Chapter 85

Chapter 85
KAIA

I was lying relaxed on my dorm bed, propped up against a pile of pillows, when I noticed the chat interface with Adrien flickering between "typing..." and silence for the fifth time in the past ten minutes. Each time the indicator appeared, my heart would skip a beat, and when it disappeared, I'd feel this ridiculous mixture of disappointment and anticipation.

What could he possibly be trying to say? Maybe he was checking how I was feeling after our awkward conversation at the library. Maybe he wanted to know when we could resume our tutoring sessions. I found myself holding my breath every time "typing..." appeared, only to exhale in frustration when it vanished again.

The whole thing was almost comical, really. Here I was, a girl with amnesia, getting anxious over text messages from a boy whose relationship with me remained a beautiful mystery. But there was something about the hesitation in those typing indicators that made my chest tight with curiosity.

Finally, my phone buzzed.

Adrien: We've got a scrimmage at the rink tomorrow at 3 PM. Would you like to come watch?

I blinked at the screen, surprised. A hockey game? That wasn't what I'd expected at all. My first instinct was to reply immediately—yes, of course I wanted to watch him play. But something made me pause. Maybe it was some buried instinct about seeming too eager, or maybe it was the memory of how overwhelmed I'd felt when everyone seemed to know me better than I knew myself.

I set my phone down and counted to thirty, then sixty. When I picked it up again, Adrien hadn't sent any follow-up messages. The silence made me more anxious than his typing indicators had.

Me: I'd love to. Can Amy come too?

The response was almost instant.

Adrien: Of course. Though I have a feeling my "sister" will be more excited than you are. I hope you'll cheer for me.

I found myself smiling at the screen. There was something about the way he put quotes around "sister" when referring to Amy that seemed fond and teasing. And that last line—I hope you'll cheer for me—made warmth spread through my chest in a way I couldn't quite explain.

Me: I'll be there.

ADRIEN

The moment I donned my helmet and stepped onto the ice, an indescribable wave of emotion surged through me. Under the blinding stadium lights, the frigid air felt as if it were charged with an electric current.

I could hear the roar of the crowd, the announcer’s voice introducing the lineup, and then—there was Kaia, her eyes locked on me from the stands.

I fought to shut out the noise, pushing every distraction to the back of my mind.

On the ice, victory only belongs to the most focused.

The coach stood between Callum and me, his voice booming: “The goal of this scrimmage is to set the starting lineup for next week's game against the Sierra Crest Bears. I want everyone to give their best. Leave it all on the ice!”

Across from me, I saw Callum’s gaze sharpen, turning cold and ruthless. In response to his provocation, I tightened my grip on my stick.

We both knew exactly what was coming.

This wasn't going to be a game. This was going to be war.

As the whistle blew, my muscles reacted faster than my mind, and I squared off against Callum for the opening face-off.

The moment our blades collided, the sound rang out like a gunshot. We both exploded from our cores, sticks locked together over the ice, neither giving an inch.

His arm muscles strained against mine, my right shoulder trembling from the force. Through his face guard, I could see his jaw clenched, veins standing out on his forehead.

"Still haven't remembered, has she?" Callum growled between gritted teeth. "She used to prefer watching me play."

The words hit me like a match to gasoline. My pupils contracted, and I leveraged a sideways force that sent my stick tapping the ice three times in quick succession—my signature move. As Callum's center of gravity wavered, I used a backhand flick to break through and claim the puck.

But Callum wasn't going to make anything easy. He shadowed me as I crossed the red line, our bodies colliding repeatedly, the dull thud of our padding echoing through the arena. I executed a sharp stop and pivot, ice shavings spraying as my blades cut the surface, but just as I prepared to shoot, Callum swept in from the side with a perfectly timed stick check, stealing the puck.

"Don't think it'll be that easy," he called as he powered toward the goal.

I pivoted instantly, chasing him down. What followed was a textbook display of give and take. Callum tried to use his size advantage with aggressive body checks, while I relied on quick pivots and timing to deflect his force and look for opportunities to steal back possession.

From the stands, I caught a glimpse of Kaia. She was leaning forward, her hands gripping the rail, her eyes wide with something that looked like recognition mixed with fear. Even from this distance, I could see her chest rising and falling rapidly.

The game reached fever pitch when Callum broke into the offensive zone, winding up for what looked like a certain goal. But at the last second, I threw myself into a horizontal slide block, my skates screaming against the ice as they carved desperate lines in the surface.

I stopped him.

Pushing to my feet, I seized the puck and launched a counterattack. All the helplessness I'd felt sitting by Kaia's hospital bed, all the despair from seeing her look at me like a stranger—it all transformed into explosive power beneath my skates.

Callum charged at me again, this time leading with his shoulder aimed at my chest. It was a brutal body check, designed to hurt.

The impact when we hit the boards shook the entire arena. Pain shot through my back as I slammed into the reinforced glass, but I protected the puck, and before Callum could mount a second attack, I threaded it between my legs and cut into the zone at an impossible 45-degree angle.

Instead of shooting immediately, I performed three consecutive toe drags in rapid succession, each movement sending the goalie further off balance.

"Forget the memories," I snarled under my breath, putting everything into my wrist shot. The puck became a black lightning bolt, tracing a tiny arc through the air before hitting the dead corner of the net with a resounding crash.

Goal.

The whistle blew. The arena fell silent for two heartbeats before the bench exploded in celebration.

I leaned on my stick, gasping for air, sweat dripping from my face mask onto the ice. Callum skated over, defeat written across his features but something else too—a grudging respect.

He leaned close enough that only I could hear: "You won. Now keep her safe. If anything happens again, I won't back down next time."

I didn't reply, just gave him the cold smile of a victor and skated away, carving an arrogant trail in the ice as I headed straight for where Kaia sat in the stands.

When I reached the boards and looked up at her through the glass, I felt my expression transform from fierce to tender. For just one moment, the way she was looking down at me—her eyes soft, pupils dilated, lips slightly parted—she looked exactly like the old Kaia. My heart nearly stopped, thinking she might have remembered everything.

KAIA

My heart was still racing as I watched that wild, almost feral man on the ice. This was so different from the patient, gentle Adrien who had been tutoring me these past weeks. When he skated to the boards and looked up at me, his eyes shifting from savage to tender in an instant, something stirred deep in my chest.

After the arena emptied, I found myself alone on the ice with him. Despite having no skates, he'd helped me onto the rink, his strong hands steadying me as I wobbled on the rubber mats he'd laid down over sections of ice.

"I could teach you to skate properly sometime," he said, his voice uncertain. "If you want."

"I have terrible balance," I admitted.

"I'll hold onto you."

Something in his tone made me nod. "Okay."

He found me a pair of skates, and soon we were moving slowly across the ice, his hands gentle but firm as they guided me. The silence between us wasn't awkward—it was expectant, like the air before a thunderstorm.

I stopped suddenly, causing him to glide to a halt beside me. Before I could lose my nerve, I stepped closer and wrapped my arms around him. His entire body went rigid, as if he was afraid to move, afraid to breathe.

Reaching up, I pressed my forehead against his. I could feel the heat radiating from his skin, see tiny droplets of sweat still clinging to his temples. Our hands found each other, fingers intertwining with a familiarity that made my breath catch.

"You don't have to speak," I whispered. "I think... maybe there are reasons you can't tell me certain things. So I'll ask questions, and you can just nod or shake your head. Let me figure it out myself."

He swallowed hard, his green eyes searching mine.

"We knew each other before the accident. You tutored me in writing then too, didn't you?"

A slow nod.

"Our relationship before was tense sometimes, wasn't it?"

Another nod, this one more reluctant.

My next question made my stomach clench. "Callum and I... we were close once, weren't we?"

I saw something flash across Adrien's features—pain, anger, jealousy. But he nodded.

"And you and I..." I took a shaky breath. "We were lovers, weren't we?"

For a long moment, he just stared at me, his eyes holding such intensity that I felt like I might drown in them. Then, slowly, deliberately, he nodded.

"Even though my memories of you are still so unclear," I continued, my voice barely above a whisper, "would you still want to stay by my side?"

The question broke something inside him. With a sound that was half sob, half relief, he pulled me against him so tightly I could barely breathe.

"Yes," he whispered into my hair, his voice raw with emotion. "God, yes. I'll stay as long as you'll have me."

Standing there in his arms, surrounded by the echoing silence of the empty arena, I felt like I was exactly where I belonged—even if I couldn't remember why.