Chapter 3
Holly
A handful of students huddled around a table, flipping through binders and jotting down notes. They were all strangers to me, faces I hadn’t seen before, yet they shared an air of determination that felt strangely comforting. Faculty supervisors leaned against the walls, their arms crossed, but one figure stood out—my father, John Walker.
He glanced up as I entered.
“Glad you could make it,” he said, gesturing toward an empty chair next to him.
“Yeah, wouldn’t miss it,” I replied, forcing a lightness into my voice. I slid into the chair and tried to focus on the papers strewn across the table instead of the prickling sensation at the back of my neck.
I couldn’t let myself think about Damien again—not here, not now.
I sat at the table, glancing around at the handful of volunteers who filled the small space. There was a surge of nervous energy and focused determination in the room. The first was Daphne Samuels, a girl who seemed to embody the spirit of her namesake—long, red hair, a tight, purple summer dress, and an ever-present smile that felt a bit too eager. She fidgeted with a stack of flyers, clearly excited about every detail of the event.
Next to her sat Freya Reynolds, and I wasn’t surprised to see her here. Her father had been dean before my dad took over after the scandal that rocked the college, so she’d always found herself roped into charity work. Freya had an easy charm about her—blonde hair that fell in waves over her shoulders and freckles dusting her cheeks like scattered confetti. Her bright green eyes sparkled as she spoke, animatedly discussing ideas for the event.
“Maybe we could do something fun during intermission? Like a mini-game or a raffle?” Freya suggested, twirling a pen between her fingers.
“Not everyone likes games,” Daphne chimed in. “What if we just keep it simple? People are coming to watch hockey, not play it.”
Their back-and-forth banter reminded me of how easy it used to be to get caught up in this world—the lightness and camaraderie that often felt like an escape from reality. But now? It felt like trying to breathe underwater.
I tried to shake off my unease as I scanned the table again. Two other students joined us—Sam Peters, tall and quiet with a serious demeanor that seemed out of place among our group, and Lucy Chen, whose bright pink hair made her stand out even more than Freya’s vibrant personality. Lucy doodled on her notepad while occasionally throwing in suggestions that were quirky but surprisingly insightful.
Daphne stood up, her energy radiating across the room. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and cleared her throat, commanding attention.
“Hey everyone! I’m Daphne Samuels, and I’m thrilled to be heading this year’s charity hockey game planning committee.” She beamed, her enthusiasm infectious.
I leaned back in my chair, trying to appear engaged while battling the tightness in my chest. The mention of the charity game sent a ripple of anxiety through me.
Daphne continued, “This event is a huge deal for Crestwood. It’s our chance to showcase our affiliation with the NHL and raise money for Hockey is For All, a program that promotes and gets hockey into places that might not otherwise see it, including the inner-city. Every year, we see exceptional donations come in. This time, especially with Brett Sinclaire as our sponsor?—”
At the mention of Damien's father's name, my stomach lurched. I focused on my notes, willing myself not to react.
“—we’re expecting even more fans this year," she added, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “The game always draws a crowd.”
“What kind of activities do we have planned besides the game?" Freya piped up from beside her, her voice animated. “Can we do something interactive?”
“Absolutely! We’ll have food trucks and a few games during intermission,” Daphne replied enthusiastically. “But most importantly, each committee member will be paired with a player to help coordinate logistics on game day.”
A wave of apprehension washed over me at that announcement.
“What if you get stuck with someone who doesn’t want to cooperate?” Sam asked, crossing his arms skeptically.
“Good question!” Daphne replied cheerfully. “We’ll make sure everyone is motivated to contribute because it’s for a great cause. That's part of the expectation as a player.”
I shifted in my seat, trying to focus on the conversation instead of the impending dread that loomed over me.
“What exactly are we supposed to do with our player?” I asked, glancing at Daphne. “Like, what’s our role?”
Her green eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “Great question! You’ll touch base with them regularly, send reminders about meetings and events, help get them fitted for their tuxedos—it’s almost like being their assistant. The idea is to keep them on track since players often get so caught up in the game that they overlook the social and community aspects.”
I nodded, absorbing her explanation. It made sense, but it also meant I’d be in close proximity to one of those players—including possibly Damien. Just thinking about it sent a jolt of anxiety through me.
Daphne turned toward my dad, who had been quietly observing us from next to me. “Is there anything you’d like to say, sir?” she asked, her voice upbeat.
He stood slowly, and I felt a familiar pride swell in my chest as he straightened his posture. My father had a strong build, weathered face that hinted at wisdom and experience earned through years of hard work. He cleared his throat and surveyed the room with an air of authority that instantly commanded attention.
“Thank you all for being here,” he began, his voice steady yet warm. “This is my first year as dean, and I want to ensure this event runs smoothly.” His gaze flickered around the table before settling back on us. “The success of this charity game is crucial for securing our annual funding from the NHL. It’s not just a game; it’s an opportunity for Crestwood.”
A wave of seriousness swept through the room as we absorbed his words. He paused for effect, letting his message sink in before continuing.
“I trust each of you will put your best effort into this.” He leaned forward slightly, a hint of urgency creeping into his tone. “If we do this right, it reflects not only on our college but on all of you as future leaders in this community.”
As my dad wrapped up his speech, the air in the room buzzed with a mix of anticipation and tension. I shifted in my chair, my fingers drumming nervously against the table. The last thing I wanted was to be paired with someone who would complicate things further—someone like Damien.
Actually, the only person I didn't want to be paired with was Damien.
Daphne glanced down at her clipboard, a mischievous grin breaking across her face. “Okay, everyone! Time for assignments!”
I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. The thought of being linked to one of the players sent my mind racing back to memories I had buried deep. I couldn't shake the feeling that whatever name came next could turn this summer upside down.
“First up,” she began, reading from her list, “Lucy Chen will be paired with Jason Lee from Minnesota.” A round of applause followed as everyone cheered for their friend.
I focused on breathing as she continued through the names, each pairing sending another wave of anxiety coursing through me.
“Next is Sam Peters with Ryan Smith.” Another round of cheers echoed in the room.
Finally, Daphne cleared her throat and looked directly at me. “And Holly Walker will be working with... Logan Hartley.”
Relief washed over me like a cool breeze on a hot day. Logan was safe—steady—everything I needed right now. He had been nothing but kind during our kind-of dating. Nothing was official, but we had texted and gone out a couple of times.
I forced myself to focus on the discussion, jotting down notes as Daphne rattled off ideas. The tension in my shoulders slowly eased as I immersed myself in the planning.
“All right, so we need some exciting raffle items,” Daphne said, her enthusiasm infectious. “Any thoughts?”
Lucy leaned forward, her pink hair bobbing as she spoke. “How about a signed jersey from Brett Sinclaire? That would draw a crowd. Especially since he's coming.”
Freya nodded vigorously. “Yes! And maybe a VIP dinner with one of the players? People love that kind of experience.”
"Are you volunteering Connor Bradley?" Sam asked. "Because, if so?—"
"Bradley is working," Freya said with a smirk. "And there's no way in hell he'd volunteer for this."
"Unless you made him."
Freya smirked but said nothing.
“That’s a great idea!” Daphne replied, her eyes lighting up. “About the VIP dinner. Let’s make sure to include it in our promotional materials.”
“We should also consider local businesses for donations—maybe gift cards or merchandise? Or even a silent auction?" Sam interjected, his arms crossed thoughtfully. “It’ll help foster community support.”
“Good call,” I added, feeling a surge of confidence. “We could reach out to the shops downtown and see what they might be willing to contribute.”
Daphne scribbled down our suggestions before moving on. “Now, for intermission entertainment—what do we think? We can’t just let people sit around.”
“Mini-games would be fun!” Lucy suggested with a bounce in her seat. “Like a shootout challenge for fans or even a quick game of floor hockey with some kids from the community.”
“I like that!” Freya exclaimed. “And we could have prizes for the winners!”
I couldn’t help but smile at their energy; it was contagious.
Daphne clapped her hands together, her excitement palpable. “All right, let’s add those to the list! I mean, I don’t get having spectators participate, but since it was already suggested once, there must be something to it. And what about alumni? Who’s coming back this year?”
"Obviously Brett Sinclaire," Lucy said. "And since Freya nixed Connor Bradley?—"
"I would love to get Ryker Kane here," Sam said. "He went to Crestwood."
"Did his brother go to U of M?" Lucy asked.
Sam made a face.
As they continued tossing names around and debating logistics, I jotted down every detail while suppressing my own thoughts about Damien's looming presence back into my mind.
It was just summer planning—a harmless way to spend my time until school started again. Nothing could go wrong... right?
Daphne clapped her hands together, drawing everyone’s attention again. “Let’s make sure to coordinate well! You all know your roles now, so let’s get to work and make this charity game unforgettable! Reach out to your player and start to get their outfits and equipment in line. I'll be sending texts in a group chat, so please make sure I have your number!"
My attention drifted in and out of the meeting, caught between the excitement of planning and the looming dread that hovered in my chest. The discussions swirled around me—raffle items, intermission games, and player assignments—but I barely registered any of it. Then, suddenly, my phone buzzed against the table.
I glanced down, my heart dropping as I saw the unknown number flash on the screen.
Wrong choice, little lamb.
A chill ran down my spine. It was him.
I could feel the blood drain from my face. How did he even have my number? The last time I checked, I hadn’t given it to him since... well, since everything fell apart. And then I blocked his number and changed it.
My pulse quickened as I instinctively locked the screen, willing myself to focus on anything but that message.
The laughter and chatter around me faded into a dull roar as I fought to ignore what was happening in my pocket—the weight of his words pressing down like a heavy blanket. My fingers trembled slightly as I glanced around the room, searching for anyone who might notice my unease. Everyone remained absorbed in their discussions; no one looked my way.
“Let’s finalize our plan for getting Brett Sinclaire here,” Daphne said brightly, drawing me back into the moment. Her voice rang with excitement, yet all I could think about was Damien’s taunt.
I took a deep breath, reminding myself that I wouldn’t play his game this time. This summer was supposed to be different—focused on planning and charity work without him intruding on every thought or feeling. But the reality of his message crept in like a shadow over everything.
The meeting continued around me—names were tossed around, plans formed—but each word felt like it came from a distance, muffled by anxiety and memories that clawed at me from within.
With each passing moment, his presence loomed larger in my mind despite my best efforts to push it away.
As the meeting wrapped up, I gathered my things, trying to shake off the tension that clung to me like a second skin. My heart raced as I made my way toward the exit, but before I could step outside, I felt a presence beside me.
“Hey, Holly!” Logan’s voice sliced through the lingering anxiety in my chest. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his dark hair catching the light just right. A playful smirk danced on his lips.
“Hey,” I replied, forcing my voice to sound upbeat despite the knot in my stomach. "Oh! Just so you know, I'm your partner for the charity event."
"Oh, yeah?" He grinned. "How'd you work that?"
"Would you believe it if I said it was random?" I replied, feeling myself get lost in the banter… in a good way.
It was the perfect distraction.
“That's a perfect segue for my next question."
"Which is?"
"I was wondering if you wanted to grab a drink later?” He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the attention he commanded.
I hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by his sudden interest. It would be so easy to say no—to keep my distance and avoid any complications that came with spending time together. But then I thought about Damien and how his shadow still loomed over everything I did.
“Sure,” I said, summoning a smile that felt more practiced than genuine. “That sounds fun.”
Anything to prove to myself that I was free—that I could move on.
And I liked Logan.
He grinned wider, clearly pleased with my answer. “Great! How about we meet at The Pour House around eight? We can talk over all this stuff and get to know each other better."
“Sounds good,” I agreed, mentally reminding myself that this was just a casual drink—nothing more.
As we walked toward the campus courtyard, laughter and chatter filled the air, but something felt off. A shiver skated down my spine as an unsettling sensation crept in; it felt like someone was watching us. I glanced over my shoulder but saw nothing out of the ordinary—just students passing by absorbed in their own worlds.
Logan continued talking about summer plans and classes as if nothing was amiss, but my mind remained preoccupied with that gnawing feeling of being observed.
My phone buzzed again in my pocket—a sharp vibration that sent jolts of panic through me. The urge to check it surged within me, but I resisted. It had already stolen enough of my focus today; I wouldn’t let it distract me now.
I forced myself back into our conversation with Logan as we reached the courtyard entrance, where sunlight streamed down and painted everything in warm hues.
Back to where it was safe.
But even then, it felt like eyes were on me… and there was nothing I could do about it.