign up for because my big mouth thought I could beat him at his stupid dare.
There’s music playing in the stadium. Fairy lights are strung along the rink. A banner reads “Grizzlies x Blades” in looping red script, which is frankly doing a lot of heavy lifting for an organization that has decided to involve ice. There are people. It feels like thousands and thousands of people. Tess said I should picture them naked, but I look around, and I’m not sure I want to.
I am here to prove that I do not back down from a dare. That’s it. That’s the whole point. Besides, there’s no way my name gets picked from the bowl. No way. I’m not here to skate. I’m not here to fall. Nothing will happen.
“I can tell you’re spiraling,” Tess says, bumping her shoulder against mine. “Your eyebrows do that thing.”
I look at her.
My best friend. My boss. The girlfriend of my new enemy.
Leo stands beside her, a man who smiles like he knows something I don’t and is enjoying the wait.
“My eyebrows do not do a thing,” I say.
“They absolutely do,” Leo replies. “They knit. Like little anxious caterpillars.”
I blink. Slowly.
“Why are you looking at me like that? And since when are you an ice hockey fan?” I ask.
Leo is wearing a hoodie with the Grizzlies logo, his hands in his pockets, his posture loose and relaxed. He looks perfectly at home here, which is unfair. He looks like someone who belongs in a place where people skate effortlessly, cheer loudly, and don’t worry about how their thighs look in borrowed thermal leggings.
“I have always been a fan,” Leo shrugs. “And I’m utterly happy you came,” he adds innocently.
If Tess could have physical heart eyes, this would be the moment.
The rink is buzzing with energy. People crowd around the boards, laughing, taking pictures, clutching hot chocolate like it’s a personality trait. Players are already on the ice, gliding in lazy, practiced arcs that make it look like gravity is optional. It feels strangely elegant for a sport like ice hockey.
I tuck my hands into my coat sleeves and scan the crowd, trying to calm the low hum under my skin.
“You’re being weird,” I tell Leo as he hums beside me. Leo never hums.
“I’m always weird, according to you, at least,” he shrugs.
“No,” I say. “You’re being extra weird.”
He grins. “I don’t know what you mean.”
I narrow my eyes.
Earlier this week, I made a decision. A tiny one. A stupid one. The kind of decision you make when you’re trying to prove something to yourself and not think too hard about the consequences.
I put my name in the bowl. The raffle bowl. I could’ve said no. I could’ve been petty and called off the dare, but here we are.
I did it because I was tired of being the person who always said no. I did it because I told myself I could leave before it happened. I did it because I am, apparently, delusional. I did it because there’s no way my name will get pulled.
“I put my name in the bowl,” I sigh now, watching Leo carefully.
He doesn’t react. At all. Just a nod like this is information he’s already filed away. Interesting. And definitely suspicious.
