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The game finished 2-1, and our fans went wild, cheering and whooping to congratulate us. I should’ve been happy that I’d turned my shitty first-period performance around to save the game in the end, but all I felt was a red ember of rage burning deep in my body. The same rage I’d felt all night, ever since I saw Sienna’s face behind that glass.
Justin trudged up behind me and clapped a hand on my back as we trudged off the ice. “Hey, you okay?”
I glanced at him. “Yeah. Why?”
He scratched the stubble on his jaw. “Honestly, you seemed a bit off in the first two periods. I was worried.”
“Guess I’m just having an off day,” I said.
I didn’t have off days. Anyone who knew me knew that.
Doubt flickered in Justin’s eyes, but he let it go. “All right, man. Keegan’s having people over for an afterparty. You coming?”
“Yeah,” I muttered, turning to look back at the ticket-holder’s section one last time, as if Sienna might magically appear there again. “I’d kill for a drink right about now.”
As I turned around again, a decision crystallized inside me, filling my heart with ice. I still had no idea what the hell Sienna Holland was doing here at Worthington, but I knew one thing for sure.
She wouldn’t be around for much longer.
Sienna
I sat on the library floor, staring blankly at a bookshelf as a flood of memories washed over me. The raw panic of those moments in the lake house remained fresh in my mind. First confusion, then shock, then pure fear.
My eyes glazed over as I replayed the scene again, each detail coming back to me with excruciating clarity. I could hear the echo of Paxton’s voice in my ears, his words like venom that burned a hole in my heart. I could smell him again too, that mix of spicy cologne and lingering bonfire smoke, filling my nostrils as his hands covered my face.
My own hands started to shake, and the panic engulfed me, squeezing my chest in a vise. The worst memory was coming back now. Me, lying on my stomach gasping for air and begging for mercy as the knife came down, over and over.
Five times. That was how many times the knife plunged into my back and slid out again. I still couldn’t believe I lived through it all. Two of the stab wounds had nicked major veins and one had pierced my left lung, leaving me gasping for air as I bled out, one hand clawing at the floorboards in a futile attempt to crawl away from the agonizing pain. Away from Paxton.
The staff at the hospital told me I was strong. A true survivor. I didn’t feel strong, though. Not since it happened. Certainly not now, while I was curled up under a desk shaking and crying like a child.
“Oh my god!” Michaela’s voice drifted over to me. “There you are!”
I raised my chin. Michaela and Tate were hurrying across the tiled floor, faces pinched with concern.
“We’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Tate said, crouching in front of me. “You weren’t answering your phone.”
“We ended up calling your dad and getting him to use the Find My Friend thing on his phone to track you down,” Michaela added in a breathless voice, sinking to the floor beside me.
“Sorry I ran out like that.” My voice was a ragged whisper. “I just… I needed some space.”
“It’s fine.” Michaela’s arm snaked around my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“No,” I choked out, wiping my face with my sleeve.
“Was it because of him?” Tate asked, brows furrowing. He didn’t need to say the name out loud. We all knew who he was talking about.
“Yes.” I sniffed back a fresh set of tears and nodded. “I know it was an overreaction. I just… I wasn’t expecting to see him there. And then he looked right at me, and I—”
“Excuse me!” A snide voice cut into our conversation from a table a few yards away. “This is a library, not a breakup therapy center. Can you have your little gossip session somewhere else?”
“Yup, sorry.” Tate gave the girl a brief wave. Then he extended a hand to help me up. “Come on. We’ll get you a hot drink somewhere, okay?”
We headed out of the library in somber silence. My fists clenched tightly at my sides as I walked, nails digging into my palms. Paxton’s cold stare in the arena was still flashing in my mind, driving me mad. I wanted to scream and lash out, kick out and destroy something, but instead I stared blankly ahead and followed my friends down the cobblestone path.
“There’s a coffee shop over there,” Tate said softly, patting me on the back as he dipped his chin toward the student services center. He was right—next to it lay a cute little café called Worthington Java Junction.
“They make a really nice chai latte here,” Michaela said as she steered me over to a booth a moment later. “I’ll get us some.”
