Page 38 of Unsteady

“You just said you saw her at a party.”

“I mean, like, somewhereelse. Anyway, continue.”

“I’ve been getting some private ice time over at the community rink, and apparently she had the same idea.”

“Are you guys…?”

“Absolutely not.”

Freddy raises his hands in quiet surrender. “Just wondering. I mean, you’re the one staring at my phone like it’s the fucking Stanley Cup.”

I don’t deny it, but instead opt for the slightest bit of honesty. “She seems cool. I barely know her, but… yeah.”

“So, should we head over to the party then?”

A flash of some fantasy fills my head of showing up at the house, walking in and stealing her attention and time, putting my own hands on her bare skin, so much more of it showing than I’ve seen at the rink. Seeing if her lipstick will stain my skin so I’ll wake up from nightmares with some tangible memory of something good.

Don’t mention it.

Her rejection would work like a shot to the head, but one I’m not ready for, so I catch theyesfrom spilling out of my mouth and shake my head.

“I need to get some sleep before our preseason meeting tomorrow.”

“C’mon, Rhys,” Freddy begs. “We’ll only stop by—we won’t even drink. Promise.”

Promises from Freddy are as reliable as they are from a politician, but a thrilling rush raises the hairs on the back of my neck at even the thoughts of tracking down the girl plaguing my psyche.

TWELVE

SADIE

Getting Rora to a party is like pulling teeth—but somehow, getting her out of it, is even worse. Especially tonight, because despite my efforts to keep her sober, she is bubbly drunk.

I bang on the bathroom door again, brow furrowed in concern.

“Rora?” I call again. “You okay?”

There’s a long moment of silence, and for a moment I think about trying to bust down the door. Instead, I press my ear against the door again and play with a lock of my hair from my now-unbraided ponytail, twirling it round and round, looping through my fingers in a pattern.

Finally, a loud clatter, and then, “I’m okay!” shouted a bit too loudly from inside. I hear the sink running and settle myself against the wall, closing my eyes and tipping my head back.

The party had originally been my idea, but Aurora had agreed after I took a sharpie to her College Bucket List and added attending this specific party with me. It’s partially for me, but also for her to feel something good again instead of getting lost in her head—her “I have a boyfriend now,” complaints were heard and blatantly ignored because no way inhellwould I be tolerating the way I’d seen him treat her in the very few times we’d met over the summer.

Tyler is still at an intensive program for biomedical engineering. Rora wouldn’t tell me what happened, but I saw the texts over her shoulder while doing her hair in our dorm bathroom. She let him know about going with me to the party, while he requested photos of her and then ghosted her in the middle of their conversation after a flippant text that said“ok.”

She isn’t as overtly sad now, buried beneath the shots of tequila we took before dancing until all she could think of was pulling at the high hem of her patterned lilac shorts, and all I can think about is putting my skate blade through his neck next time I see him.

“That bad of a party?”

His voice feels like cool silk against my heated, flushed skin.

I open my eyes, greeted with the sight of Rhys, looking completely put together and very un-vulnerable—a first for our interactions.

Having not seen him in weeks, the urge to ask him if he’s okay, if he’s had another panic attack or if he’s ready for his first real practice back—still marked in blue sharpie on my own calendar—is overwhelming.

My eyes eat him up. His long, lean body is fitted into dark jeans and a crisp black tee that molds lightly to his biceps as he leans against the wall across from me. I notice the clear quality of his eyes and a light flush to his cheeks; he isn’t drunk, but he’s had something to drink. Which is somehow more confusing because I hadn’t noticed him anywhere in this house.

“Why do you say that?” I ask, pressing my hands down the skirt of my dress, pulling at the hem slightly. I hate the wave of self-consciousness that buzzes through me as he takes me in, his eyes quick in their scan of my very short gray silk dress and white platform Converse that have double insoles for my aching feet.

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