Chapter 181 EPILOGUE

Chapter 181 EPILOGUE
Aveline's POV

The cardboard box on the floor was taped shut. I sat on the edge of the mattress, my knees pulled up toward my chin as I looked out the window. Outside, autumn leaves were blowing across the paths of the courtyard.

It was late August. The letter from the University of Minnesota had changed everything. Instead of taking a gap year, I had spent the summer packing bags, signing enrollment forms, and getting ready for the move. Now the truck was unpacked, my mother was already driving back down the state, and the room was quiet.

I reached down and sliced the tape on the top box with my house key.

The first thing inside was my practice jersey. I pulled the maroon fabric out, shaking out the folds before laying it flat across the mattress. Stitched across the shoulders in clean white letters was my own name.

CARTER.

I touched the embroidery. For months, I had been careful about everything: my voice, my clothes, even the way I walked into the locker room. Seeing my own name on the jersey felt strange. In a good way.

I looked around the room again. There were still clothes hanging from the closet door and two bags sitting beside the dresser that I had not touched. My mother had spent most of the morning telling me I was forgetting things, even after I checked the same boxes three times.

She had hugged me before leaving and told me to call when I got settled. I had promised her I would.

For once, leaving home didn't feel like running away.

I was nervous, though. I had spent so much time pretending to be someone else that I wasn't completely sure what being myself was supposed to feel like. At Crestwood, every mistake could expose me. Here, nobody knew the story behind my name. Nobody knew why I had worn Asher's clothes or why stepping into a locker room had once felt like walking into a trap.

That thought should have scared me.

Instead, it made me smile.

I picked up the jersey again and held it against myself in front of the small mirror beside the closet. It fit. The name looked right.

For the first time, I didn't have to imagine what my life might look like after everything was over.

This was it.

My phone vibrated against the desk. I picked it up and saw Kieran’s name on the screen.

"Tell me you didn't let your mother pack the whole pictures," his voice came through the speaker. He sounded tired, and the background noise of a dining hall echoed behind him.

"She placed it directly at the bottom of my box," I said, leaning against the wall. "Next to the plastic crab."

Kieran laughed. "Good. If Milo asks about it on the group chat, tell him we lost it in the harbor. He’s already threatening to FaceTime the entire line during our first Friday scrimmage."

"How is the ice out there?" I asked.

"Fast," he said, his tone dropping. "The coaches are running three-hour skates for the recruits this week. Every defenseman on the first line hits like a truck."

"Are you nervous, captain?"

"Never," he murmured, and I could hear his old cockiness in the word. "I just wish you were sitting on the bench side of the glass instead of twelve hours down the highway."

"I have my own line to worry about, Hampton," I said, looking back at the jersey on the bed. "The coach told us today that if we lag on the back-skate loops, we spend the weekend running the bleachers."

"You won't lag," he said. His voice was steady. "Just show them how you play."

"I will," I said.

I smiled when I remembered the first time he had called me Ave instead of Asher. It had been such a small thing, but I had remembered it. Back then, I had been afraid of what would happen if anyone looked too closely at me. Now I was sitting in a dorm room with my own jersey beside me, talking to the same boy who had known me before I knew how to stop hiding.

Maybe that was enough.

"We didn't talk about the distance. We didn't need to.

"I have to head back to the athletic wing for video review," Kieran said. "Call me after your morning skate tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," I agreed. "Bye, Kieran."

"Bye, Ave."

The line went dead. I stood up from the mattress, leaving the rest of the boxes for later, and grabbed my skates from the duffel bag.

I walked out of the building, heading down the path toward the campus arena. Students passed me on their way to class, barely paying attention.

The side entrance to the rink was unlocked. I pushed through the doors, stepping into the chill of the interior. The stadium lights were turned down to the low-maintenance bulbs, casting dim reflections across the empty ice.

I sat on the lower bench near the gate, pulling my socks up and tying my laces. My hands were steady as I double-knotted the cord, pulling the leather tight against my ankles.

I thought about Crestwood for a second. The rink. The locker room. Everything that had happened there. But as I stood up on my blades and pushed the gate open, none of that followed me.

I stepped onto the ice. The surface was hard and completely clean.

I bent my knees and pushed forward.

One hard stride. Then another.

The rink was empty, but I didn't mind.

I kept skating.