THE STRANGER

Alicia POV

There were three things I knew for certain. Ice hockey smelled like frozen regret, athletic tape could fix most problems, and I was very good at running from my past.

Which explained why I was in Lakeside University's athletics basement, organizing a supply closet that looked ransacked by bears.

"This is fine," I muttered, yanking tangled resistance bands from a shelf. "Totally normal first-day activity."

The bands came free suddenly, sending me stumbling into a stack of yoga mats. I caught myself and glared at the chaotic shelves.

My phone buzzed. Maren, obviously.

MAREN: survived your first hour as lakeside athletic trainer without burning anything down?

ME: the day is young

I shoved the phone back and returned to wrestling with equipment. This job was supposed to be a fresh start. The new position means busy Alicia who didn't wake up screaming from nightmares she couldn't remember.

The university had been desperate enough to hire me, and I'd been desperate enough to take it.

A voice drifted from the hallway, low and edged with frustration.

"I don't care what you want. I'm not doing it."

I paused, holding a foam roller mid-air.

"Because she doesn't KNOW me." His voice was closer now. "No. I won't."

Silence. He was on the phone.

"You can't ask me to…" A sharp exhale. "Fine. FINE. But when this goes badly, don't say I didn't warn you."

I heard footsteps coming my way.

I should've stayed quiet. Instead I stepped into the hallway just as he turned the corner.

We collided. Not literally, but it felt the same.

He was tall. Dark hair falling across his forehead, sharp jaw, straight nose. The kind of face that photographs well.

My second thought was, I know him.

Except I didn't. I'd never seen him before.

But the feeling persisted, crawling up my spine like a déjà vu.

He'd gone completely still. His phone slipped from his hand, clattered against the floor. Neither of us moved to pick it up.

His eyes—dark brown, almost black, were locked on my face with an intensity that made my skin prickle. Not threatening. More like he'd seen a ghost and couldn't decide whether to run or embrace it.

"Um." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "Hi? Can I help you find something?"

He blinked. The spell broke. His expression shuttered so quickly I almost questioned whether I'd imagined it.

"No." The word was clipped. "Wrong building."

He turned and walked away fast.

"Okay then," I said to the empty hallway. "Nice meeting you too."

His phone was still on the floor. I picked it up. The screen had cracked, spiderwebbing across a text conversation. The last message was visible:

She's HERE. At Lakeside. What do I do?

My stomach twisted.

I should've run after him. Instead, I stood there, trying to shake the certainty that I'd met him before.

"Earth to Alicia."

I nearly dropped the phone. Maren stood at the end of the hallway, eyebrows raised.

"You good? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine." I slipped the phone into my pocket. "Just met the weirdest guy."

"Weird how?" She linked her arm through mine. "Serial killer weird or hot-but-socially-awkward weird?"

"The second one. Maybe. I don't know." I let her pull me along. "He looked at me like I'd ruined his life, then bolted."

"Was he cute?"

"Maren."

"What? It's relevant."

I sighed. "Annoyingly cute, yes."

"My favorite type." She grinned. "Did you get his name?"

"No. He literally ran away."

We walked into actual daylight. The quad was busy with students, and for a moment I felt normal.

Then Maren checked her phone and swore.

"What?"

"I forgot my advisor meeting. Rain check on lunch?" She was already backing away. "But tonight, you're telling me everything about Mystery Boy."

"There's nothing to tell!"

"Lies!" She blew me a kiss and disappeared.

I stood there alone, debating my next move. I had two hours before the hockey team's first practice.

Instead of eating, I pulled out the cracked phone and stared at that message again.

*She's HERE. At Lakeside. What do I do?*

Who was "she"? And why did finding her cause such panic?

My own phone buzzed. Coach Williams, confirming I'd be at practice.

Right. The actual job I was supposed to be doing.

I pocketed both phones and headed towards the athletic complex.

The rink was colder than expected. Players were already on ice, running drills while Coach shouted instructions.

I settled onto the bench with my laptop, pulling up the attendance sheet. Twenty guys on the roster. I was supposed to learn all their names by the end of the week.

"You must be Hart."

I looked up. A guy stood before me, helmet tucked under one arm, easy smile on his face. Blond hair, blue eyes.

"That's me. Alicia."

"Jaxon Reed. Captain." He offered his hand. "Welcome to the circus. Fair warning, we're all slightly unhinged."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"REED!" Coach's voice boomed. "Less flirting, more skating!"

Jaxon winked and skated backward. "We'll talk later!"

I turned back to my laptop, smiling despite myself.

The practice continued. I took notes, watched for injury risks, and tried to match faces to names on my roaster.

Then number nineteen skated onto the ice.

My pen stopped moving.

It was him. Mystery phone guy. Moving across the ice like he'd been born on skates, handling the puck like it was nothing.

He hadn't seen me yet.

"All right, gather up!" Coach blew his whistle. "Want you to meet our new athletic trainer. Hart, come on down."

I stood, legs unsteady, and made my way to the edge.

Twenty faces turned toward me. Nineteen curious or friendly.

One looked like I'd just walked into his nightmare.

Number nineteen had gone pale. His grip on his stick was white-knuckled.

"This is Alicia Hart," Coach continued. "She'll be handling injuries, training schedules, keeping you idiots in one piece. Hayes, come meet her."

Hayes. So that was his name.

He skated over slowly, like approaching a live grenade. Up close, I could see his hands shaking.

"Nice to meet you," I said.

"You too." The words sounded strangled.

Then he turned and skated away without another word.

"Don't mind Hayes," Jaxon said, appearing at my elbow. "He's not great with new people."

"Clearly."

Practice wrapped up an hour later. Coach asked me to lock up the equipment room.

The room was quiet, organized chaos of sticks and pads. I did a quick inventory, trying not to think about Hayes.

Something white on the floor caught my eye. An envelope, half-hidden under the taping bench.

I picked it up. It has no address or  name. Just sealed.

Against every instinct, I opened it.

A photograph slid out.

My breath stopped.

It was me. Maybe twelve years old, wearing a ridiculous oversized sweater I vaguely remembered. But I wasn't alone. A boy stood next to me, his arm around my shoulders, both of us grinning.

Except his face had been violently scribbled out with black marker until no features remained.

My hands started shaking.

I flipped the photo over. The handwriting on the back was neat and careful.

You don't remember. That's the only thing keeping you safe. Don't try to remember. —D.H.

The room felt too small suddenly.

My phone buzzed, making me jump. Unknown number.

Burn that photo. Forget you saw it. Your life depends on it.

I dropped the phone on the floor.

Through the equipment room's small window, I could see the parking lot. Nearly empty now.

And Hayes.

Standing in the middle of the lot. Staring directly at the building. At my window.

Even from this distance, I could see his eyes. They looked wrong. Reflective, like an animal caught in headlights.

I blinked.

He was gone.

I looked at the photo again, at the scribbled-out face. At the boy whose arm had been around twelve-year-old me.

Something tugged at the edges of my memory. Not quite surfacing.

His hand on my shoulder had felt safe and important.

Who was he?

And why couldn't I remember?