Chapter six

“Ouch!” I jumped, dropping the kettle on the sink as I turned on the tap, greatly regretting my action. “Bad idea! A really bad idea.” I sucked my already scalded thumb, cursing myself for thinking it was a good idea to “wake” myself or snap myself back to reality from whatever shit seemed to be messing with me.

The metal thunked against the basin, steam curling up like it was mocking me. My hand throbbed. My brain throbbed harder.

I sighed, rubbing my face as the reflection of what had brought me into this situation arose in my head. The match. The jaw I broke. The blood. The sound of silence from thirty thousand people holding their breath while I stood in the middle of the rink like a rabid dog.

“My stupid anger just had to show,” I muttered, shaking my head.

“It’s not a bad thing to get angry.” The voice came from behind me. I jumped so violently that my hip slammed into the counter. My already abused thumb brushed against the hot kettle again and I cursed loud enough that half of Duskpine probably heard me.

“Jesus Christ!” I spun, clutching my hand like it might fall off.

But the pain just.... slipped out of my head for a moment because someone was standing in my kitchen who absolutely had not been there a second ago.

She was pretty. Too pretty to belong in this gloomy-ass cabin that smelled of things I couldn't possibly explain to myself. Her red hair fell in waves to her shoulders. Long legs, she had long legs. A face too smooth to ever have seen acne. Cheeks touched with the kind of flush people pay makeup counters to fake. And because of course she smiled at me. And waved.

I blinked. “Who the hell are you?”

"Why does that have to be the first question that pops out of everybody's mouth?" she asks as she walks around. "Why can't it be, hello. Or good afternoon are we in the afternoon? No, we're in the evening but that's not the point. The point is, does it matter who I am?"

“Uh, yeah, it does." I shot back, still cradling my throbbing hand. “You can’t just walk into someone’s house like you’re a Jehovah's witness and say ‘that doesn’t matter.’”

Her smile widened, eyes bright like she’d just found a lost puppy. Or maybe a toy she wanted to break. Hard to tell.

“You look tense,” she said lightly. “I only wanted to introduce myself. I'm staying around here.” She blew out a little puff of air, like she was exhaling the weight of formality. “Thought I’d see who my new neighbor was.”

“Neighbor,” I repeated slowly, eyes narrowing. “That’s… funny. Because I didn’t see any other houses on my way here. Unless you’re hiding yours in the pine trees.”

“I like my privacy," she said smoothly, like that explained everything.

I rubbed the back of my neck, half irritated, half unsettled. I’d met plenty of people in my life fans, press, haters, teammates but this woman? She was weirdness wrapped in lipstick. And I was not in the mood for weird right now.

Still, my manners weren’t entirely dead. I forced out, “Sebastian Holt.”

Her brow quivered. “Holt, hmm? I thought it was Vega.” That made me freeze. My chest tightened like someone had just tied a rope around it. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Oh,” she said breezily, “small towns. People talk.” Yeah. Right. I leaned back against the counter, crossing my arms. “So… neighbor. Do you usually just stroll into kitchens uninvited, or am I getting the VIP treatment?”

She chuckled. “Would you have opened the door if I knocked?”

“Probably not,” I admitted.

“Then there’s your answer.”.

"Smartass"

We danced around conversation for a while me half-interrogating, her half-teasing, neither of us giving too much away.

“So you like Duskpine?” she asked after a pause, leaning casually against the counter like she owned it.

“Like is a strong word,” I said. “So far it’s snow, hockey, and weird sounds at night. Not exactly the paradise brochure.”

Her lips curved, but her eyes stayed sharp. “Strange sounds?” “Yeah. Probably just the wind. Or a raccoon. Or Satan.” She laughed at that, light and musical. Too musical. It grated on me because nobody who sounded like that had ever lived through the kind of cold silence this place gave off.

“And hockey?” she asked.

“Part of the punishment package,” I muttered.

Her head tilted. “Punishment?”

I regretted that word immediately. “Never mind.”

But she smiled again, that infuriating patient smile that said she already knew more than she should. I stepped past her, grabbing a mug, pretending I wasn’t shaken by her sudden appearance. “You want coffee?”

She glanced at the kettle still hissing faintly on the sink. “You sure you can manage without burning the place down?”

I glared at her but poured the coffee anyway. My thumb screamed every time I moved it, but damned if I’d let her see me flinch.

I noticed she had a way of sliding around questions, like water slipping off a rock. I asked what she did for work. She smiled. I asked if she lived alone. She smiled. I asked if she always appeared in strange men’s kitchens uninvited. That one made her laugh out loud.

Eventually, she straightened. “I should head back. It's getting late and 'late' is a touchy word around here."

“You don’t want to stay? Critique my coffee-making skills some more?”

Her lips quirked. “Tempting, but no. I have things to do.”

“Like breaking into more houses?”

“Like minding my business,” she said, still smiling. Something about her smile was starting to make my skin itch.

“Where’s home?” I asked, trying one last time.

She just shook her head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Then at least let me walk you,” I offered. Some half-baked instinct or maybe just my parents’ voice in my head pushed me to say it.

But she shook her head. “No need. I know the way.”

“You sure? It’s dark. Creepy woods. Possible raccoons.”

“I’ll be fine.”

I frowned, arms crossed again. “You planning on me seeing you again, or was this a one-time magic trick?” She paused then, just at the door. The smile stayed, but her eyes had that glint again the kind that made me feel like I was already two moves behind in some game I hadn’t agreed to play.

“Oh, plenty of times,” she said softly. “Sure.”

And with that, she turned, her red hair catching the faint firelight as she slipped out the door like mist. I stood there, coffee mug cooling in my hand, staring at the empty doorway. My skin prickled. My thumb ached.

That's when it hit me. She didn't tell me her name.

"Little fucker..." But as I continued to stare at her exit, something told me she hadn’t walked here in the first place.