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Chapter 16

Lily

“Grades report?”

I shake my head. “I don’t have any yet. It’s only been two weeks.”

We’re in my dad’s office before his morning skate. My eyes are barely open, but my coffee is untouched on the desk in front of me. I want to curl up in the chair while he finishes answering emails, maybe get a few more minutes of sleep, but I know if I even fidget, he’ll give me that look that means I’ve done something wrong.

“And roommate situation?” he asks, barely looking away from his computer screen.

Stomach souring, I pick at a scraggle in my tights. “I’m going to be late for my early class.”

His head raises, scanning over the paper I know holds my schedule. “It’s an art class. This is more important.” Eyes meeting mine, he furrows his brow. “Unless you don’t think this is important.”

There’s no right way out of this argument. If I press that art is important and that I don’t want to miss my class, I’m being selfish and giving him a reason to take away art. If I agree that this is more important, he’ll drag this out so I intentionally miss one of the only classes I’m excited for.

“I have two interviews this week.”

The lie slips too easily from my lips, but it’s more self-preservation at this point than anything else.

My father clears his throat. “All right then. Good. I expect someone moved in by next week then. That should be doable, right, Lillian?”

There’s a knock on the door before I can respond, and a man I recognize pokes his head in. Coach Harris, the head coach at Waterfell, which makes him my dad’s boss. But more importantly, I remember him as someone who checked on Toren.

Which makes me apprehensively interested in him.

“Sorry, Christopher, I can come back,” he says, before smiling kindly at me. “Hey there.”

“Hi,” I offer.

My dad gestures to me. “Harris, this is my daughter, Lillian.”

Harris’s eyes brighten then, and he nods almost conspiratorially at me. It makes my skin itch like hives.

“We were just finishing up,” my dad says, pushing back his chair and standing. I mimic his movements, standing with my hands clasped in front of me. “She’s got a class to hurry to anyway.”

I take the out, grabbing my messenger bag and heading around Harris, out of the door with a quick, polite “Goodbye” to both of them.

My heels echo in the hallway as I almost run toward the door, checking my phone again for the time. If I hustle, I can make it.

The locker room door swings open, someone—a hockey player by the size of him—nearly steps into my path. He grabs my arms to keep me upright, and I try to jolt backward but I’m immobile in his grip.

“Easy there,” he says with a laugh. I don’t recognize him; he has a scruffy almost-beard that looks unkempt and is wearing a Bruins hat. “You okay?”

“Fine, thank you,” I mutter.

He says something else then, but I barely hear him. The noise from inside is too overwhelming, and I can hear every scrape through my hearing aid. It wouldn’t matter if my ears worked perfectly, I wouldn’t have heard him anyway—my eyes too focused on the scene inside the open door.

Most of the team is already dressed, preparing to head to their first classes I’d bet—but there’s one alone in the corner cubby. A shirtless Toren Kane with a white towel wrapped around his waist, quietly unfolding his clothes.

Unlike the banter that seems to flow easily between the rest of the team, no one speaks to Toren. No one looks at him, barely even acknowledges him there.

My chest aches as I watch his eyes flit around the room. For a moment, the scene shifts and I can remember a younger Toren Kane after a hard-fought win, his eyes glancing around the rink as the rest of his teammates found their family members. My dad had expressly told me to stay by his side, but I couldn’t help it. Toren needed me. I’d sprinted to him to shout, probably too loudly, how proud I was for him winning, even knowing it was a team my dad coached that he’d beaten.

But I can’t do that now. And the realization makes my entire body heavy. I can’t go to him—I doubt he’d want me to if I did—but worse? I didn’t think this was his life anymore.

I’d always assumed he’d found better. A better team and a coach who cared. A group of friends, maybe.