★NORA★

The first thing I felt was the pounding. A low, relentless throb behind my eyes, pulsing with every beat of my heart. My mouth was dry, my tongue thick, my stomach unsettled, like I'd swallowed smoke and sugar at the same time. The dorm room was dim, the blinds pulled half-closed, but even the thin strips of morning light stabbed at my temples. I groaned, pressing the heel of my hand against my forehead. So this was a hangover. I hated it already.

Beside me, Sienna sprawled on her bed, still in last night's clothes, her blonde hair tangled around her face, and her breathing heavy. A faint snore slipped from her lips, and my chest clenched at the sight of her. She looked small, almost childlike in sleep, but I remembered the way she'd been last night—slurring, stumbling, too far gone.

And Christian carried her inside like she weighed nothing.

The memory flickered sharp and clear through my haze, making my breath catch. His voice low and firm as he told me to drink water. With a tenderness I wasn't meant to see, he tucked Sienna in and smoothed the blanket. The steel in his eyes when he told me to stay away from Alpha Delta.

The image of him in the kitchen light—broad shoulders, jaw tight, eyes dark with anger and something heavier—burned in my head. I shifted, heat crawling up my neck even as guilt pulled me down.

Because I'd called him. Because I'd broken my promise to Sienna. Because some traitorous part of me was glad he'd come.

I pushed off the bed, moving so I wouldn't wake her, and padded barefoot into the small bathroom. I found some aspirin in the cabinet, shaking the pills into my palm with trembling fingers, chasing them down with lukewarm water. The bitter taste lingered, but the ritual gave me something solid to hold on to.

When I stepped back into the room, the silence pressed heavy. I went through the motions of getting ready—brushing my hair until it fell in neat waves, pulling on jeans and a sweater, dabbing concealer under the shadows of my eyes. Each task should have cleared my head. Instead, the fog stayed thick, threaded through with the same loop.

Christian.

The way his hand had steadied my elbow, so subtle but certain. The way his voice had dropped when he asked if anyone had touched me, if anyone had hurt me. How he'd looked at me — like I was someone to protect, not just someone to tolerate.

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at my shoes, my chest tight. He was Sienna's brother. He was off-limits, arrogant, infuriating. A walking red flag. But he had come when I needed him. Without hesitation. And I didn't know what scared me more—how guilty I felt for calling him or how safe I'd felt when he arrived.

The faint sound of movement behind me made me glance up. Sienna stirred, groaning, her hand fumbling across the tangle of sheets before she pushed herself upright. Mascara had smudged in shadows beneath her eyes, and lipstick had smeared at the corner of her mouth. She blinked at the dim room, then winced, clutching her head.

"Oh my gosh," she muttered, her voice hoarse. "What happened? Why do I feel like I got run over by a truck?"

I exhaled, heart hammering. She didn't remember.

"Hangover." I whispered, moving to pull the blinds just enough to let in the smallest sliver of light.

Even that made her groan louder. She flopped back onto her pillow, covering her face with both hands.

"Ugh. Rookie mistake. How many drinks did I even have?"

I hesitated, then busied myself at the desk, picking up the empty water bottle I'd left there.

"Enough."

She peeked at me between her fingers, her expression caught between misery and amusement.

"Did I embarrass myself? Don't answer that. I don't want to know."

"You just got carried away." I forced a small smile, keeping my voice steady, even though the images of last night — her slumped against me, Christian lifting her with ease, the fury in his eyes — wouldn't leave my head.

She groaned again, rolling onto her side.

"Typical. My first week of college and I'm already making a fool of myself."

"You'll be fine." I blurted.

Because the truth sat heavy in my throat — she didn't know Christian had been there. She didn't remember my calling him, didn't remember his storming through Alpha Delta like a storm in a single man. Relief washed through me, sharp and guilty all at once. If she found out, she'd be furious. She'd never forgive me for pulling him into it. I sat on the edge of her bed, resting a hand on her shoulder.

"You should drink some water. And maybe eat something."

She cracked one eye open.

"Look at you, being the responsible one. Again." Her lips curled, teasing. "What would I do without you?"

My chest squeezed.

"Still be asleep." I said, forcing a laugh.

She smiled before her eyes fluttered shut again, the weight of exhaustion pulling her back down. I sat there a moment longer, smoothing the blanket over her without thinking.

Relief pulsed through me like a second heartbeat. Relief that she was safe, and that she didn't remember. And underneath that, a quiet, guilty truth I couldn't shake — relief that, when everything had gone wrong last night, Christian had been the one to show up.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The rink was colder than I expected, a steady chill that seeped through my sweater and prickled goosebumps along my arms. My breath came out in little clouds as I stepped inside, the sound of skates slicing across ice echoing against the cavernous rafters.

And then I saw him. Christian.

He was impossible to miss — cutting across the ice with that natural ease I remembered from high school, only sharper now, stronger. Every stride was power contained, blades biting into the ice and sending him gliding faster than seemed human. He barked an order to a teammate, his voice commanding without being harsh, and the others listened. Of course they did. He carried himself like someone born to lead.

My heart thudded as I leaned against the railing, half-hiding in the shadows of the bleachers. Watching him felt dangerous, like pressing on a bruise — it hurt, but I couldn't stop.

Memories surfaced. Friday nights spent sitting in chilly high school bleachers, pretending to cheer for Sienna while my eyes followed him instead. How I'd admired the way he always seemed so certain of himself. How untouchable he'd felt, even then.

The sharp trill of a whistle snapped me back. The coach called for a break, and the players skated toward the benches. Christian tugged at the strap of his helmet, lifting it free in one smooth motion. I forgot how to breathe.

His hair fell damp and messy across his forehead, strands clinging to his temples. He shook his head once, then raked his fingers through it, pushing it back with the effortless arrogance only he could pull off. He looked like he belonged on the cover of a sports magazine. And I hated how my stomach twisted at the sight, warm and fluttery and treacherous.

And then his gaze found me.

The corner of his mouth lifted into that slow, crooked smirk, like he'd been expecting me all along. He tapped his stick once against the ice, as if to announce himself, before skating straight toward me. Panic surged. I turned, nearly fled, but my feet betrayed me. Instead of running, I walked down the steps, my pulse thrumming loud in my ears, until I was close enough to see the faint fog of his breath in the air.

He leaned his forearm against the barrier, close enough that I caught the faint scent of sweat and ice and something sharper, cleaner — his cologne, lingering beneath it all. His chest rose and fell under the dark fabric of his jersey, the captain's "C" stitched on his shoulder.

"Well, well," he drawled, eyes gleaming with amusement. "To what do I owe the pleasure, James?"

Heat rushed to my cheeks. My fingers twisted in the strap of my bag.

"I needed to ask you something."

His brow arched, teasing.

"Sounds serious."

"It is," I whispered. My throat felt tight, but the words tumbled out anyway. "Please don't tell Sienna about last night. About Alpha Delta."

His smirk faltered, enough to make my chest squeeze, then returned, sharper.

"And why not?"

"Because she'll be upset with me." The words came out in a rush. "She made me promise not to tell you in the first place, and if she finds out I broke that, she'll be furious. I don't want to lose her trust."

For a moment, he just looked at me. His silence stretched, heavy, his eyes unreadable as they searched mine. I shifted under his gaze, heat prickling across my skin.

Then he leaned closer, his grin curling.

"I'll keep your secret." His voice dipped lower, intimate, almost conspiratorial. "On one condition."

My heart stuttered.

"W-what condition?"

"You come to our first game," he said, like he'd been planning it. "Front row. Where I can see you."

I blinked, stunned.

"What? Why—"

"Those are the terms." He tapped his stick against the boards, playful but firm. "Take it or leave it."

My face burned hotter, every nerve buzzing like live wire.

"Fine," I murmured, eyes darting away. "I'll come."

His smirk widened into something satisfied, triumphant.

"Good girl."

The words sent a shiver straight through me. My breath caught, and from the way his grin deepened, I knew he noticed. He pushed back, straightening, but not before his gaze swept over me once more, deliberate enough to leave me rattled.

"I'll hold you to it, James." He called, already gliding backward toward his team.

Helmet back on, strap snapped tight, he skated away without another word, sliding into drills like I hadn't just agreed to something that made my chest ache and my head spin.

I stood frozen by the barrier, heart pounding so loud it drowned out the scrape of skates and the coach's shouts. My cheeks burned, my hands trembled against the cold railing. Because somehow, in just a few teasing words, Christian Hayes had turned me inside out.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

By the time I got back to the dorm, the heat from the rink had faded, leaving only a restless buzz under my skin. Sienna's bed was empty, her blanket a mess, her shoes tossed by the door. A note scrawled on the whiteboard in loopy handwriting read: Out with Claire. Don't wait up. The room was too quiet without her. For once, though, I didn't mind.

I closed the door, my heart still thudding with the echo of Christian's voice, his smirk stamped fresh in my memory. I tried to shake it off, but the more I tried, the tighter it clung. Without thinking, I crossed to my nightstand and pulled open the drawer. Beneath a folded sweater lay the notebook.

The cover was worn now, corners bent from years of being shoved into backpacks and hidden under mattresses. A faded floral design stretched across the front, ink stains marring the edge from late-night scribbles. I sat on the bed and opened it, the familiar scrawl of my fifteen-year-old self staring back at me.

The List.

Back then, I'd made it one night after a fight with my mom, convinced I'd never be brave enough to live the life I dreamed about. I told myself that if I wrote the things down, maybe someday I'd gather the courage to check them off. I traced the numbers with my finger, heart clenching at how much of it still felt impossible.

1. Go to a real college party.

2. Slow dance with someone.

3. Say yes when I want to say no.

4. Travel somewhere alone.

5. Get a tattoo.

6. Kiss someone who scares me.

7. Fall in love for real.

8. Be brave enough to let people see all of me.

9. Stop hiding.

And at the bottom of that page, circled three times in eager, hopeful pen strokes:

10. Get Christian Hayes to notice me.

The words stared back at me, bold, unashamed, written by the girl I used to be — the one who sat in the bleachers pretending to cheer for her best friend but secretly watching her best friend's brother instead.

I let out a shaky breath. He had noticed me now. His eyes had locked on mine, sharp and teasing, like I was a game worth playing. Like I was no longer invisible.

With trembling fingers, I reached for a pen resting on the nightstand and pressed it to the page. One line, then another, crossing out the words with careful precision. The ink bled over the letters.

Christian Hayes had noticed me.

And instead of triumph, a strange unease curled low in my chest. Being noticed by him wasn't simple. It wasn't a neat little checkmark on a childish list. It was dangerous, and messy. And it was only the beginning.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

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