Page 71 of Hockey Halloween

Ligaya

Toby and I are walking the campus perimeter, logging our steps in our fitness app before my five thirty rehearsal starts. The air is autumn-crisp, and the leaves are vibrant reds. It’s a perfect day to clear my head.

“So. Tristan Thorne, hockey hunk. What’s up with that?” Toby’s side eye is as subtle as a mime trying to get your attention.

So much for a clear head. It’s polluted by Tristan’s whisper, saying over and over again, You’re so fucking beautiful.

“We went to high school together.”

“Was he your boyfriend?”

“No!” I scoff and nearly stumble. “We were friends, sort of. We had different circles, but my mom was the housekeeper for the Thorne family. Before the laundromat was a stable source of income, my mom cleaned a few houses.”

“So, what happened?”

My chest tightens at the memory. I try to keep it simple, although the past never is.

“When Tristan’s sister got diagnosed with cancer, my mom spent a lot of time with her. Olivia passed away at the age of eleven. Tristan was fourteen or fifteen, I guess? We were both freshmen. ”

Toby winces. “That’s horrible.”

“It was. I tried to be there for him, but he didn’t want anything to do with me. Everything changed. His dad being an asshole and his mom being clueless did not help. My mother stopped working for them, although she’s always had a soft spot for Tristan.”

“Because she watched them grow up?”

“And she was there , Toby. At the worst of Olivia’s sickness, my mom was there.”

I choke up at the memory of my mother stressing about the Thorne kids. When Olivia died, she spoke up to Mr. and Mrs. Thorne about addressing Tristan’s grief.

That got her fired.

“So how did that connection turn you against Tristan?”

“We stayed out of each other’s way for years.

Then, at a party the summer before senior year, I told him that I’ve had a crush on this guy, Liam.

” I pause, grimacing at how ridiculous it sounds now.

“The first week of school, I received a note from Liam—or I thought it was from Liam—telling me to meet him by the softball field. When I got there, I did find him... shoving his tongue down another girl’s throat. ”

Toby gasps in exaggerated shock. “No!”

“That was the first of Tristan’s many pranks.

Senior year was hell.” I tick the pranks off on my fingers.

“He Saran-Wrapped my car. Messed with my theater makeup. Submitted a poem to the newspaper like it was from me. An absurdly mortifying poem about Liam who, at that point, I couldn’t bear to look at. ”

“That’s genius-level trolling,” Toby gapes in amazement. “Did you report him?”

“Hell, no. There’s no justice in reporting him,” I exclaim. “I pranked him back.”

Toby rubs his hands together. “Oh my god! What did you do?”

“The usual stuff. Taping the nozzle of his water bottle. Glitter bombs. One time I glued the arm of his jersey to the body. He almost dislocated his shoulder trying to get into it.”

“Pure evil.”

I keep walking, my adrenaline spiking at the memory of our ridiculous vendetta. “When I turned his phone setting to a different language, he was too stubborn to ask for help. He had to learn French.”

“How the hell did you get into his phone?”

“The guy’s password was one two three four.”

Toby shrugs dismissively. “He was basically asking to get hacked.”

“Exactly. Anyway, it was all stupid, harmless stuff. Until it wasn’t.”

“What did he do?” Toby asks, eyes wide. “What did you do?”

“I ruined his chance at a hockey tournament, and he ruined the play I was in. We both lost something important enough to call a truce. I haven’t seen him since we graduated.”

“And then he shows up last week, out of nowhere, looking at you like you hung the moon.”

I recall the kiss.

The hunger in Tristan’s eyes.

The firmness of his grip, like he didn’t want to let me go.

“His parents still live in Centerstone. It isn’t like he wouldn’t eventually come around. Anyway, the past stays in the past.”

“I’m not so sure,” Toby replies with a sly grin. “Guess who’s back.”

I follow his gaze to land on a gray Henley shirt stretched over a muscular back. Tristan is in front of the school, yapping with the guys in the cast and crew while all the girls are huddled at the side with heart-shaped eyes.

“What are you doing here?” I blurt.

He points to his chest and turns his head side to side, feigning surprise, as if chatting up my students is a regular occurrence.

“Your students DMed my account on insta and invited me to come back.”

I look at the boys, whose smiles are as wide as barn doors.

“You guys invited Tristan Thorne to come back. For what?”

“He was curious about the musical.”

“Then send him the link to buy tickets!”

“I’ve got games the weekend of the show,” Tristan interjects. “ What’s the harm? The kids don’t mind. Will you get nervous if I watch?”

I narrow my eyes at him before stomping away. “See you all in the auditorium in five minutes. Ethan and Mia, you’re up.”

In the bathroom, I splash water on my face. The walk got my heart pumping, but Tristan’s grin made it skip.

He’s no longer a boy who knows how to get under my skin.

Tristan is now a man who knows how to get under any woman he sets his eyes on.

Based on our interaction, he has his eyes set on me.

I need to remember that my attraction to Tristan will burn me in the end.

He’s like a malfunctioning electric blanket. Cozy at first, till it chars your ass.

Resolutely, I enter the studio and look past him at the kids on the stage. The Addams Family musical opens in two weeks. I’ve got no time for a hockey player who smells like mojitos, smiles like a politician, and wins over my students.

If he wants to waste his time being ignored, that’s his business.

We’re rehearsing a love scene between the main characters.

As a high school show, there will be no kissing or groping.

Desire has to come across with subtle body language.

Or at least with more chemistry than startled deer caught by headlights.

The moment Ethan leans in toward Mia, the entire cast winces.

Their singing? Great.

Their acting? Solid.

But this moment—Gomez Addams swooning over his beloved Morticia—looks more like a hostage situation than a moment of passion. The scene comes to its painful conclusion. Silence lingers in the auditorium, thick with secondhand embarrassment.

“Well,” I start, searching for a diplomatic way to phrase it, “that was... better than last time.” Barely.

Mia groans, covering her face. “It’s so awkward.”

Ethan sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know what to do with my hands.”

I try to coach them patiently. “You two are overthinking it. You’re so focused on the action that you’re forgetting the feeling behind it. This isn’t about the mechanics of gestures. It’s about the emotional connection between Gomez and Morticia. They live for each other.”

Tristan’s voice drifts from the back of the theater. “Maybe they need a visual.” He begins strolling toward us.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping.”

“The only way you can assist in this scenario is by leaving,” I mutter.

He ignores me, turning to Ethan and Mia.

“If you don’t know how to sell a stage kiss, you’ve gotta watch people who do.” Then, before I can protest, he looks right at me. “Ligaya, want to help me demonstrate?”

The entire cast audibly gasps.

Someone whispers, “Oh my god.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

Tristan grins. “Come on, Director Torres. Let’s show them how it’s done.”

There is no reason for me to agree to this.

None. But now all these kids are watching me.

Waiting. Backing down from the challenge would negate months of asking them to get out of their everyday comfort zone.

The entire point of drama is discovering what they can do on the stage. It’s acting, and nothing more.

“Fine,” I say, folding my arms. “But if you make this weird, all rehearsals will be permanently closed.”

Tristan chuckles. “Noted.”

I square my shoulders. “Alright, class, when you step into a scene like this, you’re not yourself anymore. You’re the character.”

“Right,” Tristan says, “which means you need to let go of who you were. Start fresh.”

He walks to me, deliberate without being eager. His gait is neither hesitant nor rushed. His confident eyes are locked on mine, the specks of green in them darkening. Suddenly, I forget how to breathe. My knees weaken. My spine tingles.

There’s a moment when my brain short-circuits and I forget we’re not alone. My lips open slightly, anticipating his soft mouth and delicious taste .

The air shifts. Real, electric, holy-hell tension sizzles. And judging by the absolute silence in the room, I am not the only one who notices.

Tristan tilts his head, leaning in just enough to make a kiss seem inevitable. His breath is warm against my skin, his thumb sweeping across my knuckles with practiced skill. Like he knows how a woman needs to be touched.

That is because Tristan is a man who has touched a lot of women. My every brain cell is broadcasting “bad idea” in neon letters, while my heart gallops to eliminate the distance between us. What’s worse than being under the spell of this man?

Doing it on a freaking stage.

Abruptly, Tristan stops, steps back, and faces Ethan and Mia.

“See? It’s all about intent.”

“Holy shit,” someone whispers.

I clear my throat. “Uh. Yes. Exactly. That.”

Tristan winks. “Glad I could help.”

I glare at him, my heart still hammering. He is going to be insufferable about this. Meanwhile, Ethan and Mia glance at each other, wide-eyed. Mia nods determinedly. “Yeah, okay, we’ll try again.”

I focus on the tasks at hand. The scene carries over to another one, rehearsal moving along as planned.

Mandi, our music director, joins us. The rest of the rehearsal will be dedicated to the vocals, so I head to the back of the auditorium, catching the tail end of a conversation between Tristan and Toby who is giving Tristan his home address.

That’s not a good sign.