Chapter 9
Holly
I woke up to the soft glow of my phone; the screen illuminating the dark room like a spotlight. My heart sank when I saw the unknown number.
You looked good today.
I stared at it longer than I should have; the words lingering like a ghost. My mind raced through every possible interpretation, but nothing felt right. It was casual. Normal. A comment that could come from someone who still held a piece of my heart.
But how could he act like everything was fine? Like he hadn’t just sent Logan to the ER? I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to will the memories away—the thud of bodies colliding on ice, Logan crumpling under Damien’s weight, and that smug look on Damien's face afterward.
And what he did after? That was so much worse.
I opened my eyes again and reread the message. The calmness in those words twisted something deep inside me. Hadn’t he always known how to manipulate me? He used to say things just like this when we were together, back when I believed in us—before everything had gone sideways.
My stomach churned at the thought of how easily I slipped into nostalgia, longing for something that no longer existed. A quick glance at the time told me it was still early; I could stay in bed and pretend none of this was happening, but that wouldn't last long.
With a heavy sigh, I threw off the covers and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The hardwood floor felt cold against my skin as I sat there, battling with myself over whether to reply or just let it hang in limbo like so many other unresolved issues between us.
But as much as I wanted to dismiss him entirely, that message kept gnawing at me. Why did it feel so intimate? Why did it make me ache in ways I didn’t want to acknowledge?
I told myself to delete it.
Just swipe left, hit that little trash can icon, and let it go.
Block him.
That seemed easy enough.
A single tap, and he would vanish from my life again, just like he had three years ago. I could ignore it—just let the silence settle in like an old friend. But instead, I found myself locking my phone; the screen going dark as if that could somehow erase what he had said.
The flutter in my chest felt all too familiar—an old rhythm I thought I had buried. I paced the room, every footfall echoing with doubt and frustration. My reflection in the mirror caught my eye, and I barely recognized the girl staring back at me: wide-eyed, a little too vulnerable. Was this how I had become? Just another pawn in Damien’s twisted game?
I pressed my fingers against the cool surface of the dresser to steady myself, feeling the weight of his words like a lead ball in my stomach. How did he do this? How could one simple message pull me back into a world where nothing made sense?
A part of me longed for that casual connection we used to share—the way he would tease me until laughter spilled from my lips and melted away any anger or confusion between us. It felt so innocent then; now it was tainted with everything that had happened.
But deep down, beneath all the memories and emotions tangled up in knots, I knew better than to respond. He thrived on chaos; it was his lifeblood. He wanted me off-balance so he could sweep back into my life with that devil-may-care charm that always made my heart skip.
I took a deep breath and stepped away from the mirror, shaking off the moment of weakness that threatened to swallow me whole. No more games. No more letting him into my head or my heart.
Yet even as I tried to convince myself of that truth, uncertainty clawed at my resolve.
I didn't trust myself.
And that was what scared me the most.
I grabbed my bag and headed out the door, determined to put Damien out of my mind. I had errands to run for the charity game, a task that should have felt straightforward. But the moment I stepped onto campus, it was as if he lurked in every shadow.
I made my way to the rink office, glancing at the posters announcing the charity event plastered around campus. As I passed a group of students, their hushed tones reached my ears.
“Sinclaire’s off the leash again.”
“Logan’s hand is fucked—might miss the whole season.”
I bit my lip, forcing myself to ignore them. The whispers didn’t stop there; they buzzed like angry bees in my ears, filling the air with something unsettling.
“He’s dangerous.”
Those words hung in the air, heavier than bricks. My heart raced as I remembered Logan's pale face when I saw him last.
But alongside fear came something else—a strange admiration that rippled through the crowd. They didn’t just fear him; they respected him.
I entered the rink office and found a few staff members setting up for the upcoming event. They nodded at me but cast glances toward an empty corner as if expecting Damien to appear at any moment.
“Did you hear about Sinclaire?” one of them asked under his breath.
“Yeah,” another replied, a hint of awe lacing his voice. “Dude’s untouchable thanks to his father.”
Untouchable. The word wrapped around me like a shroud, both infuriating and intoxicating. How could he hold such power over everyone? Even after what happened with Logan?
The staff continued discussing Damien's latest antics while I busied myself with schedules and logistics for game day. Every time someone mentioned his name, my stomach churned—not from fear alone but from a confusing mix of nostalgia and unresolved feelings.
“Hey Holly,” one of them said as they handed me a clipboard filled with notes on player assignments. “You’re working with Sinclaire now? That should be interesting.”
I forced a smile, trying to hide how rattled I felt inside.
As I shuffled through papers and checked off tasks on my list, all I could think was that this was supposed to be about charity—a noble cause—yet somehow it had twisted into something far more complicated than that. And there he was again, casting his shadow over everything I tried to do.
I couldn’t shake him off; he was everywhere—and it felt suffocating.
I flipped through the clipboard, pretending to focus on the notes, but my mind drifted. Images of Damien flooded back—his smirk, the way he leaned in when he wanted something from me. I could still feel the heat radiating off his body, the way he filled a room just by walking into it.
I remembered standing next to him, how effortless it felt to belong. It wasn’t just about being his girlfriend; it was about being part of something bigger. The thrill of being with someone who commanded attention and respect. I had felt invincible, as if I were wrapped in a protective cocoon made from his chaotic energy.
And yet… it came with fear. The kind that prickled my skin whenever he got too intense or too reckless. I hated myself for missing that feeling—the rush of adrenaline that coursed through me when I knew everyone else stepped back because they feared him. He was a force of nature, and I had stood at his side, feeling untouchable.
But those memories twisted into something darker. As much as I had loved that connection, I remembered the other side: the pain and unpredictability that followed like a shadow. It was intoxicating and terrifying all at once.
I clenched my jaw. How could I miss something so damaging? How could I crave the chaos when it had cost me so much? Each recollection sliced through me like ice—a bitter reminder of how deep his grip on me had been.
As I looked around the office, laughter erupted from a nearby group discussing last year’s game highlights, their voices bright and carefree. I envied their lightness while my heart sank with memories of Damien’s possessive gaze locking onto mine, as if he were claiming me all over again.
But no—this wasn’t what I wanted. This time would be different; it had to be.
I settled into a booth at River Styx, the familiar scent of roasted coffee and pastries wrapping around me like a warm hug. Everly arrived moments later, her bright smile instantly lifting my spirits.
“Holly!” she exclaimed, sliding into the seat across from me. “It’s been too long.”
“I know! I missed you,” I said, genuinely relieved to see her. It felt good to have someone to talk to—someone who wasn’t tangled in all this mess.
We ordered lunch and began catching up, our conversation flowing effortlessly. Everly excitedly filled me in on the latest with Cooper Sinclaire.
“He’s amazing, Holly! We went hiking last weekend, and he just—he’s so passionate about everything,” she gushed. “He really listens to me, you know? It feels like he cares. Even if he can be sometimes abrupt about things. You know how he is."
I did.
The truth was, Cooper was never around when me and Damien were together. There was an eight-year age gap between siblings, but something told me it was more than that, almost like Cooper had avoided being home at all.
Damien had this weird hatred slash admiration for his older brother, like Cooper had escaped while Damien hadn't.
I smiled at her enthusiasm. Everly had always been drawn to strong personalities, but Cooper was different. He brought out a softness in her that was beautiful to witness. Their relationship blossomed like spring flowers after a long winter, even with him being rough around the edges.
“Sounds like you’re smitten,” I teased.
“Maybe just a little,” she replied with a laugh before shifting gears back to the charity game. “So what’s the latest with the planning? The roster looks intense this year. At least, Cooper mentioned it."
“It is,” I said, taking a sip of my iced tea. “They’ve paired me with Logan for coordinating tasks. It feels… manageable.”
“Logan Hartley? He seems nice enough,” she said, raising an eyebrow playfully. “I thought…” She looked away.
I sighed. “You heard?"
"Who hasn't?" Everly met my eyes again.
The conversation veered toward the upcoming women’s hockey game featuring Team USA against Team Canada—a big deal in Crestwood this summer. Duncan Callahan was coaching the event; his presence added prestige and excitement.
“Can you believe we’ll get to see him coach? An Olympic gold medalist!” Everly exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Yeah, it’ll be incredible,” I agreed before my mind drifted back to darker thoughts.
Then came that name—the one that seemed to linger in every corner of my life now.
“What about Damien?” Everly asked cautiously, her tone shifting as if sensing the tension creeping back into my chest.
I sighed deeply, grappling with how much I wanted to share and how much I wanted to keep buried.
I looked down at my iced tea, swirling the condensation on the glass with my fingers.
“Damien is ancient history,” I said, forcing a lightness into my tone that didn’t quite match the heaviness in my chest.
Everly tilted her head, a small frown creeping onto her face. She knew me too well—far better than I wanted anyone to know me right now. I could feel the unspoken question lingering between us, heavy and suffocating.
“Right,” she replied slowly, her eyes searching mine for something deeper. “You’re really okay?”
“Of course! I mean, he’s just… there,” I gestured vaguely, as if Damien was merely an old poster hanging on a wall, faded but not forgotten. “He doesn’t matter.”
But even as I spoke those words, doubt gnawed at me. The truth was different; Damien mattered more than I wanted to admit. He had carved his name into my memories like ice skates slicing through frozen ground—deep and unyielding.
Judging by the way Everly looked at me, it was clear she saw right through the facade. Her silence felt heavy with understanding and concern, yet she didn’t push. For that small mercy, I felt grateful.
We both sipped our drinks, letting the moment stretch into comfortable silence until she finally broke it.
“You know Cooper would never let anything happen to you,” she said softly.
I nodded, trying to convince myself of that very thing. “I know… he seems nice.”
“But?” Everly prompted gently.
“But he’s also Damien’s brother.” The connection twisted something inside me—a knot of anxiety and resentment tightening in my gut. “It just feels awkward.”
Everly leaned forward slightly, concern etched on her face. “You’re allowed to have friends even if they’re connected to your past.”
My heart raced at her words; she had no idea how tangled those connections were for me. Nothing about Damien ever stayed in the past.
“Let’s change the subject,” I said quickly, unwilling to explore this territory any further.
Everly gave me another long look. It annoyed me how she was so adept at seeing through me, even after a sheltered upbringing. College had done her good.
Or maybe it was Cooper Sinclaire.
"Who do you think is going to make the Team USA roster?" I asked. "I hear Iris Evans is practically a prodigy."
After lunch, I trudged back to campus, my mind still tangled in thoughts of Damien and Logan. The weight of the afternoon’s conversation hung over me like a thick fog. I had to pick up the vendor's list for the charity game, but all I wanted was to escape the suffocating memories that followed me around.
As I neared the rink, I heard laughter and the unmistakable thud of skates cutting into ice. It was a sound that stirred something inside me. I pushed through the double doors and stepped into the cold air of the rink area, hoping to get in and out without incident.
But then, there he was.
Damien stood by the entrance, leaning casually against the wall like he owned the place. He looked strikingly like a predator, with silver-blond hair tousled just right and stormy blue eyes that seemed to pierce right through me. An easy smile played on his lips, yet it felt dangerous—like a wolf pretending to be a house pet.
I hesitated for a moment, debating whether to walk past him or confront whatever he had in mind. But before I could decide, he intercepted me effortlessly.
“Avoiding me already?” His voice rolled over me like silk laced with steel.
I forced a smile, trying to keep my composure. “I’m busy.”
He took a step closer, invading my personal space in that infuriating way he always did. “Too busy for me?”
My heart raced at his proximity; his presence was electric yet suffocating. Every muscle in my body screamed for me to back away, but there was something magnetic about him—something that drew me in against my will.
“I really need to grab this list,” I said, attempting to sidestep him as if that would somehow break whatever spell he cast over our shared history.
He chuckled softly, a sound filled with confidence and amusement. “Come on, little lamb. It’s just a list.” His eyes narrowed slightly as if he were assessing my every move—my body language, my heartbeat—as if he could sense my uncertainty.
I clenched my jaw, determined not to let him see how much his presence affected me. But standing so close made it hard to remember why I wanted him out of my life in the first place.
The air between us crackled with tension, and I fought to suppress the shivers that crept up my spine. It was suffocating, the way he stood there—calm, collected—like a storm that hadn’t yet broken. I could almost feel the heat radiating off him, the violence simmering just beneath his surface.
And the worst part? My body remembered it. Every glance he threw my way, every brush of his shoulder against mine, sent waves of heat through me that I couldn't ignore. I took a step back, desperately trying to regain some semblance of control.
“I’m not doing this with you,” I declared, my voice steadier than I felt.
His smirk widened, eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, you’re already doing it, little lamb. We never stopped.”
I clenched my fists at my sides, resisting the urge to reach out and push him away as if I could physically expel the memories of what we once had—and what he still stirred within me. My heart raced in response to his words, a mix of anger and confusion twisting in my gut.
“Stop calling me that,” I snapped, attempting to mask the vulnerability creeping into my voice.
His laughter echoed in the hollow space around us, mocking and full of something darker. “But it fits you so well.” He stepped forward again, closing the distance like he had some right to invade my space.
I could feel the walls closing in as he moved closer; his presence loomed large over me. I took another step back, trying to put distance between us, but it felt futile. The more I resisted him physically, the more he leaned into that control he always seemed to wield effortlessly.
“You think you can just walk back into my life and act like nothing happened?” My words dripped with defiance despite the turmoil inside me.
He tilted his head slightly, studying me as if I were an enigma he couldn’t quite solve. “Why not? You’re still here.”
I turned on my heel, the urge to run battling with the need to hold my ground. I stepped away from Damien, determined to walk out of that rink like I hadn’t just been shaken to my core. It felt like I was moving through molasses, each step weighted by the intensity of our encounter.
As I reached for the vendor list hanging on the bulletin board, my fingers trembled slightly. I cursed myself for letting him get to me. For every ounce of anger I felt towards him, there was an equal measure of heat simmering under my skin—something that left me both furious and alive.
I grabbed the list and turned back toward the exit, stealing a glance over my shoulder. Damien still leaned against the wall, arms crossed, an infuriatingly confident smile playing on his lips. He watched me leave as if he’d orchestrated this entire encounter—a game where he was always one step ahead.
It didn’t feel like a victory. Not at all. It felt more like he had let me go, as if he knew I would come back eventually, drawn into his orbit once again. That thought twisted in my stomach like a dagger; it made me want to scream and laugh all at once.
I stepped outside into the fresh air, inhaling deeply as if it could cleanse me of the heat still lingering from our interaction.
“I hate him,” I muttered under my breath, trying to convince myself as much as anyone else.
But with each word came that infernal warmth creeping back in—my body betraying me with memories I wished I could erase.
I headed toward my car but found myself glancing at every shadow, every movement around campus. His presence hung in the air like a storm cloud waiting to burst; it felt inevitable, even as I drove home.
The vendor list crumpled slightly in my hand as I clutched it tighter than necessary.
I pushed through the front door of my house, relief washing over me when I realized my father wasn’t home. Thank God for that small mercy. The last thing I wanted was a lecture about responsibility or another round of how to manage Damien Sinclaire. I headed straight to my room, closing the door behind me and locking it like it would keep the chaos outside at bay.
Once inside, I turned off my phone; the screen going dark with a finality that felt oddly comforting. I sank onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling. Shadows danced in the dim light filtering through the curtains, and silence enveloped me like a heavy blanket. But as much as I craved peace, sleep eluded me.
I tossed and turned, fighting against the memories that swirled in my mind like leaves caught in a gust of wind. Every encounter with Damien played on repeat—the way he’d leaned against the wall, that infuriating smirk on his face, how effortlessly he invaded my thoughts.
I wasn’t afraid of what Damien might do to me; I knew him well enough to recognize that he thrived on mind games and manipulation.
No, what kept me awake was far more unsettling—what I might let him do.
Each thought twisted in my gut as if it were tightening around me like a noose. The pull toward him was magnetic and terrifying all at once. Deep down, beneath layers of anger and hurt, there was a flicker of something else—a flicker of desire that made my heart race even now. The way he commanded attention, how he could slice through silence with just a glance… it unnerved me.
The night dragged on with an agonizing slowness. No matter how many times I told myself to breathe deeply and relax, my body refused to comply. Each minute stretched into an hour as shadows morphed into ghosts from our past—the laughter we shared, the whispered secrets under stars that felt so distant now.
Eventually, exhaustion crept in but sleep remained elusive; all I could think about was Damien’s smirk and those stormy blue eyes piercing through every pretense I held onto.