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There’s a bloated silence, before I look back at her and realize she’s still staring, arms crossed, tapping her foot like a bunny. Her eyebrow raises and I start to nervously scratch at my scalp.

What does that mean? Is she asking me something?

Did I miss something else she said?

Is she waiting for more information? What kind? Is there a usual way to describe parental relationships I don’t know? Is she mad that I didn’t tell her? I didn’t even know she worked for the team originally.

I wish she’d just say it with words and not subject me to all this guessing.

“He’s an assistant coach for defensemen.”

Her flat expression only leaves me with more uncertain answer pathways. Nervously shifting on my feet, I shrug.

“It’s why I’m here. He got the job and said I could finish school here, at Waterfell. It’s . . . yeah. He’s coached my whole life. And sometimes he’s an agent, I think? Or he’s got a lot of sports agent friends or something.” I’m still not sure about all that or the specifics, so I don’t clarify. Toren would probably know, but I think it’s probably weird for me to bring him over to ask him.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Paloma reaches out and squeezes my shoulder with a smile. “No worries. I’m just glad there’s another girl around.”

I frown. “There’re three administrative females, I think.”

“I mean, one I like. Someone who’s my friend.”

A warm feeling glows in my chest.

“Where are you running?”

“It’s too icy out, so my dad said I could use the treadmills here instead of over at the university gym. They have the fancy ones. And we’re having dinner after, so—”

The door behind us opens and out walks the big goalie, Bennett Reiner. I barely recognize him without all his padding and equipment, but from the way my friend freezes, like she’s been struck by lightning, I know who it is.

“Hey, P.”

She smiles softly, her body almost glowing beneath his gentle attention. “Hey, Bennett.”

They speak for a moment, and I pretend to stretch and turn away from them so I don’t look nosy and rude. A few more players empty out of the locker room, including the one I can’t seem to keep my brain or body away from.

I clear my throat, trying to make my voice sweet like my roommate did.

“Hey, Toren.”

Toren looks over his shoulder, his eyes bright. He’s so beautiful, tall, dressed in black joggers, white sneakers, and a navy Dri-FIT with a check mark on the chest pocket. He’s perfect in the same way he’s always been. Even if I’ll never tell him that again, it’s true.

He’ll always be my favorite piece of art.

“Little LaBlanc.” His voice has a deeper bite to it.

I flinch.

Paloma snaps at him, jerking my arm a little to scoot me behind her. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Toren steps closer so I can feel the vibrant flame of his stare. His mouth is soft, but his jaw is tight. He’s aware of our audience, more than I have been. His eyes dart to the side, grazing the walls like my father will appear out of thin air.

Before he can say anything, Holden slams into his side.

He’d apologized to me at our very next class together after my blowup at him, while I’d been frozen in the door trying to decide if I should sit in my usual spot or move—even though I didn’t want to. Instead, Holden had folded me into an unannounced hug that made every anxiety melt away.

“Hey, pretty girl.” Holden smiles at me now, then looks at Paloma with a wink. “Pretty girl, times two? I’m a lucky boy.”