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I nodded and stared down at the table as I waited for her to return. I could feel Tate’s worried gaze on me, but I still couldn’t speak properly. Not when my chest felt so constricted. It was like my memories were made of heavy stone, dragging me under the cold, merciless waves of my own anguish until it filled my lungs and choked me.
Michaela returned with a tray and three steaming mugs. I took a sip and swallowed before inhaling and exhaling deeply. In for four, hold for six, out for eight. I kept going with the calming breathing technique one of the Harmony Haven counselors had taught me until I felt like I could speak again. Then I glanced up at my friends.
“Why didn’t you tell me Paxton played here?” I asked in a small voice.
Tate looked confused. “I thought you knew. That’s why I kept asking if you were okay with going to the game tonight.”
“Same here,” Michaela added.
I shook my head. “Why would I know that?”
The two of them exchanged glances.
“Well, I just assumed you were keeping tabs on the Forrester Five, the same way we do,” Tate said, brows scrunching together.
The Forrester Five. That’s what everyone called us after the massacre that night. Thirteen Forrester Academy students went up to the Cavanagh family’s lake house to party all weekend. Only five came out alive.
There was me. Stabbed five times in the back and smothered.
Michaela. Savagely beaten around the head, stabbed twice in the abdomen and chest, and slashed on the forearms as she raised them in an attempt to protect herself.
Tate. Mercifully unharmed. He was found fast asleep by the police upon their arrival. Their theory was that the killer hadn’t spotted his room, which was tucked away in the basement, and he was known for being a very deep sleeper which explained why he wasn’t roused by the screaming. He didn’t come out of the incident entirely unscathed, though. He lost his older brother Dane that night.
The fourth survivor was Justin Lamar. Stabbed four times in the back while he slept, fortunately in spots that didn’t puncture any organs or sever any major arteries or veins. He was one of the hockey superstars on campus and the best friend of…
Paxton Cole. Fifth and final member of the Forrester Five, and number one suspect in the police and media’s eyes for several months afterwards. Forever in my eyes.
Michaela nodded. “I have Google alerts set up on my phone for all of the survivors,” she said, turning back to me. “Including Paxton. And he comes up a lot, because… well, you know.”
“No, I don’t know,” I said in a hollow voice. “I don’t know anything about him anymore. I’ve never Googled him. I don’t even want to think about him.”
Tate leaned forward and grabbed my hand. “I’m so sorry, Sienna. I honestly thought you knew what he was up to these days. That he plays for the hockey team here. But I should’ve clarified it with you. That’s my bad.”
I looked down at my mug, watching the steam rise in little swirling puffs. “I guess it’s not your fault,” I mumbled. “You did try to warn me earlier. I just didn’t realize what you meant. I assumed you thought I might have a problem with hockey in general, given what Paxton was like back then. He lived and breathed it.”
Michaela’s eyes flickered with sympathy. “No, Tate’s right. We really should’ve clarified what we meant earlier.”
I took another deep breath. “So what’s he doing here at Worthington? I mean, apart from the obvious.”
Before tonight, I hadn’t wanted to know anything about him, but now that I knew we were attending the same college, I needed to know all of the details. What was he studying? What dorm did he live in? Was it likely we’d run into each other on a frequent basis?
“Are you sure you want to know?” Tate asked in a tentative tone.
I gritted my teeth and nodded. “I thought he was supposed to be in Boston. That’s what he told me back in school. Before it all happened.”
“Yeah, he was originally supposed to go to Boston.”
“So why didn’t he?”
“Long story. You remember the NTDP thing we hosted at Forrester, right?”
“Yeah, I remember,” I said listlessly, staring down at the table again. “All the top high school hockey players in the country playing together.”
He nodded. “Because it’s all of the elite players, a lot of them end up being NHL draft picks in their senior years. But they don’t have to go straight into the NHL. They can get drafted by a team but remain unsigned. That gives them the chance to play college hockey for a while if that’s what they want to do. Some guys do it for one or two years. Others do the full four. Depends on the individual.”
“Right.” I frowned and leaned forward, waiting impatiently for the rest of the story. Tate always overexplained hockey-related stuff, given his obsession with the subject.
“Paxton was considered the number one prospect by every single analyst and scout in 2019, before the draft actually happened, so he had a ton of interested colleges offering him scholarships. He committed to Boston University, and from what I remember him telling me back then, he was planning to play for them for two years before finally signing with whichever NHL team selected him in the 2019 draft,” Tate said. “But after what happened, he was instantly dropped off all the lists. Never ended up in the draft. Boston rescinded their scholarship offer too. So that’s why he didn’t end up there. He was totally fucked.”
