Chapter 2 002

SLOANE

I shouldn’t care that he remembered my name.

I definitely shouldn’t still be hearing those six words on loop.

When did you get here, Sloane?

That’s all it was. Six words in a hallway. Yet my brain has played the low, rough sound of Noah’s voice a thousand times while I unpack boxes and pretend I’m fine.

“Earth to Sloane.” Zoe snaps her fingers in front of my face. She’s cross-legged on her unmade bed, buried in throw pillows. “Are you hanging those fairy lights or just staring at the wall like a loading screen?”

“Hanging them,” I mutter, forcing myself to move.

I stretch up on my toes and pin the string lights to the wall. Outside our window, move-in weekend is pure chaos—car trunks slamming, parents crying, freshmen trying way too hard to look like they belong. This is supposed to be my clean slate. My chance to stop being the quiet girl who spent years nursing an impossible crush on her brother’s best friend.

I shove a thumbtack into the drywall harder than necessary.

No more childhood fantasies. No more pining over Noah Brooks. Done.

Zoe checks her phone. “Kai just texted. The team’s having a low-key thing at their off-campus house tonight. Pizza, drinks, celebrating the preseason win. We should go.”

My stomach flips. “It’s a hockey house. I’ll end up in a corner while Kai introduces me as his baby sister to fifty giant athletes.”

“First of all, giant athletes are the entire point,” Zoe says, eyebrows raised. “Second, you’re a college freshman now. Put on that black top you bought last week and prove you’re not a kid anymore.”

I glance at the closet. The top has thin straps and a square neckline—nothing like my usual oversized hoodies.

“Fine,” I give in. “But if Kai starts the curfew lecture, you distract him.”

“Deal.”

The hockey house is a big, slightly run-down place with a wrap-around porch and a lawn already littered with red cups. Music thumps through the closed door, bass vibrating under my sneakers.

Inside, the air smells like cheap beer, wood smoke, and pure college freedom.

“Sloane!”

Kai spots us from across the living room. He cuts through the crowd with a red cup in hand, backwards cap, gray T-shirt stretched across his shoulders.

“You actually showed,” he says, pulling me into a quick one-armed hug. “Nice. Sodas are in the kitchen. Most of the guys are out back by the fire.”

Zoe is already scanning the room. “Is that the backup goalie by the fridge?”

“Miller. He’s harmless. Go say hi.”

She shoots me a you’ve-got-this look and disappears. I’m left alone with my brother.

Kai looks me over. “You look nice. Is that shirt new? It’s a little… short.”

“It’s a normal shirt,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Don’t start.”

“Alright, alright. Come on.”

He leads me through the house to the back deck. Cool Vermont air hits my face, a relief after the stuffy heat inside. A big bonfire burns in the yard, surrounded by lawn chairs and hockey players.

And right there, sitting on the arm of a weathered outdoor sofa, is Noah.

My chest tightens on instinct. He’s in a dark flannel over a white tee, jaw sharp in the firelight, a beer dangling from his fingers. He’s not drinking. He’s listening to an older man in a Maplewood athletic jacket.

Kai slows. “That’s the Bruins scout. Let’s hear this.”

We stay in the shadows of the porch. They don’t notice us.

“You’ve got the vision, Brooks,” the scout says, tapping his clipboard. “NHL teams look at discipline as much as stats. Keep your head down this season. Lead the team, stay away from the usual college distractions, and you’re a lock for an early-round pick next spring. Boston’s watching.”

Noah nods, expression serious and locked in. “I know, sir. The team comes first. No distractions. I’m completely focused.”

“Good. Sky’s the limit.”

The scout claps him on the shoulder and walks off. Noah takes a slow sip of his drink and stares out into the dark yard, looking completely unreachable.

Standing a few feet away, reality hits hard. Noah’s life is moving at full speed—professional scouts, NHL talk, a future most people only dream about. He’s a grown man with discipline and massive goals.

And me?

I’m still the girl stuck on the fact that he said my name two days ago. I feel small. Stupid.

While he’s chasing a professional career, I’m chasing a ghost.

This is the year, I decide, pride hardening in my chest. This is the exact moment I get over Noah Brooks. I’m done being invisible. I’m done wanting someone who will never see me as an equal.

“Hey, Kai,” I say, voice tight. “I’m actually pretty tired. I’m gonna head back to the dorms.”

He frowns. “Already? You just got here. Want me to walk you?”

“Stay. Celebrate. It’s a ten-minute walk. I’ll text you when I’m inside.”

“Okay. Be safe. Text the second you’re through the door.”

I nod and turn, weaving through the crowded porch. I just need to leave. I need air.

I head for the side steps where the light is dim and the grass meets the gravel path. I’m moving fast, eyes slightly blurred with frustration, focused only on escape.

My foot catches on a loose, warped board.

“Whoa—”

Balance vanishes. I gasp, arms flailing as the ground rushes up.

A hand shoots out of the dark.

Strong, calloused fingers lock around my wrist.

I’m yanked backward hard. My sneakers hit solid wood and my body collides with a broad, solid chest. The scent of cedar, ice, and expensive cologne floods my senses.

My heart slams into my throat.

I look up.

Noah is right there, face inches from mine. His grip on my wrist is firm, fingers warm against my bare skin. His dark eyes are wide, scanning my face with a flash of genuine panic I didn’t expe

ct.

Neither of us lets go.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low and rough, sending a shiver straight down my spine.