My arm comes up to cover my sports bra - as if that would conceal anything. As if it isn’t way too late.
I watch it happen. The confusion first. Then the processing. Then the pieces starting to click together in his head. The too-small frame. The separate locker room. And how he could never quite figure me out.
The girl from Halloween.
Nora.
“No,” he says quietly.
“I’m okay,” I say. My voice sounds odd. Weak.
He doesn’t move.
Tara steps between us. “She needs space. You need to leave.”
She. The word hangs in the air.
“No,” he repeats.
We won.
But I think I might have just lost everything else.
ZANE
I don’t remember skating off the ice.
I don’t remember the final buzzer, or the handshake line, or Mercer yelling something about the win. I don’t remember walking through the tunnel or down the concrete corridor or stopping in front of the medical room door.
I just… arrive.
My gear is still on. My skates are still on. My helmet is under my arm and I’m breathing hard and I don’t know why I’m here except that I had to know.
Had to see him.
Had to make sure he’s okay.
And then I seeher.
“I need a minute,” I tell Tara. “Alone.”
Tara doesn’t move. Her eyes cut to the girl on the table.
“Leonora?” she asks, seeking permission.
The girl - Leonora - nods. Just once. Small.
Tara hesitates for half a second. Then she crosses to the door, brushes past me, and pulls it shut behind her.
We’re alone.
Just me and her and the bright lights and the blood drying on her skin.
I look at her.
Really look at her.
The blonde hair from Halloween is matted with sweat and blood. But the face is the same. The eyes are the same. The mouth that kissed me in the dark is the same.
