Page 107 of Wonderstruck

His number seemed to burn into myvision, as though it was beckoning me. Mybreath hitched, something dark and electric sparking in the back of my mind.

I turned back to Bindi, my voice even, almost casual. “I don’t suppose the team would let me have one last dance with them?”

Bindi’s playful smirk returned, thoughthere was a glint of curiosity in her eyes. “There's no Liberty rep here tonight, and Coach is out sick…” She tilted her head, pretending to consider it before breaking into a grin. “Yeah, I think we could get away with it.” Before I could change my mind, shegrabbed my hand and tugged me towardthe gift shop, chattering excitedly. “Any idea whose jersey you want?”

My lips curved into a faint, deliberatesmile. “Yeah,” I said, locking onto the number that would leave its mark exactly where it was meant to. “Number 24. Hatterson.”

chapter twenty eight

nothing like a mad woman

The butterflies were long gone.

Long. Gone.

In their place was something stronger. Zealous. Itwasn’t confidence exactly—it was something hotter, holding me in a trance so strong that this moment could have been a dream and I’d be none the wiser.

Anyone watching would think I was fearless,like stepping onto the stage in my ex-boyfriend’s jersey in front of the guy who I wasfinallyletting myself fall for was the most natural thing in the world.

But this isn’t natural. I should be back withDaisy. Watching the game. Drinking hot chocolate. Subtly gawking at Finn and trying to do anything but think about kissing him again.

Oh God, what was I doing?

“Ready?” Bindi’s voice cut through the noise,drenching my thoughts with the excitement in her eyes.

Three quick breaths staggered through me, as hersmile lifted me back into reality.I tugged at the hem of my borrowed jersey, thefabric soft against my palms. Every single glide of the pads of my fingers over the white and green reminded me of him. Reminded me exactly why I was up here.

My eyes bolted back to Bindi.“Ready,”

The announcer’s voice cut through the humof the arena. “Now it’s time for our Lionesses to take to the stage for their first performance of jersey night!”

The lights dimmed, casting the rink in a hazyglow.The squad barely had fifteen minutes to catch meup with the choreo, but it was there, lingering on the sidelines whilst I waited for the music. Even if I forgot it, I was sure whatever was coursing through my bones would dance for me.

I set my eyes on the rink just as the skaters werestarting to drift off toward the locker rooms, their blades clinking softly against the ice. But as Bindi started counting us down, her voice loud and clear, a few heads turned.

And so didhis.

My world fell sileant as Finn’s gaze landed on me, like a spotlight cutting through the darkness. For a moment, I wondered if he could feel it—the weight of my grin, the sheer heat of my stare.

I squared my shoulders, before severing any tiesto rationality and turning on the spot, letting the jersey settle just right on my thighs, the bold “24” on my back clear under the lights. The edges of my smile curved into something sharp, something wicked as I settled back to face the rink.

I tipped my chin up as the music swelled, eachbeat vibrating through the floor beneath my feet.

Scared now, baby?

Thecrowd's hum faded into the periphery,their cheers a distant buzz as we stepped into formation. Finn didn’t move, his gaze pinned to me like a lifeline—and I held it, unblinking, unwavering, letting him see exactly what he’d underestimated.

The music thumped, a heartbeat beneath my skin as I took my first step. The sway of my hips was effortless, natural, the kind of movement I’d only practice alone in my room, staring at my reflection until I remembered what a powerhouse I was.

The lyrics guided me, and so did the fire in mychest. I smiled, barely, but enough for him to see it. Enough for him to understand. Every inch of confidence those girls had stripped from me came roaring back, hotter and fiercer, spilling out with every deliberate motion of my body.I didn’t break my stare, not even when Finnripped off his helmet and let it dangle loosely at his side. His dark, sweat-damp hair clung to his forehead, and even from across the rink, I could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

He was angry. Furious, even.

Good.

The thought simmered in my chest as I bentforward, arching my back slowly. Deliberately. My body moved like a ripple, every curve that I was blessed with lit up under the dancing green lights. I let the motion linger, rising inch by inch, commanding the moment. I didn’t need words to tell him what I wantedhim to know. I wanted him to feel it—the power he thought he had over me slipping through his fingers, whatever game he was playing tilting in my favour.

Thesong ended too soon, the final notes hangingin the air as the roar of the crowd swept over us. I could have stayed there longer—hours, maybe—letting every movement remind him of the girl he’d lied to, the one he thought would stay sileant.

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