In the heart of Harvard, Alessia Gilmore is ready to embrace her second year and the independence it brings. After a summer spent reconnecting with friends and discovering herself, she's determined to step out of her twin sister Rory's shadow and ca...
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Avery's breath was steady as he laced up his skates in the locker room, trying to ignore the jittery feeling crawling up his spine. Game day always brought a rush of adrenaline, but today, something felt different. The buzz in the locker room was more frantic than usual, a mix of energy and nervous anticipation as the Hawks prepared for their toughest game of the season.
He'd been here countless times before-same rink, same teammates, same expectations. But today... today there was something off. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was waiting for him.
The game went on like any other at first-fast, brutal, and intense. The Bulls came out strong, pressing hard in the first period. But Avery couldn't quite focus. Every time the puck slid across the ice, his eyes seemed to dart over to Number 24, the player from the Bulls.
At first, it was just a glance-a flicker of recognition in the back of his mind. But the more he watched, the more the unease built. Number 24 skated with a fluidity that reminded him of someone-someone he never wanted to see again.
It couldn't be him, Avery thought, shaking his head as he skated back into position, trying to push the thought away. But it didn't matter how hard he tried to concentrate. Every time Number 24 skated by, it was like a punch in the gut. The way his body moved, his stance, his every motion felt like a ghost from Avery's past-unseen for years but now suddenly impossible to ignore.
His heart began to race, the blood pounding in his ears as he tried to focus on the game. Focus, Avery. Focus. But every time Number 24 came near, it felt like he was invading Avery's mind, like the past had found a way to resurface.
No, he told himself. This isn't happening.
But then-just like that-he saw it again. That flicker in the Bulls player's eyes. The intensity that mirrored the one Avery had seen so many years ago. His thoughts began to spiral, flashing back to a time he had tried to bury.
The sudden realization hit like ice-cold water. He knew who that was.
His mind raced as everything came crashing back-years of distance, anger, and unresolved tension. Avery's vision blurred for a split second, and he barely managed to recover as Quinn shouted in his direction. But it was too late-his focus had shattered.
He couldn't keep his eyes off Number 24. Every shift, every move the guy made on the ice just dug the knife deeper. The memories flooded back, like waves crashing over him. Him. After all these years.
What was he doing here?
Avery tried to shake off the shock, but it was useless. His mind was flooded with emotions he thought he'd long buried-anger, regret, and a deep, gnawing unease. The years of silence between them, the reasons behind the break that had left a permanent rift-he had never fully understood why it had ended the way it did. But seeing that figure now, skating across the ice, it felt like a door he had locked long ago was creaking open again, letting all those memories spill into his mind.
His focus wavered, and for a moment, he almost thought he saw something in the stranger's eyes-something familiar, something that sent a cold shiver down his spine. But before he could hold onto it, the moment slipped away, leaving him just as confused as before. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was no coincidence. There was a connection here, something deep, something Avery wasn't ready to confront.
Avery's anger flared up for a split second-he wanted to scream, to confront him right then and there-but it was buried quickly, buried beneath a flood of confusion and hurt. He hadn't seen this person in years. He hadn't even heard from him. But there he was-playing in this game, a reminder of everything Avery had lost.
His pulse quickened. His vision sharpened, but only to the extent of seeing nothing but Number 24 on the ice, like everything else was secondary. It was as if the entire rink faded into the background, and there was only the dark-haired figure skating with deliberate precision.
I can't believe it's him.
But then the game called him back. A shift in play, Quinn yelling, the pucks flying-Avery had to snap out of it. He wasn't in this moment alone. But every time Number 24 passed him, every time their eyes locked, Avery felt the flood of memories and emotions rush through him. Anger. Confusion. Regret.
And yet, nothing could have prepared him for the moment when Number 24 skated past him again, only this time, their eyes locked. Avery's breath caught in his chest. There it was-the unmistakable recognition, the years of betrayal hanging in the air.
But as quickly as it came, the moment passed. Avery's team surged ahead, and the game continued, but Avery was no longer entirely present. His body was on the ice, but his mind was still reeling from the weight of what he had seen. Him, out there, playing for the Bulls.
And now-there was no escaping the fact that they would have to confront this. Whatever had happened years ago, whatever had driven them apart, was coming back to haunt him. Avery wasn't sure what this meant yet, but one thing was clear: his past was no longer something he could run from.
