“You’re embarrassing me,” Andrew whispers, yanking me toward him.
Then there’s a loud bang on the glass in front of us.
Andrew jumps and drops his hands, blinking up at the menacing dark gaze staring back at him.
“Get your hands off her,” Chance shouts through the glass.
Stephen crashes into Chance as he skids to a stop beside him. His crystal-blue eyes bore into mine as if he’s looking at a ghost.
I suppose he is. I’m a ghost from his past.
“Presley,” he mouths, fogging up the plexiglass.
My gaze bounces between him and Chance, and my heart leaps into my throat with the weight of both of their stares on me. Time stands still, the loud arena fading away into the background as my vision blocks out everything around us.
I swallow past the dryness in my throat, and muster a feeble shrug.
Hey, fellas. Long time no see.
Dominique’s grasp on my forearm pulls me out of the fog, and the boys are yanked back into the game by each of their teammates so the game can continue.
“What the hell wasthat?” Dominique asks.
“I...I don’t know.” I shake off the shock, and shoot a glare in Andrew’s direction. “No means no, asshole.” Then I whip around to Jeff. “Will you switch seats with me?”
“Of course.” Jeff rises from his seat, and I move to the seat farthest from nonconsensual-Andrew.
Dominique watches me as I bury my nose in my phone, pretending to check to see if the kids messaged me. “Two professional hockey players just slammed against the glass torescue you from the KissCam, and one of them knew your name. So, again I ask: What the hell was that?”
“Can we talk about this later?” I whisper, eyes darting around to see if anyone is still staring at me. “I’m about two seconds away from bolting out of here and dying in the parking lot from embarrassment.”
My cheeks burn at the thought of a student or their parents witnessing me get face-raped on TV.
“We will most definitely be talking about this later,” she whispers back.
But I can’t focus on the rest of the game. I blink as if it’ll clear my vision, as if it’ll wipe the image of them staring back at me from my mind.
They saw me.
They remembered me.
My heart surges with foolish hope, for what, I have no idea. A lot can happen in four years—a lotdidhappen to me in four years—and I guess I always assumed they didn’t spare me a second thought once I left them. Especially afterthe wayI left.
After the game ends, we slowly shuffle our way through the crowd. Drunk fans cheer and get rowdy as they funnel into the parking lot, but it all sounds like muffled chatter to me. It feels like I’m underwater, submerged in my memories.
Until I hear my name.
I spin around, and I’m faced with two painfully beautiful hockey players, looking like they’re fresh out of the shower with damp hair. Stephen is shirtless—because of course he is—wearing a pair of gray joggers, and Chance is dressed in all-black, always trying to hide inside his hoodie.
They’re like yin and yang, the light and the dark. And somehow, I fit between them for a little while, soaking up the best of both worlds.
“What are you...where have you...” Stephen shakes his head. “You’re here.”
My hands shake as I tuck them into the pockets of my coat. “Hi.”
Chance folds his arms over his chest, his hardened expression giving off his usual I-couldn’t-care-less vibes, yet he’s here, standing in front of me instead of in his locker room.
Stephen inches forward. “It’s so good to see you, Presley.”
