Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 1 - Chapitre 10

The first thing I noticed was that Mason wasn’t looking for me. Not after winning the biggest game of the season. Not after scoring the goal that had an entire arena chanting his name. Not after promising he’d find me the second he got off the ice. He was looking at her. At first, I told myself it meant nothing. The arena was bedlam after Northbridge University’s championship win, packed with players, coaches, reporters, donors, alumni, and enough screaming fans to shake the rafters loose. Blue and silver confetti drifted through the air while cameras flashed from every direction. I stood near the barrier separating the ice from the media section, my press badge bouncing against my chest after hours spent chasing interviews for the university paper. None of the exhaustion mattered. Tonight was supposed to be ours. Mason and I had plans after the celebration—a late dinner somewhere quiet, a few hours where he wasn’t Northbridge’s hockey hero and I wasn’t working. Across the rink, I

“How long?” The question came out steadier than I felt. For a moment, there was only the faint hiss of the connection and Mason breathing on the other end. He didn’t answer immediately, and the hesitation told me almost everything I needed to know. “Mason.” “Iris…” “How long?” A rough sigh crackled through the speaker. “A few months.” From her spot on the other side of my dorm room, Ava stopped pretending to scroll through her phone. She already knew where this conversation was going. So did I. A few months. Not one stupid night. Not a drunken lapse in judgment. Months meant routines, excuses, carefully constructed lies. Months meant he’d looked me in the eye, talked about our future, and maintained an entirely separate relationship at the same time. “Iris, please let me explain.” I rubbed a hand across my forehead. “What exactly are you planning to explain? The cheating part or the lying part that came after?” “It wasn’t like that.” A short laugh escaped me. Somehow, eve

The interview was scheduled for Thursday, three days after I accepted the opportunity and three days after losing my scholarship. In that short stretch of time, my future had become a spreadsheet of tuition costs, application deadlines, and increasingly desperate backup plans. I spent most of it pretending everything was under control. It was not a convincing performance. “You’re going to wear that?” I looked up from my desk to find Ava leaning against the doorway of my dorm room, coffee in one hand and judgment in the other. I glanced down at my outfit. “What exactly is wrong with this?” “Easton’s sports media department is interviewing you, not appointing you to Congress.” “Black slacks, white blouse, navy blazer. It’s professional.” “You look like you’re running for office.” “It’s an interview.” “It’s a sports media internship.” “At a rival university.” “Okay, yeah. Fair.” I pointed at her. “Exactly.” Ava rolled her eyes, tossed a granola bar onto my bed, and wandered

Ava’s reaction came through the phone so loudly I had to pull it away from my ear. “You got the job? At Easton?” “Yes,” I said, trying—and failing—not to smile as I paced my room. “Lower your voice.” “No.” “Ava.” “Absolutely not.” Her refusal was immediate and completely expected. She kept talking over herself, emphasizing every word like she was announcing it to a stadium instead of one person on the other end of the call. “You got the job. The job. The one that could literally save your degree.” That part landed differently. Not dramatic, just factual in a way that settled into my chest with weight. I dropped onto my bed, pressing my hand into the mattress as if confirming something solid existed beneath me. “I got the job,” I repeated, quieter now. “You got the job,” she echoed, matching my tone for once. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was relief settling in after weeks of everything going wrong. Then Ava made a small, thoughtful sound that immediatel

I almost turned around when I saw him. Not dramatically—just enough to disappear into the flow of students and pretend I’d forgotten something. But Mason spotted me first, straightening like he’d been waiting for me. Walking away after that would’ve looked like avoidance, and I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. “Iris.” I exhaled, already tired of the conversation we hadn’t even started. “Mason.” Seeing him didn’t hit the way it used to. A month ago, his voice alone could’ve ruined my day. Now it felt like nothing more than an interruption—unwelcome, inconvenient, and one I’d rather not deal with. “You’ve been ignoring me.” “I thought I was being subtle,” I said, shifting my bag higher on my shoulder as students streamed past us, laughter and conversation carrying on like we weren’t standing in the middle of something stale and unresolved. He didn’t smile. He never did when I leaned into sarcasm. “I’ve been trying to talk to you.” “You’ve been trying to corner me.