I tune it out.
But not fast enough.
Their voices blur together, and suddenly I’m not in this crowded living room anymore. I’m twelve, sitting on the bleachers behind my dad’s bench, listening to him break down the game with his assistants while Markus skates drills on the ice below.
Hockey was everything back then.
It was the language my family spoke. The thing we all shared, all understood, without needing to explain. Dad coached. Markus played. I practiced in the junior leagues and watched and learned about the higher levels. I dreamed about the day I’d be out there too.
And I was good.
I was really good.
I push off the wall and scan the room for Willow. She’s across the room, laughing at something someone’s saying, drink in hand. Katie has floated over beside her, phone out, probably documenting the chaos for posterity.
I don’t want to pull them away.
I don’t want to explain why my throat feels tight.
I catch Katie’s eye, point toward the door, and mouthsee you back at home. She nods, understanding without questions.
I slip through the crowd and out into the cold.
The porch is quiet. Frost glitters on the railing. The noise from inside fades to a dull thrum, muffled by walls and distance.
I pull my coat tighter and take a long breath.
Better.
I stand just outside the door and stare at the dark yard, letting my brain empty out for a minute. No hockey. Nomemories. Just frost and quiet and the slow return of normal breathing.
Then I realize I’m not alone.
Someone’s already here.
ZANE
The beer is definitely doing something to my brain.
Not in a bad way. Just… softening the edges. Making the noise inside the house feel farther away than it actually is. Making it easier to stand out here on the porch instead of working the room like I’m supposed to.
I don’t even know why I came tonight.
Calloway says it’s good for team morale to socialize, but he would also kill us if he knew we were drinking. Chen lasted forty-five minutes before disappearing.
Me?
I’ve been out here for ten minutes. Maybe twenty. Time moves weird when you’re half-drunk.
The door opens behind me.
I don’t turn around. I figure it’s someone else escaping the noise, same as me. We’ll do the nod, the awkward silence and then they’ll go back inside and leave me alone.
But whoever it is doesn’t move.
Just stands there, close enough that I feel the cold air shift.
I glance over my shoulder.
