Brian showed up the following day at practice with a surprise for me.

I would have been thrilled with this surprise five years ago, give or take, but a lot has changed since then. When Esme strides beside him into the arena, and her eyes land on me, they're filled with pity—the same expression Brian and my parents have whenever they look at me.

We used to be thicker than thieves when we were kids, and as the years went on, I became the bad influence Brian spoke of the other day. I lived and breathed life on the wild side, where Esme was always the cautious one, wanting to play it safe. But after that night, I changed who I was forever, and the shift in my personality seemed to drive us apart. Not because Esme wanted the separation, but because I didn't know how to be her friend anymore if I couldn't feel like myself.

And it was also hard to be reminded of that night every time I saw her.

Esme, as always, looks stunning. With fiery red hair and freckles dotting the sharp lines of her cheekbones, it's undeniable that she's a supermodel. Her long, slender legs carry her over to me, that same expression of concern etched into her face. "Aria," she says, pulling me in for a hug before I can refuse. The scent of jasmine floods my nose, the smell of her, and I pull her in closer, burying my face into her shirt. As much as I try to deny it, I miss her, but it's painful to be around her. I don't know how to express that without hurting her feelings.

"How have you been?" I ask.

"I've been fine. How are you?" She holds me at arm's length, inspecting me as if she'll find injuries. "My Dad said you accepted his offer to be the photographer here. I'm really glad you took him up on it."

I nod thoughtfully. "He didn't tell me you were coming today."

"Don't be mad at him," she pleads. "I asked if I could come to practice to see you. Things have been...strained between us the last couple of years, but you have to know that I'll never stop fighting for us, Aria. I understand you're going through a difficult time, but I want to be there for you. I want to help you through this."

Her kindness and sincerity are like a punch to the gut. She'd drop her successful career as a model and be by my side until she felt I was okay again if given the opportunity, but she doesn't understand that I don't think I can heal from that night. I don't think I ever will. And, even if I were, she's the last person who could help me.

This might be the only time I ever say this, but I'm thankful when Connor skates up to the side of the rink we're on, stripping himself of his helmet and shaking out his sweaty curls. Fucking hell. "I see you've met Esme," he drawls. "The owner's daughter."

Esme smiles politely. Too kind for her own good. "Just came to drop by and see my best friend." Pushing some strands of hair away from my face, she smiles widely, and dammit, it's contagious. It always has been.

Connor's brows have raised to his forehead before his face pales, a realization of some sort dawning on him. "Aria," he repeats. "She was the friend you brought with you to the Maldives all those years ago?"

Esme nods as if this is standard information. "Yes? We've been best friends since elementary school." Then she flickers her eyes to me, brows raised. "And apparently, you have a lot of explaining to do."

Connor, surprisingly ignoring her statement, seems even more confused. "But we didn't go to high school together."

I snort. "You mean, the uppity rich kid prep school? My parents couldn't afford to send me there. I went to public school." But then the piece of information he just revealed sinks in, and a ball of anxiety works its way up my throat. "You two went to high school together?"

"Unfortunately," Esme mutters. She seems annoyed by his presence, but what if her annoyance stems from something else? Did they... Did they sleep together? It wouldn't surprise me. Esme is a knockout. She seems right up Connor's alley.

"Our fathers are good friends," Connor explains, his gaze lingering on mine. "We've been around each other a few times, but that's it." Damn him for feeling the need to clarify. Nothing is going on between us, and yet, I'm relieved by this piece of insight.

"Connor, stop flirting and get your ass over here!" A voice I recognize as Levi's echoes off the stadium walls as he skates over to us. I'm still learning their numbers. 34 is Levi's. I make sure to memorize it. "Whoever you're speaking to can—" His voice falters as he skates to a halt, locking eyes with Esme. "Oh," he says, seeming to realize she's the owner's daughter. How often has she visited? "Hi, Esme."

A faint blush creeps up her neck. "Hi, Levi. Good to see you."

"You as well." Through his helmet, I can see his eyes linger on hers for a moment too long before he turns to Connor and says, "Drills aren't going to complete themselves, you know."

"I know. I just wanted to say hello to my favorite photographer first."

I make pretend gagging noises, causing Esme to giggle, and I certainly don't miss when Levi whips his helmet to stare at her again, seeming to marvel at the sound of it. Just how often does she come to these practices, and who is she visiting for?

Connor winks, fastening his helmet before they both skate off, leaving Esme and me alone. I can't even bring myself to look at her, not when my cheeks feel on fire. 

"Connor Holden," she muses. "Didn't see that one coming."

"Nothing is going on between us."

"But there was in the Maldives."

"It was one night," I protest.

"Clearly, a memorable one for him to have remembered it."

With a huff of defiance, I cross my arms over my chest and spin away from the rink, afraid that if I continue to linger, my eyes will keep straying to number three. Just for a moment, the familiar banter between us replaces the cold spot in my chest that has remained for so long. For once, I'm not thinking about that night while being around her. It's like we're back to being teenagers, arguing over the hottest football players.

"Fight it all you want, but there's something there," she says.

"And what makes you think that?" I shouldn't want to know, but a small part of me is holding its breath to hear her explanation.

"For starters, the man lives and breathes hockey. Do you know how many girls have been here before, attempting to get his attention? It's never worked, at least not during practices or a game. Afterwards, however..."

"I get it," I grumble.

She gently knocks her shoulder into mine. "But he just had to stop drills to say hello to his favorite photographer?"

"He fucked the last one," I tell her bluntly. "Maybe he just has a thing for photographers."

The look I get in response tells me she finds that doubtful, but I'm grateful she changes the subject. "Anyway, I came here in person because I wanted to go to dinner with you one night this week. I figured you wouldn't reply if I texted, but since I'm here, you can't avoid it."

"Esme..." I sigh heavily, blinking up at the ceiling as I search for an excuse out of this. Granted, this surprise visit went better than expected. What if being around her doesn't bring that gut-wrenching pain anymore? It hasn't happened yet, so what would be the harm in trying?

"Please," she insists.

That night has haunted me for the past five years, and I welcome the pain it gives. I deserve all of the guilt and agony that coincides with it. Maybe that's why I haven't healed yet. I don't want to because deep down, I understand it was my fault for what happened. To be healed would mean to be forgiven, and I'm unworthy of it.

But Esme isn't one to take no for an answer. With those pleading blue eyes, she knew I wouldn't be able to refuse her if she came here in person, which is precisely why her red-painted lips tilt into a smile, realizing she's about to get her way.

"Fine," I relent. "We have an away game this weekend, and I'll be moving the following week, but maybe next weekend?"

"Perfect!" She practically squeals, squeezing my arm. "I'll text you for the details."

Author's Note:

Ahhhh how are you feeling?!

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