CHAPTER 5 - THE HICKEY FROM MY LOVING STRANGER

Coach Harlan's voice cut through the hallway like a blade. "Maddox! My office. Now." Neither of them moved for a full three seconds. Caleb's fists were still curled. Rhys was still watching him with that terrifying calm – the kind that said I've already decided how this ends and you're not going to like it. Then Rhys stepped back. Casual. Unhurried. Like he was choosing to leave, not being called away. He turned toward the coach's office – and on the way past Caleb, his shoulder connected with Caleb's chest. Not accidental. Not subtle. A clean, deliberate check that knocked Caleb sideways a half step and sent a message louder than any punch could have. Rhys didn't look back. "I'll catch you later, Naomi." My name. He said my name. He'd heard it when Caleb yelled it thirty seconds ago and he'd already pocketed it, already made it sound like something different in his mouth – lower, slower, like he was tasting it. Like he'd been waiting for it. My skin prickled from my neck to my wrists. He disappeared around the corner, and the hallway was suddenly too quiet. Just me and Caleb and the echo of my name in a stranger's voice. Caleb turned on me. "What the hell was that?" "What was what?" "You and the new guy. Standing outside the locker room. Why are you back here, Naomi?" "I was walking to the exit. He was in the hallway. We talked for thirty seconds." "You've been ignoring my texts all week." His voice had that edge – not anger exactly, but something close. Frustration. The tone of someone who'd reached for something on a shelf and found it had been moved. "Fourteen messages. Not one response." "I figured you'd be happy I finally got the message." "What message?" I stared at him. He stared back. And I realized with a clarity that made my stomach turn – he genuinely didn't understand. He'd stood in his kitchen three days ago and called me suffocating in front of his teammates and he didn't think it was a big deal. Because it wasn't. To him, it was just the truth. Something he'd said casually between sips of beer, like commenting on the weather. "I heard you, Caleb." "Heard me what?" "Valentine's night. After I left. I was sitting on the porch steps and the kitchen window was open." I kept my voice flat. Steady. The new Naomi – the one who'd walked to a bar alone in February. "I heard them reading my letter out loud. I heard the laughing. I heard you tell them I was suffocating. Too soft for real life. That you'd break me." Something shifted in his face. Not guilt – recognition. The faintest flicker of oh, she heard that. "Naomi, I – look, I was drunk. The guys were being stupid. I shouldn't have let them read it but I didn't think you were–" "Outside? Listening? Still existing after you dismissed me?" "I texted you the next day. I apologized." "You sent me 'hey, sorry if last night was weird, we good?' That's not an apology, Caleb. That's a terms and conditions update." His jaw worked. He wasn't used to this – to me pushing back, to the scaffolding he'd built around our friendship being kicked out from under him. For four years I'd absorbed everything he gave me and rearranged myself around it. Now I was standing still, and he didn't know what to do with the space. "We should be past this," he said. "You know how I feel about you. You're important to me." "As what?" He didn't answer that. Instead, his eyes dropped to my collarbone again. The hickey. His expression tightened – that same look from before the game, surprise mixed with something territorial that he had absolutely no right to feel. "Who is he to you?" "Who?" "The transfer. Maddox." He stepped closer. His voice dropped – not gentle, not threatening, somewhere worse. Intimate. The voice he used when he wanted me to feel like we were the only two people in a room. "I saw the way you two were looking at each other. And that–" He nodded at my neck. "Did you actually let him touch you?" Three days ago, that voice would have worked. Three days ago, I would have stammered and explained and apologized for having the audacity to let another man's mouth near my skin. Three days ago, I was a different person. But I couldn't even be angry at him. Not really. Because I'd built this. Four years of never saying no, never pushing back, never drawing a single boundary – I'd trained him to believe he had access to every part of me. His audacity wasn't surprising. It was the natural result of everything I'd allowed. I opened my mouth to respond – to say something cutting, something that would crack the foundation of whatever he thought we were – when Sienna's voice rang down the hallway. "There you are! We've been looking everywhere." Sienna and Zara appeared at the end of the corridor. Sienna's eyes moved from me to Caleb to the six inches of space between us, and her expression cooled instantly. Zara didn't even look at him. "We're leaving," Zara said. To me. Not a question. "Yeah." I stepped back from Caleb. "We're done here." I walked toward my friends without looking back. I could feel his eyes on me the entire length of the hallway. Watching me leave for the second time in a week. But this time, I wasn't crying. Outside, the cold air hit my face and I exhaled for what felt like the first time in an hour. Sienna lasted approximately eleven seconds. "So. Your anonymous bar bathroom stranger is the hottest hockey transfer in the country. Who now goes to our school. And plays on the same team as your ex-best-friend-s***h-heartbreak. And just shoved said heartbreak into a wall. In front of you." "When you say it like that–" "It sounds insane? Because it IS insane. This is not real life. This is a w*****d plot." "He scored four goals," Zara said, almost to herself. "Four goals and then fought Caleb in the hallway. That man is chaos." "That man left a bite mark on Naomi's collarbone," Sienna corrected. "That man is our chaos now." "He's not our anything. I didn't know he was a student. I definitely didn't know he played for Thornfield. It was one night." "One night that just showed up to your school with a grudge and a hockey stick." My phone buzzed. I pulled it out, grateful for the distraction. Mom: Hi sweetie! Richard wants to do dinner this weekend. His son just transferred nearby so he'll be joining. Would be nice for everyone to meet! Saturday 7pm? xx I stared at the text. Richard. Mom's boyfriend. The man she'd been dating for almost a year. The man whose last name was – Maddox. I looked up. Looked at Sienna. Looked back at my phone. Richard (MADDOX) wants to do dinner. His son just transferred nearby. His son. I was very, very sure I'd seen that same name on the back of a jersey tonight. Number seventeen. Scar through the eyebrow. Hands that had been inside me three days ago. Please let Maddox be a common last name. Please! Let Maddox be a common last name! Please!!!!