I get to the arena later than I hoped. The third period has just started, and I’m dismayed to see 1-1 flashing on the scoreboard, because Briar is playing a Division II team from Buffalo tonight. Garrett had been confident the game wouldn’t be at all competitive, but apparently he was wrong.

There’s an empty seat waiting for me behind the home team’s bench courtesy of a senior named Natalie. Garrett has mentioned her before, but I haven’t met her until now. Apparently she’s been dating Birdie since freshman year, which is impressive. A lot of college relationships don’t seem to last that long.

Natalie is funny and sweet, and we have a good time watching the game together. When Dean takes a particularly hard hit that sends him sprawling across the ice, we both gasp in alarm.

“Oh my God,” Natalie bursts out. “Is he okay?”

Fortunately, Dean is fine. He shakes it off and jumps up, skating toward the Briar box for a line change. The moment Garrett hits the ice, my pulse speeds up. He’s a force to be reckoned with. Fast footwork, skilled stickhandling, hard hitter. His first pass connects with Birdie’s stick and they fly across the blue line into the zone. Birdie dumps the puck and Garrett chases it. So does the other team’s center, and elbows are thrown behind the crease as the Buffalo forward tries to gain the upper hand.

Garrett comes out victorious and zips around the net, snapping off a quick shot. The goalie stops it easily, but the rebound bounces directly in Birdie’s path. He slaps the puck right back at the goaltender, whose glove whips up a second too late.

Natalie leaps to her feet and cheers herself hoarse as Birdie’s goal lights the scoreboard. We hug excitedly, then hold our breaths as the last three minutes of play tick by. The other team scrambles to gain possession of the puck, but Briar’s sophomore center wins the next faceoff and we dominate the rest of the game, which ends with a final score of 2-1.

Natalie and I walk toward the aisle, jostled in all directions as we’re shuffled down the stairs like cattle.

“I’m so glad you’re with Garrett,” she gushes.

The comment makes me smile, because she’s only known me for twenty minutes. “Me too,” I answer.

“Seriously. He’s such a great guy, but he’s so fricking intense when it comes to hockey. He hardly drinks, doesn’t gets serious with anyone. It’s not healthy to be that focused on something, you know?”

We leave the rink but don’t head to the arena exit. Instead, we make our way through the crowd toward the hallway that leads to the locker rooms so we can wait for our guys. Garrett Graham is my guy. It’s a surreal thought, but I like it.

“That’s why I think you’re good for him,” she says. “He looks so happy and relaxed every time I see him.”

My spine stiffens when I spot a familiar face in the crowd.

Garrett’s father.

He’s twenty feet away from us, headed in the same direction as we are. His baseball cap rests low on his forehead, but that doesn’t stop him from getting noticed, because a group of guys in Briar jerseys quickly approach him for an autograph. He signs their jerseys, then a photo that one of them hands him. I can’t see the picture, but I imagine it’s an action shot of him from his glory days, just like the ones I saw framed in his house. Phil Graham, hockey legend.

Now living vicariously through his son.

I’m so focused on my hatred for Garrett’s father that I don’t pay attention to where I’m walking, and a startled laugh leaves my mouth when I bump into someone. Hard.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching where—” The apology dies on my lips when I notice who I bumped into.

Rob Delaney looks as stunned as I feel.

In the split second that our eyes lock, I turn into an ice statue. Shivers wrack every inch of my body. My feet are frozen in place. Wave after wave of horror slams into me.

I haven’t seen Rob since the day he testified in court—on my rapist’s behalf.

I don’t know what to say. Or do. Or think.

Someone shouts, “Wellsy!”

I turn my head.

When I turn it back, Rob is hurrying away like he’s trying to outrun a bullet.

I can’t breathe.

Garrett comes up beside me. I know it’s him because I recognize the gentle sweep of his hand on my cheek, but my gaze stays glued to Rob’s retreating back. He’s wearing a Buffalo State jacket. Does he go there? I never bothered finding out what happened to Aaron’s friends. Where they went to college, what they’re doing now. The last time I had any contact with Rob Delaney, it was indirectly. It was when my dad attacked Rob’s father in the hardware store in Ransom.

“Hannah. Look at me.”

I can’t tear my eyes off Rob, who hasn’t made it out the door yet. The group of friends he’s with stop to talk to a few people, and he tosses a panicky glance over his shoulder, paling when he realizes I’m still staring at him.

“Hannah. Jesus. You’re white as a sheet. What’s wrong?”

I guess I’m pale, too. I guess I look like Rob. I guess we’ve both just seen a ghost.

The next thing I know, my head is wrenched to the side as Garrett’s hands clutch my chin to force eye contact.

“What’s going on? Who is that guy?” He’s followed my gaze, and now he’s watching Rob with visible mistrust.

“Nobody,” I say weakly.

“Hannah.”

“It’s nobody, Garrett. Please.” I turn my back to the door, effectively eliminating any temptation to look Rob’s way.