Chapter 12 Chapter Twelve
Vanessa POV
I didn’t quite remember how I got to the campus fields. I remembered a little vaguely leaving the library,remembered the straps of my bag biting into my shoulder and the familiar weight of my books and materials inside it pressing against my back.
I also remembered walking for a long time, before I got to the school campus gates, they were still open so all I did was show my card to the security guard for him to let me go in.
The campus rink was to the west of the campus, it was late but still very busy—the brick pathways widened into stretches of green fields with students scattered across them in lazy clusters.
Laughter and conversation floating on the air. Someone kicked a soccer ball and music played faintly from a portable speaker.
Normal life.
But I felt separate from it, like I was moving through a pane of glass no one else could see.
“Excuse me,” I said when I reached the edge of the fields, stopping a girl with a clipboard tucked under her arm.
“The hockey rink—where is it?”
The girl pointed without hesitation.
“Past the science building. You’ll hear it before you see it.” she mumbled and I nodded my thanks and kept walking.
I still could have turned back at this point, I could have texted him and told him that I left the wallet with campus security but my brain pointed out that since I was already here I might as well just go in and hand over the wallet.
My brain was weird that way.
I kept walking though and just like the girl had said the sound reached me first before I even saw the rink
The sharp scrape of blades against ice, along with the hollow cracks of puckstick. I kept following the sounds of shouting until the rink came into view.
It looked imposing but elegant –a low, modern structure tucked behind the athletic complex, my palms were damp from nerves,breathing shallow.
I slowed, then stopped entirely, staring at the building like it might rear up and bite me.
You don’t have to go in, I told myself but that didn't work to calm my down much so I tried another method instead.
“You’re just returning a wallet,”I whispered, taking another deep breath.
In and out.
I puIled the doors, they opened with a rush of cold that stole my breath.
The smell hit me next—ice, metal and sweat, memories layered thickly over the present. My heart kicked harder and faster as each of those memories washed over me.
I hated how instinctively my body reacted, how my spine straightened, and my breath shortened. I stepped inside and immediately wished I hadn’t.
The rink spread out before my brightly–it was almost like I was back to being twelve, standing in the aisle and roaring with the crowd as they cheered.
White ice and high glass. Players moving across it in controlled chaos, bodies colliding, skates flashing.
My vision tunneled.
I gripped the railing of the aisle as I climbed the steps, choosing a spot halfway up where I could see without being seen. I told myself I was here for one reason only.
The wallet.
I would wait until practice ended. Hand it over. Leave.
That was all.
My eyes found him on the ice without effort, he looked as magnificent as always.
Danny moved like the ice belonged to him, like it was an extension of his body rather than a surface he fought against. He skated hard, aggressive, calling out plays, clashing with another player at center ice.
Marco.
The sight of him twisted something deep in my chest. Marco laughed as he shoved Danny back, the sound carrying even through the glass.
It wasn’t totally playful– competitive, yes. But no one would get injured.
I swallowed, my fingers tightening around the railing as something old and ugly stirred. The sound of skates cutting across the ice became something else entirely and the rink blurred.
I was ten again.
My father standing at the edge of a different rink, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes hard as he watched me stumble on skates too big for my feet. His voice echoed sharply across the rink, disappointment in his voice loud enough to sting.
“Again.”
I fell.
“Get up.” he roared and I stood wobbling on my feet then I fell again.
Around me, boys skated past me, faster than I was going, their feet more stable on the ice than I was. The cold seeped through my clothes, and the tears on my face had dried into cold patches.
“Don’t be weak,” he snapped when I sniffled again.
The whistle blew, the memories switched to him picking me up and spinning me around.
This was what made my past even worse, the fact that I remembered that my father though he had been strict loved me and my mother as much as he loved hockey and then one day he just stopped.
I flinched violently, my breath catching in my throat as the present tried to reasserted itself, with another memory—something far closer to me this time– a memory that stung sharper.
Danny’s back as he walked away from me on that ice rink.
I don’t need you anymore.
The words echoed through my head even though he’d never said them out loud.
None of them ever said it to my hearing, because according to them it was never my fault. But yet for some reason they always disappeared leaving me totally alone.
My vision wavered.
The rink felt like too much– too bright and loud.
My heartbeat roared in my ears, drowning out everything else. I struggled to breathe, but my lungs refused to expand fully, each inhale catching halfway like they had hit a wall.
Get out, my mind screamed.
Get out now.
But my legs didn’t move.
On the ice, the drill ended abruptly as the coach’s whistle cut through the noise. The players slowed, some skating toward the bench, others leaning over their sticks.
Danny lifted his helmet, running a hand through his hair.
His eyes lifted—and they locked on me, I felt it like a physical blow.
For a split second, confusion crossed his face, replaced immediately with concern.
Someone spoke to him but he waved them off as he skated off the ice in long, powerful strides, pulling his gloves off as he went.
By the time he reached the bench, he had already shrugged out of his helmet.
“Hey,” he called, voice carrying.
I didn’t answer.
He vaulted the boards and jogged up the steps two at a time, ignoring the whistling thrown his way. When he reached me, he stopped short, breath heavy, eyes searching my face.
“Vanessa,” he said, softer now.
“What’s wrong?”
The world tilted.
“I—I can’t—” my voice broke, my legs collapsing underneath me as I shook my head, unable to finish the sentence.