Chapter 3 The Hockey Player

I woke up on Becca’s couch with a crick in my neck and the muted sound of a TV still running some infomercial nobody was watching.

“Morning,” Becca said, way too cheerful for someone holding a bowl of cereal at — I checked my phone — eleven in the morning. “You were really out of it last night. Like, zombie-out-of-it. You good?”

“Just tired,” I said, sitting up and rubbing the back of my neck. “Thanks for letting me crash.”

“Anytime. Door’s always open.” She paused, spoon halfway to her mouth. “Wait, no, that’s bad advice. Lock your door. But also, like, my door specifically can be unlocked for you. You know what I mean.”

I did, mostly. I’d told her something vague the night before, a maintenance thing, coming from my sink, which wasn’t exactly wrong, and she hadn’t pushed.

That was the nice thing about Becca. She asked a hundred questions but somehow never the ones that actually mattered.

I changed in her bathroom, splashed water on my face until I looked like a person who’d slept somewhere on purpose, and headed to my shift, my bag still slung over my shoulder. I hadn’t gone back to my apartment yet.

The Diner sat two blocks off campus, close enough that half our regulars were students killing time between classes, and the other half were people like Martin and Lenny who’d clearly given up on campus a long time ago and just liked the busyiness of it.

“You’re late,” Martin said, not looking up from the grill, sliding an apron toward me.

“Five minutes.”

“Five minutes is late.”

Lenny, parked at the counter with a coffee he’d been nursing for an hour, perked up. “Oh, hey, did you hear about the thing this weekend? The horror-hunt thing?”

“I think my neighbor Becca mentioned it,” I said, tying my apron.

“You should go. Everyone goes.” Lenny took a sip of his coffee like this settled the matter. “I went last year, I screamed so loud a guy in a clown mask apologized to me. Apologized. Mid-chase. That’s how scared I made him.”

“That tracks,” Martin said.

“It does not track, I’m intimidating—”

I let their bickering fade into background noise, and fell into the back and front of the shift, order up, refill the coffee, can I get you anything else. My brain was still half a block away, circling that unlocked deadbolt.

The door chimed, and the whole Diner’s energy shifted before I’d even turned around.

“Oh my god,” Lenny said, sitting up so fast he nearly knocked over his coffee. “Is that…. Marchetti?”

I turned. Four guys in matching navy and gold jackets had piled through the door, attention grabbing in the easy, unselfconscious way of people who’d never had to wonder if a room wanted them in it. And at the center of it, hands in his pockets, was Theo.

He looked exactly like he had in the hallway last night — full of that cold, unfathomable air that made him seem completely unapproachable. His jacket was open over a plain shirt, the ink on his forearm catching the light when he reached up to push his hair back.

When his grey eyes scanned the room and found mine, there was no smile. He had a brief look that lasted a millisecond too long before he looked away, treating me with the exact same blankness he'd shown in the alley.

“He’s a forward,” Lenny was whispering loudly.

“Like, varsity, scouted-by-actual-pro-teams forward. My cousin goes to the games just to watch him play, she has, like, a shrine—”

“Lenny,” Martin said.

Theo walked toward a large booth near the back corner, his friends trailing in his wake. The noise around them followed like a current, but Theo himself remained quiet, acting as if the loud chatter of his group was just something he tolerated.

"Marina, booth four," Martin called out, tearing a ticket.

My eyebrows pulled up into a furrow. I grabbed my notepad and walked over to the corner booth.

As I approached, Theo didn't look up immediately. He was leaning back, staring at the laminate table with a blank expression that sprouted nothing.

“What can I get you?” I asked, keeping my voice completely devoid of expression.

Theo's grey eyes lifted, locking onto me. Up close, that magnetic, dangerous feeling from the hallway was overwhelming. His firm lips were set in a hard line.

"Coffee," he said. “With extra sugar.” He added.

His voice was blank, the words costing him nothing.

His grey eyes locked on me without moving, making me looking down at my notepad as much as possible.

"Make it two," the guy sitting next to him said. He was a blond guy, broad-shouldered, shiny, and quite a looker. He hadn’t looked at me when he said it, already scanning the room for someone more interesting to look at instead.

Then his eyes suddenly found me, his tongue darting out of his lips as he said, “Didn’t realize the Diner girl was cute. No offense, but you don’t usually—”

“Cal,” Theo said, his grey eyes looking on the table as if he hadn’t just spoke.

“What? I’m ordering.” Cal finally glanced my way, and something in his expression sharpened, assessing me the way some guys looked at waitresses. “The last one was hideous, no offense to her, but you don’t usually find them like this here.”

I ignored him, my pen moving on the notepad, my whole body gone very still and very aware.

Theo kept tapping on the wooden table.

“So relax, man, me and the pretty girl are just talking,” Cal muttered, throwing an arm out. Before I could pull back, his fingers closed tightly around my wrist.

He didn’t get a chance to pull me close before a fist struck his face.