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Anger.
Loathing.
Confusion.
Hurt.
And underneath it all, the worst fucking feeling in the world:hope.
1
MELODY
“Aplayer is staring at you.”
I jerk out of my daydream and glance at Thomas. He’s been steadily working through his popcorn for the last fifteen minutes while I fidget. With my water, with my brand-new glasses. I don’t like how they sit on my nose.
I follow his gesture across the rink, where a player seems to beglaringin our direction. Not staring, as Thomas put it. His gaze on my face is hot enough to burn. And indeed, a slow flush creeps up my neck. It’s hot, and I try to battle down the urge to press my knuckles to my heated cheeks.
“Why is he looking at us?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Thomas replies.
Thomas, never Tom. He’s my cousin on my dad’s side and ten years my senior, which puts him at forty-four years old. On his other side are two of his colleagues. He’s a doctor, with doctor friends. He’s got a wife at home.
I came with him to New York City because… well, he said I used to live here. I went to school here. That, and his wife had enough on her plate without babysitting me while he ran off to a conference. He thought walking through the city, going past my old apartment and college, might help.
Except a miscommunication kept us from looking at where I used to live, and the college campus felt sterile.
“Maybe I should talk to him. After the game. He’s looking right at us. Me.” I pause. “Do people do that? Talk to the players?”
He shrugs, glancing at me. “I don’t know, Mel. He doesn’t seem particularly happy. It might not be a good idea.”
I contemplate that. He’s still staring. The game hasn’t started yet. There are players warming up on the ice, although most are heading off. He’s standing just inside the doorway that leads back to wherever they go.
“Strong emotion is good, isn’t it? Maybe it’ll provoke my own, uh, strong response.”
The doctor on his other side snorts. “Let us know how that goes, darling.”
My body flashes cold all at once, like I’ve been dunked in ice. My water bottle slips out of my hand, hitting the floor and rolling away.
“Mel?”
I rub my arms. They’re covered in goosebumps. But Thomas is watching me like he has no idea what’s wrong, and I can’t really say I know any more than him. His brows are raised, his expression bewildered.
“Sorry, I, uh… I don’t know.”
He makes a noise in the back of his throat. Not quite believing me.
I don’t believe me.
Some things make me break out into a cold sweat, and I can’t pinpoint it. I run through what my cousin’s colleague said.Let us know how that goes. No, there’s no soul-shifting terror there.Darling. I shudder, bile rising up my throat.
What’s wrong with that word?
Who called me that to make me hate it so much?
My throat is suddenly dry and scratchy.
