Page 181 of Well That Happened

She didn’t just leave.

She took something with her.

And now?

I feel dead inside.

When I finally get out of bed, I go back to the rink like a man possessed.

I skate harder than I ever have. Push every drill to the limit. Take every hit like it’s penance. Like maybe if I punish my body enough, the rest of me will go quiet.

It doesn’t.

But it helps. A little.

The scouts notice.

One of the assistants pulls me aside after a scrimmage and tells me there’s buzz. Real buzz. That I’ll be entering the draft if I want it.

I should be elated.

I should feel something.

Instead, all I can think is—she’s not here to hear it.

Rilee would’ve teased me, called me hotshot, made a sign like an embarrassing little sister at a talent show.

She would’ve hugged me.

Kissed me.

She would’ve believed in me.

And now?

All I have is a future she isn’t part of.

And no matter how fast I skate, I can’t outrun the fact that it doesn’t feel like a win if she’s not standing beside me when it happens.

Chapter Fifty-Two

Rilee

I agreed to tacos and margaritas after our shift because I couldn’t think of a good enough excuse not to. Jules had been trying—really trying—to be friendly, to get to know me, to explore our new city together.

She’s funny, smart, and the exact kind of person I should want to hang out with. And I do want to. In theory. In reality, I feel like I’m dying a little more every day, and the thought of making new memories feels like betrayal.

We sit at a small, colorful taqueria near the hospital, the kind with mismatched chairs and string lights that make everything look warmer than it feels. Jules is animated, talking about the day’s events.

Our table is tucked into the corner, and the smell of cilantro and lime makes my stomach twist. I pick up my margarita, swirl the salted rim with my thumb, and try to focus.

“Did you see Mrs. Thompson’s face when Dr. Patel told her she could go home? Pure joy,” she says, sipping her margarita. “Moments like that make the long shifts worth it.”

I nod, forcing a smile. “Yeah, it’s nice to see patients recover.”

Jules takes a huge bite of a carne asada taco and moans like she’s filming a food commercial. “Okay, this place slaps,” she says, chewing. “We’re coming back here at least once a week.”

I nod, forcing a smile. “It’s good.”

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