Page 17

Sitting on the bed, I tossed a puck between hands. The rhythmic thud of rubber against my palm echoed in my bedroom. Across the room, Nate zipped up his duffel bag, his movements methodical but slow–like he was stalling. I glanced at him, arching a brow.

“You need help?”

Nate smirked but didn’t look up.

“No, I wanted to talk to you first.”

My stomach tightened.

“Let me guess, you can’t wait until winter break to see me again.” I said, expecting a laugh.

Nate slung the duffel strap over his shoulder and turned, leaning against the desk. His face was serious.

“Not quite. It’s about Hazel.”

The hand froze mid-air, my grip tightening around the puck before I resumed the lazy toss, feigning nonchalance.

“What about her?”

Nate crossed his arms, his gaze steady.

“Look, man. I know you think no one notices, but I do. Hazel’s got feelings for you.”

The puck slipped from my fingers, bouncing onto the floor. I let it roll, leaning back on my hands with a forced laugh.

“You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” Nate’s tone was sharp, cutting through my denial. “She lights up when you’re around, Camp. And don’t act like you don’t know it. I’ve seen the way you look at her, too.”

I shrugged, grabbing the puck from the floor.

“She’s Nevaeh’s friend. That’s it.”

“Bullshit.” Nate pushed off the desk, his voice rising. “You might fool everyone else with this too cool to care act, but not me. I’ve known you for over a decade. If you feel nothing for her, fine. But don’t mess with her head.”

I shot a look, my jaw tightening.

“I’m not messing with anyone.”

Nate stepped closer, his expression unyielding.

“You’ve got a pattern, Campbell. You flirt, you charm, you get what you want, and then you’re out. Hazel’s not like those other girls. She’s not some fling for you to toy with when you’re bored.”

The words struck a nerve, but I leaned back, my smirk returning.

“You think I’m that bad, huh?”

Nate’s jaw clenched.

“I know you’ve got your reasons for the way you act, but that doesn’t make it okay. Hazel deserves someone who’s all in, not someone who’s too scared to admit they care.”

I stood, towering over Nate, the puck clenched in my hand.

“I don’t care about Hazel like that.”

Nate didn’t back down.

“You sure about that? Because the way you’ve been acting says otherwise. You can’t keep pushing people away forever, Campbell. It’s been years .”

My chest tightened, memories of my past threatening to resurface—how I’d let someone in once, only to have it blow up in my face. That road was impassable for me. Not with Hazel.

“Why are you so concerned about it? You just met her.”

Nate’s gaze softened, though his tone remained firm.

“Because she’s a nice girl. And I care about you, even if you’re too stubborn to admit when you’re screwing up.” He grabbed his bag, pausing at the door. “Just think about what I said, all right?”

My jaw locked as the door clicked shut behind Nate. The room felt quieter, heavier. I returned to bed, the puck cold, firm. I didn’t have feelings for Hazel. I couldn’t. Letting someone in meant opening myself up to pain I wasn’t willing to face again. But the memory of her laugh, the way her eyes lit up when she talked, lingered in my mind, unshakable. I threw the puck; it hit the wall, then rolled under the desk.

“You’re such a fucking idiot.” I muttered, raking a hand through my hair.

And I wasn’t certain if I was talking to Nate or myself.

**

The cold air wrapped around us like a second skin, biting at my exposed cheeks as I leaned against the bench, watching the flickering flames of the bonfire. The laughter and chatter of my friends echoed through the crisp night, a comforting background hum to the crackling fire. Our last gathering before winter break. I came because Nevaeh, the group’s social architect, invited me, but my real reason was Hazel.

The first time I saw her across the fire, bundled up in her coat and scarf, I felt the familiar tension in my chest. She was trying so hard to fit in, to seem unbothered, but I could see it in the way she fidgeted with her scarf, the way her eyes scanned the group—she didn’t quite belong. My stomach twisted. Uniqueness defined her as a source of both trouble and fascination.

Hazel caught my eye for a fleeting moment. Her cheeks flushed as she glanced away, her breath misting in the air, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. I fought the urge to grin back at her, keeping my expression neutral as I turned my attention back to the group.

Nevaeh was talking to me now, leaning into my space with a playful smirk on her lips. She nudged me in the ribs, teasing me about some inane hockey fact, but I wasn’t listening. I couldn’t stop glancing at Hazel, watching as Kendall waved her over and patted the spot next to him on the bench. She hesitated for a second before sitting down, her posture stiff but polite as Kendall started asking about her winter break plans.

I tightened my grip on my drink, shifting my eyes from Hazel’s face to Kendall’s hand, which rested too casually on the back of the bench. It wasn’t anything, but it still pricked at something inside me. Kendall had a girlfriend, but his proximity to Hazel still irked me. My pulse quickened, the irritation rising in my chest like an unexpected wave.

I tried to hide it behind a chuckle as Nevaeh nudged me again, asking if I was planning on taking the hockey team to the championships this year. I could only watch as Hazel laughed at something Kendall said, her face lighting up in a way that made me feel like I was missing out on something.

A few moments later, the conversation moved toward roasting marshmallows, and everyone shifted closer to the fire. All benches occupied, Hazel sat fireside, small amongst the groups, knees drawn to her chest. I felt a familiar pull, needing to ease her discomfort. I grabbed a blanket from the pile near the fire pit and, without thinking, tossed it over to her.

“You’ll freeze sitting there.”

Hazel looked up in surprise, her expression softening as she accepted the blanket, pulling it around her shoulders with a shy nod.

“Thanks.” she whispered, her voice barely above the crackle of the fire.

I watched her for a moment, not trusting myself to say more. My chest tightened, but I shoved the feeling down. I couldn’t allow myself emotional investment.

“You’re terrible at pretending to be fine, you know that?” I muttered, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders as if it were a simple, friendly gesture, nothing more.

My fingers brushed against her skin, and the connection was enough to make my pulse race. Hazel didn’t meet my eyes, but I saw the faint blush creeping across her cheeks.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice soft but uncertain. “You didn’t have to.”

I smiled, a little too tender for my liking.

“I’m pretty sure I know when someone’s freezing, even if they don’t want to admit it.” I turned my attention back to the fire, forcing the conversation to end there.

It wasn’t long before someone passed out marshmallow roasting sticks, and Hazel, despite her attempts to be careful, kept burning her marshmallows. I watched her, an amused smirk tugging at my lips. She was trying so hard, but it was like watching a train wreck in slow motion.

“Are you trying to set the record for the most burned marshmallows in one night?” I teased, my voice light, but I couldn’t hide the undercurrent of something else—a strange protectiveness. Hazel shot me a playful glare, her lips curling up.

“Burned marshmallows have character. You wouldn’t understand.”

I chuckled, taking her stick from her hands before she could burn another one to a crisp.

“Here, let me show you how it’s done.” I moved closer my arms on either side of her, roasting the marshmallow, turning it until it was golden brown. I blew on it to cool it down before handing it back to her. “Perfect. No need to set this one on fire.” My voice was soft, and my fingers brushed hers when she took the marshmallow from me.

The touch lingered, just a moment too long, and I felt a flutter in my chest, an odd sensation I couldn’t quite explain.

**

As the night wore on, the temperature dropped even further, and Hazel’s shivering intensified. She tried not to show it, but I noticed her rubbing her hands together, her nose pink from the cold. I didn’t hesitate this time. I shrugged off my jacket and walked over to her, handing it to her without a word.

“Take this before you freeze.” I said, my voice casual, but the way my eyes lingered on her made it clear I wasn’t just being kind. Hazel protested, but I cut her off. “Don’t argue. Just take it. I don’t want to carry you back to the dorms when you turn into a popsicle.”

I watched as she pulled it tighter around her shoulders, not moving until her shivers subsided. I grabbed my drink and returned to my seat, drawing my eyes back to her to make sure she was okay.

As conversations ebbed and flowed around the bonfire, I saw Hazel leave the group. I’d noticed she’d do that often, as if she just needed a break from the crowds. I leaned against the nearest tree, my hands shoved in my pockets, watching as she sat on a log, gazing at the stars. She bundled herself in the blanket and under my jacket, hiding her hands beneath its folds. But as I watched her closer, I noticed something small dangling from her fingers–a keychain shaped like a lighthouse. Curiosity tugged at me, and I pushed off the tree, strolling toward her. As I approached, she seemed lost in thought, her fingers fiddling with the lighthouse, turning it over and over. She treasured the tiny, delicate object.

“What’s that?” I asked, lowering myself onto the log beside her, close enough that our shoulders touched.

A startle caused Hazel to glance up, her eyes wide, then back to the keychain. She hesitated, her cheeks flushing.

“Oh, um… it’s just a keychain.”

I tilted my head, a small, amused smile playing on my lips.

“Just a keychain? You’ve been holding onto it like it’s some kind of treasure.”

Hazel let out a quiet laugh, her fingers tightening around the lighthouse. She glanced at me, unsure, before speaking, her voice shy but steady.

“It’s from my favorite book, The Great Gatsby. ”

My brows lifted, intrigued.

“The one with the green light and all the symbolism?”

“Well, I’m glad you learned something from our tutoring session.” She said, earning a laugh from me.

“You love that book?”

She nodded, her lips curving into a small, self-conscious smile.

“Yeah. The lighthouse reminds me of the green light. It’s like this symbol of hope, you know? Something to reach for, even when it feels out of reach.” Her voice softened as she spoke, her gaze dropping back to the keychain. “I guess I carry it around to remind myself not to give up, even when things seem impossible.”

My chest tightened at her words. There was something so vulnerable about the way she said it, as if she’d revealed a part of herself she kept hidden. I glanced at the lighthouse again, understanding why she held it.

“That’s not what I expected,” I admitted, my voice quieter now. “But it makes sense. Hope’s a good thing to hold on to.”

Hazel shrugged, her cheeks still pink.

“It’s silly, I know. I just—”

“It’s not silly,” I interrupted, my tone firm. “Not even close.”

I sat back, my arms resting on my bent knees as Hazel fiddled with her keychain, explaining its significance and I hung onto every word. She could explain the entire process on photosynthesis, and I would listen as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. She was close, just close enough that I could catch the faint scent of vanilla lingering. Her lips curved into a shy smile as she tucked the keychain into her palms.

“You must think I’m crazy.”

“You’re not crazy, Hazel,” I said, my voice quieter now. “But you keep me guessing.”

She laughed, her eyes darting to mine and then away again. Her vulnerability hit me harder than I expected, and before I could stop myself, I reached out, brushing a strand of hair that had fallen loose. My fingers grazed her cheek, lingering for a heartbeat too long. Hazel stilled, her eyes flicking to mine. The firelight reflected in them, wide and unsure, but she didn’t move away. She opened her mouth to speak, but produced no sound. The world dimmed. The voices of our friends became a distant hum. It was just her, her breath visible in the cold air, and the steady pull of something I couldn’t quite name. I leaned in, my hand hovering by her cheek, my lips a fraction away from hers. But just as our noses brushed, a sharp voice cut through the quiet.

“Campbell!” Nevaeh’s voice rang out from across the fire, loud and cheerful. “Get over here! We need you for the next round of questions.”

Hazel jumped at the sound, her eyes wide with panic. She pulled back, and the blanket slipped from her shoulders, pooling around her on the ground.

“I—I should go.” She stammered, rising to her feet in a rush.

I stood too, my hand reaching out as if to stop her.

“Hazel, wait—”

While moving, she clutched the blanket in one hand and yanked off my jacket with the other.

“Thanks for the blanket and jacket. I’ll see you around.”

She didn’t look back as she hurried toward the path that led to the dorms, her boots crunching against the frosty ground. I stood frozen, my hand still halfway extended, watching her retreat. Nevaeh called my name again, but I barely heard it. My jaw tightened, frustration simmering under the surface as I ran a hand through my hair.

“Fuck.” I muttered under my breath, my gaze fixed on the spot where Hazel had disappeared into the night.

I felt the cold. Hazel was gone, her absence a hollow ache I hadn’t been expecting. With a frustrated sigh, I bent to pick up my jacket from where I’d tossed it on the bench earlier. I shrugged it on, the familiar weight settling over my shoulders, but something was different. Vanilla clung to the fabric, soft and warm, hers. It hit me like a punch to the gut, the memory of her sitting close, her shy smile and hesitant voice flooding my mind.

“Great.” I muttered under my breath, brushing a hand over my face.

I shoved my hands into my pockets, needing something to ground me. My fingers brushed against something small and metal. Frowning, I pulled it out, the dim light of the fire catching on the polished surface. The lighthouse keychain.

I turned it over in my hands, the weight of it significant. My thumb traced the smooth curves of the lighthouse, and for a moment, I just stared at it. I exhaled, dropping onto the bench. I stared at the keychain in my palm, her words echoing louder than the surrounding chatter.

Hazel wasn’t just carrying a piece of metal; she was carrying a piece of herself, something she clung to. And now it was in my hands. My grip tightened as I leaned forward. I could give it back, but I wasn’t quite ready to let go. Not tonight. The jacket kept a vanilla scent; my pocket held the lighthouse keychain. Hazel was gone, but somehow, pieces of her lingered. I knew, despite my attempts at self-deception, those pieces held undue importance.