Chapter 3
Three o'clock on Saturday afternoon, my dorm room stood empty.
All those tight dresses and cheap perfume I'd bought to impress Carter—they were crammed in the hallway dumpster. One small suitcase sat by the door, packed with nothing but spare clothes and a few textbooks.
On my desk lay my parting gift—a black waterproof envelope.
I dumped out the contents of my metal lockbox: ER discharge papers from Boston Central Hospital from three years ago, a blood-crusted scrap of jersey, and my brand-new medical report—Certificate of Permanent Nerve Damage to Hand and Physical Therapy License Restriction.
I slid them all inside the envelope.
No dramatic letter. I just flipped the diagnosis form over and scrawled one line across the back with my left hand:
[Game over, Carter. I saved you. You cost me my hand. We're done.]
I sealed it and booked a same-day courier. Recipient: Carter Hayes. Delivery address: The Keg.
I tipped an extra twenty and made the instructions crystal clear—hand it to him at exactly 9:30 PM. Not a minute sooner.
At eight, I pulled on a black turtleneck and long coat, then ordered an Uber to The Keg.
Sure, I could've gone straight to the airport. But Carter was a control freak who thought he ran the world.
If I no-showed tonight, he'd be at my door in twenty minutes—or worse, hunting me down at Logan. My escape would be dead in the water.
No. I needed to show my face. Keep him planted in that booth, surrounded by his boys, smug and satisfied, thinking he had me right where he wanted me—until 9:30, when that envelope blew his world apart.
Twenty minutes later, the Uber stopped outside the bar.
I pushed through The Keg's front door into a wall of sound—bass that rattled my ribcage, air thick with cheap beer and sweat. The hockey team had the whole place.
The second I walked into the booth section, the noise dipped.
Carter sprawled in the center of the wraparound couch, lazily swirling whiskey over ice. When he saw me buttoned up head to toe, his face twisted.
"Emilia, didn't I tell you to dress hot?" Disgust dripped from every word. "What is this—a funeral?"
Laughter exploded around him. Max shoved a microphone at me and whistled. "Easy, Cap. Main event just showed up."
I knew what their main event was. Dare Thirteen.
The script was simple: take the mic, confess my feelings for Carter in front of everyone. Then he'd dump his ice water in my face, laugh his ass off, and announce I was nothing but his rival Luke's pathetic kid sister—a three-year joke.
Every eye in the place locked on me, waiting for the show.
I didn't flinch. I crossed to the table and picked up a bottle of vodka with my left hand, pouring a full glass.
"Relax, Max." I looked at Carter, letting the corner of my mouth lift. "I know tonight's script. Dare Thirteen. Big confession. Right?"
Carter's eyebrow ticked up, satisfaction flickering across his face. He thought I'd finally broken—ready to play my part like a good little puppet. "That's more like it. Let's hear it."
"Hold on." I raised my glass, slowing each word deliberately. "Gotta toast you first. One—to your championship."
I held his gaze. "And two… to finally closing the book on your revenge against Luke."
His smirk froze. The hand holding his whiskey stopped mid-air.
He clearly hadn't expected me to throw his cards on the table in such a flat, dead tone.
"The hell are you talking about?" His eyes narrowed.
"Exactly what I said." I didn't give him time to push. I tipped my head back and downed the vodka in one searing gulp.
Crack. I slammed the glass on the table.
Before the tension could fully set, I placed the microphone on the table's edge.
"Give me three minutes. Bathroom break."
I gestured at my bare face, voice light and self-deprecating. "Come on. If I'm confessing my love in front of the whole team, I can't look like a nun. Let me fix my face."
The guys hesitated for half a second, then roared with laughter.
Max slapped his thigh. "Bro, she thinks you're gonna kiss her! She's touching up her makeup!"
Carter's shoulders loosened. He sank back into the couch, suspicion melting into his usual lazy arrogance.
"Three minutes, Emilia." He swirled his drink like some bored king. "Go over and I'll drag you out myself."
"Back in a sec." I smiled, turned, and headed toward the restroom hallway.
Screw the restroom.
The moment I rounded the corner, my smile died. I strode to the end of the hall, slammed through the fire exit, and stepped into the freezing back alley.
My Uber was already there.
"Logan International. Fast as you can." I yanked the door open and slid in.
The car pulled away, leaving those smug idiots in the dust. My phone started buzzing—Carter's name lighting up the screen again and again.
Three minutes were up. He'd figured out his obedient little puppet wasn't in the bathroom.
One call. Two. Ten missed calls.
I pulled out my SIM card and cracked the window. Without hesitation, I flicked that tiny piece of plastic—three years of stupidity coded on it—into the Boston night.
9:20 PM. I made it through TSA and dropped into a seat at the gate.
9:30 PM. My phone lit up: [Package delivered.]
I locked the screen and leaned back.
Choke on it, Carter.
At The Keg, the bass still pounded, but the energy at the booth had curdled.
Carter threw his phone on the table. "Phone's off"—fifteenth attempt. He ripped at his collar, jaw tight. The ice in his whiskey had melted to nothing.
"What the hell was all that about?" Max spun the useless microphone between his hands. "She called out the dare and your whole revenge thing. You think she actually bailed?"
"Bailed? Where would she go?" Carter forced a cold laugh, shoving down the fury crawling up his throat.
"I kicked open the bathroom door myself—nothing. She's been stuck to me like glue for three years. No way she'd actually walk."
Chloe pressed against his side, trying to loop her arm through his. "Forget her, babe. She ditched—who cares? Let's just keep drinking…"
"Get off." Carter shook her loose.
Just then, a bouncer pushed through the crowd, holding a black waterproof envelope.
"Mr. Hayes. Rush delivery. Guy said I had to hand this to you personally."
