Shouldn't want to know.
But I did.
My jaw clenched hard enough to ache. Every instinct I possessed screamed at me to do something—say something, fix whatever put that look in her eyes.
Instead, I forced my shoulders to loosen. My expression to flatten into something neutral and unthreatening.
I turned toward the door before she could say anything. Before I could change my mind. Before I could do something stupid like promise her safety I had no business promising.
The cold air outside hit, but it didn't clear my head the way I needed it to.
This is a problem.
I walked faster, cutting through the main concourse toward the staff entrance. Coffee burned against my palm through the cup, but I didn't loosen my grip.
The coach's locker room sat at the end of a quiet hallway—gray walls, fluorescent lighting, the smell of old leather and disinfectant. I shouldered through the door and let it swing shut behind me with a muted thud.
Silence wrapped around me like a blanket.
Good.
I set the coffee on the bench and yanked my jacket off, movements sharper than necessary. Hung it in my locker. Stared at the empty space for three seconds too long.
Get it together.
I stripped off my hoodie and reached for my practice gear, forcing my mind toward tonight's game plan. Boston's power play. Their new defensive pairings. Breakout patterns we needed to shut down.
But Olivia's face kept sliding back into focus—those dark circles, that brittle smile, the way she'd watched the door like something might burst through it any second.
Not your business.
I laced my skates tighter than necessary and tried to believe it.
Chapter 9
Olivia
The alarm dragged me from something that couldn't quite be called sleep—more like restless half-consciousness punctuated by every creak the building made. I slapped at my phone until the noise stopped, then lay there staring at the ceiling.
One PM. Game day.
My stomach twisted.
I forced myself upright and reached for my phone before my feet hit the floor. Unlocked it. Checked messages.
Nothing.
No texts from unknown numbers. No missed calls. No voicemails waiting with threats or demands or that voice I'd spent years trying to forget.
The relief came small and cautious—fragile as glass.
I sighed, glad I allowed myself a nap, especially after getting no sleep last night.
I scrolled through again just to be sure. Email. Social media. Every app that could possibly deliver bad news.
Empty.
Maybe he hasn't found me yet.
