My pencil carved another meaningless swirl into the margins of my biology notes.

I hadn't slept. Every time I closed my eyes, the dark silhouette of Ethan Cole standing under the yellow parking lot lights flashed across my eyelids. I pressed the heel of my hand against my forehead, trying to push the image away.

"You're going to rub a hole in your skull."

I jumped, my pencil snapping its lead against the paper.

Ethan dropped into the empty chair across from my usual window seat. He didn't ask if the spot was taken. He just tilted the wooden chair back on its hind legs, crossing his arms over his chest. His long legs stretched forward under the table, his sneakers boxing in my boots.

"Do you mind?" I asked, glaring at his shoes.

"Not at all." He flashed a crooked grin. "How's the new team logo coming along?"

"I haven't started."

"I'll wait."

"You're going to be waiting until graduation. I never agreed to draw anything for you."

"You're the best artist at Westbrook." He let the front legs of his chair hit the floor with a soft thud. "And the team needs a new crest for the playoff run."

"Ask the art club."

"I'm asking you."

"And I'm saying no." I picked up my eraser, scrubbing at the dark graphite mark on my biology notes. "How's the dog?"

"Sleeping on my mom's good rug."

"You actually took him home."

"I told you I would. Named him Puck."

"That's terrible."

"He likes it." Ethan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the scratched wood. "Now back to business. The logo."

"Still no. Besides, Caleb would lose his mind if he saw you sitting here."

"Your brother isn't the boss of the library."

"He thinks he is."

"Let me worry about Caleb."

His gaze dropped from my face to the open pages spread across my binder.

Panic flared in my chest.

I hadn't just been drawing biology diagrams. Last night, unable to sleep, my mind kept replaying the parking lot. The page displayed the sharp, violent arc of a hockey skate cutting through ice. Right next to it sat a shadowed profile of a guy in a heavy jacket.

I reached for the book, but Ethan was faster.

His large hand clamped down on the corner of the sketchbook. His thumb brushed the edge of the charcoal profile.

"Give that back." I grabbed the opposite corner, tugging hard.

He didn't release his grip. A slow, knowing smile curved his lips. "You say you hate hockey, Lily. But you drew the ice."

"It's just a sketch."

"Looks like a masterpiece to me." His voice dropped, a teasing rasp wrapping around the words. "Especially the guy."

Heat flooded my cheeks, burning all the way to the tips of my ears. "Hand it over."

"Did you get my nose right?"

"It's not you."

"Sure it isn't." He traced the outline of the skate with his index finger. "The blade is a little dull, though. Needs more edge."

I yanked the book with both hands, tearing the corner of the paper slightly as I pulled it against my chest. "Don't touch my stuff."

"Make a deal with me."

"I don't make deals with hockey players."

"I'm not just a hockey player." He tilted his head, his amber eyes locking onto mine. "Draw the logo. I'll pay you."

"I don't need your money."

"I'll throw in a hot chocolate."

"No."

"Two hot chocolates. And a pastry."

"Are you always this annoying?" I snapped, slamming my sketchbook shut.

"Usually more." He leaned closer, invading my space. The scent of pine and cold winter air rolled off his jacket, identical to last night. "Come on, Lily. The old logo is a joke. We need something fresh."

"Why me?"

"Because you notice the details." He pointed a finger at the closed cover of my book. "You caught the exact angle of the skate. You saw the way the ice sprays. You pay attention."

"I pay attention to biology."

"Draw the logo."

"No."

"Name your price." His voice lost its teasing edge, turning rougher, lower.

"I said no, Ethan."

"And I said, name your price."

"Why is this so important to you?"

"Because I want you to do it."

"That's not a reason."

"It is to me."

I opened my mouth to shoot him down again. But the words caught in my throat.

The playful arrogance had vanished from his expression. He stared at me with an intensity that made the noisy library fade into a dull hum. He wasn't just asking for a favor anymore. It felt like a test.

I looked at his eyes. They were completely focused on me, steady and unblinking.

"Fine," I whispered.

"Fine?"

"I'll draw your stupid logo."

A triumphant grin broke across his face. "Knew you'd cave."

"I didn't cave. I just want you to stop bothering me."

"Sure you do." He leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. "So, when do we start?"

"We don't start anything. I draw it. I give it to you. You leave me alone."

"That's not how collaboration works."

"It's how this works."

"Hey, did you see this?" a loud voice cut through the quiet room.

I flinched, glancing toward the adjacent table. Two seniors sat hunched over a glowing phone screen, their backpacks piled high on the chairs.

"See what?" the second guy asked, munching on a chip.

"The leak from that rehab center upstate. Scarlett Vance."

The name hung in the air, sharp and intrusive.

Ethan froze.

The smug grin vanished from his face, wiped away in a fraction of a second. The warmth drained out of his amber eyes, leaving behind two flat, hollow stones. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered near his ear.

"What about her?" the second senior asked, completely oblivious to the tension radiating from our table.

"Says she checked out early. Total mess."

Ethan stood up.

He didn't grab his backpack. He didn't say goodbye. He just shoved his chair backward.

The wooden legs scraped against the linoleum floor, a harsh, screeching sound that made half the library turn and stare.

"Ethan?" I asked.

He didn't look at me.

"Ethan, where are you going?"

He didn't look at anyone.

He turned on his heel and walked away. His strides were long and rigid, his shoulders locked tight under his jacket. He didn't stop to apologize to the librarian glaring at him. He didn't glance back at our table.

I sat frozen in my chair, watching his broad back disappear through the rows of towering bookshelves. The heavy double doors swung shut behind him, cutting off his exit.

Outside the window, thick white snow began to fall, burying the campus in a quiet, heavy blanket.

I touched the cover of my sketchbook. My pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

The guy who had just walked out wasn't the arrogant captain from the parking lot. He wasn't the teasing boy offering me hot chocolate. He was someone else entirely.

A stranger hiding behind a careless smile.

And for the first time, that unknown terrified me—and pulled me in.

I didn't go straight home after the final bell.

Caleb had been glaring at me for two solid days, his silent interrogations suffocating the air in our house. I needed space.

I trudged out to the frozen lake just beyond the town limits. The setting sun stained the thick ice a bruised purple-gray. It stretched out like a massive silver mirror, perfectly smooth and eerily quiet.

I unfolded my wooden easel and grabbed a charcoal stick.

My hand stopped in mid-air.

A dark figure sat dead center on the ice.

I squinted against the fading light.

Ethan Cole.

He sat cross-legged, his winter jacket hanging wide open to the biting wind. A glass bottle of whiskey rested near his knee, half empty. White mist plumed from his lips, dissolving into the freezing air.

I hesitated. The smart move was turning around and marching back to my warm bedroom.

My sneakers crunched over the frosted grass as I walked toward him instead.

"Are you trying to freeze to death?" I asked, my voice echoing across the flat expanse.

He didn't flinch. He just slowly tilted his head up.

His amber eyes were completely unfocused, glazed over with a heavy, numb haze. He stared at me for a long time, blinking as if trying to wake up from a dream.

"Ethan," I said, stopping a few feet away. "You need to get up."

He didn't answer.

"Are you deaf? You're going to freeze out here."

He reached out.

His freezing fingertips met my cheek. The cold shocked my skin, but I didn't pull back. He traced the line of my cheekbone, his touch feather-light and unsteady.

"Scarlett..." he whispered.

The name hit my chest like a sharpened ice pick.

My lungs seized. The library. The overheard gossip. Scarlett Vance.

Suddenly, the shifting shadows in his eyes made perfect sense. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking for her.

A bitter laugh bubbled in my throat. I should have shoved him away. I should have slapped his hand and left him on the ice.

Instead, I dropped to my knees beside him.

"I'm not Scarlett," I told him, my voice flat.

"She left," he mumbled, his hand dropping heavily to the ice.

"I know." I grabbed the two sides of his open jacket. "Sit up."

"Don't want to."

"I don't care what you want. You're freezing." I yanked the zipper up to his chin, sealing the heat inside.

He slumped sideways, his heavy frame knocking into my shoulder. I braced myself, taking his weight so he wouldn't crack his head against the frozen surface.

"Just five minutes," he muttered, his eyes slipping shut.

"Five minutes," I agreed.

His breathing deepened, turning into a steady, rumbling rhythm against my collarbone. The deep crease between his eyebrows slowly smoothed out.

I sat perfectly still. The cold seeped through my jeans, numbing my legs, but I didn't shift.

The sun vanished. A pale moon crawled up over the tree line, stretching our merged shadows across the silver ice.

We just sat there in the dark.

"What the hell?" a voice muttered from the shoreline.

I snapped my head up.

A guy in a Westbrook hockey jacket stood on the snowbank, holding up his phone. The camera flash blinded me for a split second.

"Hey!" I shouted, trying to untangle myself from Ethan. "Stop!"

The guy didn't answer. He turned and sprinted back toward the road, his shoes slipping on the frost.

"Ethan, wake up," I urged, shaking his shoulder.

He just groaned, burying his face deeper into my coat.

***

The smell of burnt toast filled the kitchen.

I sat at the dining table, wrapping my hands around a mug of black tea. Caleb stood near the window, scrolling aggressively on his phone.

His thumb stopped.

The silence in the room instantly turned toxic.

"Caleb?" I asked, setting my mug down.

He didn't look at me. His chest heaved, his knuckles turning stark white around the metal casing of his phone.

"Did you come straight home yesterday?" he demanded, his voice dangerously quiet.

"I went to paint."

"Where?"

"The lake."

He finally raised his head. His eyes were entirely black with rage. "Alone?"

"Yes."

"Liar."

He slammed his phone down onto the dining table. The impact sounded like a gunshot. The screen shattered, instantly webbing into a jagged spiderweb of broken glass.

I jumped, my chair scraping backward.

Through the cracks, a photo glowed brightly.

It was me. Sitting on the dark ice, holding a sleeping Ethan Cole against my chest.

Above the image, a group chat banner read: *Ethan Cole and the new art student spent the night cuddling on the frozen lake.*

"I told you to stay away from him," Caleb snarled, stepping toward me.

"It's not what it looks like."

"It never is." He braced both hands on the table, leaning into my space. "Do you have any idea what you've just done?"

"I didn't do anything! He was drunk. He was freezing."

"He's using you, Lily."

"You're paranoid."

"Am I?" Caleb challenged. "Ask him about last year. Ask him why the coach almost benched him."

"I don't care about his hockey record."

"It's not about hockey!" Caleb yelled, the veins in his neck bulging. "I know exactly who he is. And I know exactly what he does to girls who think they can fix him."

"I don't want to fix him."

"Then why were you holding him?"

I opened my mouth, but the truth lodged in my throat. I couldn't tell my brother about Scarlett. I couldn't explain the shattered look on Ethan's face.

Caleb grabbed his keys off the hook, the metal jingling aggressively.

"Where are you going?" I asked, my pulse hammering.

"To finish this."

"Caleb, stop! You have practice!"

"Not today." He yanked the front door open, the morning wind tearing through the hallway. "If Ethan wants to ruin my family, I'll ruin his season."

"You can't do that!"

"Watch me."

The door slammed shut.

I stared at the shattered phone on the table. The screen flickered, then died, plunging the room into silence.

My brother was going to kill him.

The whispers started the second I walked through the main double doors.

Students pointed at their phone screens, then cut their eyes toward me. The entire Westbrook high school hallway buzzed with a toxic, electric energy.

Before I could reach my locker, a heavy hand clamped onto my shoulder.

Caleb shoved me into the empty alcove near the science labs. He planted his palm flat against the cinderblock wall right next to my ear, trapping me in the narrow space.

"I told you to stay away from him." His voice was a harsh rasp, barely louder than a whisper, but it cut like a skate blade.

"Move your arm, Caleb."

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" He leaned closer, blocking the fluorescent lights. "The entire roster has that picture."

"We didn't do anything!" I pushed against his chest, but he felt like a brick wall. "I went to the lake to paint. He was already there."

Caleb's fingers locked around my wrist. He squeezed.

"Ow! You're hurting me."

"You're going to listen to me." His grip tightened just enough to send a sharp ache radiating up my forearm. "You have no idea what you're walking into."

"He was freezing to death on the ice. Was I supposed to leave him?"

"Yes." Caleb stared down at me, his dark eyes entirely devoid of sympathy. "Because he put himself there. Just like he did all of last year."

"What are you talking about?"

"Scarlett."

The name made my stomach drop.

"Ethan's precious first love," Caleb sneered, spitting the words out like poison. "She overdosed a year ago. Ended up in a rehab center upstate. And Ethan? He completely rotted from the inside out."

I stared at my brother. The sheer anger radiating off him felt suffocating.

"He spent six months drinking himself blind," Caleb continued, his tone merciless. "He picked fights in parking lots. Broke a guy's jaw behind the diner. I had to beg the cops to let him go with a warning."

"People grieve, Caleb. He was hurting."

"I was the one pulling him out of those alleys!" Caleb yelled, his voice echoing down the corridor. A few freshmen scurried past, keeping their heads down. "I covered for him. I kept this team together while he played the tragic victim. He showed up to morning practice reeking of cheap whiskey. Coach was one strike away from kicking him off the roster entirely."

"That doesn't mean he's a bad person."

"He's not a good guy, Lily." Caleb shook my arm slightly, demanding my full attention. "He's a mess. He is a grenade with the pin pulled. And I'm not letting him drag you into that."

Adrenaline spiked in my veins. I twisted my arm hard, tearing my wrist out of his grasp.

"I'm not something you own!" I yelled.

"I am trying to protect you!"

"You don't understand me at all." I rubbed my aching wrist, glaring at him through blurry eyes. "You just want to control everything."

"Lily—"

"Leave me alone."

I spun around and marched down the hallway, ignoring the stares of a dozen students who had stopped to watch.

***

The final bell finally rang, offering a brief mercy. I stayed in the art room for an extra hour, organizing the drying racks just to avoid going home to Caleb's suffocating rules.

When I stepped out into the quiet corridor, a tall shadow blocked my path.

Ethan leaned against the doorframe.

He looked terrible. The arrogant hockey captain from the parking lot was completely gone. His broad shoulders slumped under his heavy winter jacket. Red rims circled his amber eyes, and a rough layer of stubble shadowed his jawline.

"Hey," he rasped.

"What do you want, Ethan?" I kept my distance, gripping my backpack straps tight.

"I came to apologize." He rubbed the back of his neck, refusing to meet my gaze. "For yesterday. On the lake. I was out of line."

"You were drunk."

"Yeah. I was." He finally looked up, his expression exhausted. "You shouldn't have had to deal with that."

I stared at him. Beneath the tough exterior, he looked incredibly fragile.

"I don't normally do this," Ethan muttered.

"Do what? Apologize?"

"Acknowledge I messed up." He shifted his weight, his sneakers squeaking against the linoleum. "I'm sorry, Lily."

"You could have died out there."

"I know."

"Why were you on the ice, Ethan?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me." I took a step closer. The hallway was completely silent, the afternoon sun casting long, orange streaks through the windows. "Who's Scarlett?"

Ethan flinched.

It was a violent, full-body reaction, as if I had just swung a baseball bat into his ribs. The apology vanished from his face instantly. His amber eyes hardened into cold, flat glass.

"Where did you hear that name?" His voice dropped an octave, scraping against the quiet corridor.

"Caleb told me."

"Of course he did." Ethan clenched his jaw.

"He said she went to rehab. He said you fell apart."

Ethan stepped forward, towering over me. The vulnerability I had seen two seconds ago was entirely erased, replaced by a defensive wall of ice.

"None of your business."

"I held you on the lake for an hour while you shivered and called her name. I think it is my business."

"You think wrong."

"Is she why you drink on the ice?" I pushed, refusing to back down.

"Stop."

"Is she why you hate the old team logo?"

"I said stop, Lily."

He turned his back to me.

"Ethan, wait!"

He didn't stop. He walked away, his heavy strides echoing against the metal lockers as he disappeared into the fading orange sunlight at the end of the hall.

I stood in the center of the corridor.

My hands curled into tight fists. My fingernails dug deep into my palms, sending sharp bites of pain through my skin. Caleb wanted me to stay away. Ethan wanted to shut me out.

But I had seen the cracks in his armor. I was the only one who had sat with him in the dark.

I was going to find out exactly what happened to Scarlett Vance. Even if digging up the truth ripped his scabbed wounds wide open.