With Christmas come and gone, life continues on just like it always does. Students start returning to their classes and everyone goes back to work. New Years brings in exciting resolutions for everyone to commit to until February when they begin to neglect them. Christmas trees are shoved into their boxes and hidden somewhere until next year. No more joyful music plays in coffee shops.

The world has gone back to normal, whether I like it or not.

The hockey season is now in full swing. Playoffs are approaching at an alarming rate and tensions are at an all-time high. The Saints are holding the top spot in the league—for now, that is. The only thing that could make the team stronger is if the tension between two of their starring forwards finally dissipates, which is why I’m visiting Adam.

Nervous butterflies flutter in my stomach as I will myself to knock on Adams’s door. I take a few deep breaths, desperately trying to relax before my fists meet the wood. I’m not sure why I’m so nervous; Adam is my best friend, not some serial killer.

The door swings open, exposing a dishevelled Adam. His eyes widen at the sight of me on his parent’s doorstep. To be fair, I usually only come here when he’s having a party.

I raise my eyebrows pointedly at his appearance. He’s only in a pair of plaid boxers and white socks—quite the outfit.

“Who is it, babe?” a vaguely familiar voice squeaks from somewhere in the huge house.

Adam pushes past me, closing the door behind him and leads me out onto the driveway. “What are you doing here?”

I smirk, wiggling my eyebrows suggestively. “Who was that?” “Nobody, just some girl from the bar,” he stammers, not maintaining

eye contact. “Why are you here? We don’t have plans, do we?”

“No, I came here to talk. If it’s a bad time, I can come back,” I offer, feeling hurt and dismissed. Adams’s never usually so cold towards me.

“No, it’s fine. Just let me change and we can go get coffee or something,” he protests, making his way to the door. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He rushes inside, disappearing from my view before I can suck in another breath.

What the hell just happened? He’s never had any problem parading his conquests before. Why is he being so dismissive and secretive?

The door swings open again and I have to suppress a gasp.

“You,” the girl sneers, stepping out onto the patio. Beth Winston is the last person on earth I expected to come out of Adam’s house wearing nothing but a baggy t-shirt.

I scowl at her. “Beth Winston, what a pleasant surprise. I thought I recognized your squeal.”

“You should have been here last night then. You couldn’t have missed it.”

I don’t know whether to laugh at how she agrees that her voice sounds like a squeal or gag from the mental image of what they did here last night.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I have something important to talk to Adam about. If you could scurry off I would appreciate it,” I say coldly, crossing my arms against my chest.

“Adam can decide that for himself,” she protests, smiling smugly. “Beth, leave. I’ll call you later,” Adam says from the doorway. He’s

fully dressed now, in his usual jeans and long sleeve combo.

I stifle a laugh when she flushes.

“Please. I’ll call you tonight,” he promises, sincerity colouring his tone. What is going on with him?

“This isn’t over, Octavia.” She glares at me and stalks off towards her car, still in Adam’s t-shirt. Classy.

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” I huff and push past him through the open door. With a sigh, Adam leads the way through his house.

“Want anything to drink? We have Ginger Ale.”

“Of course.” I follow him into the industrial style chef’s kitchen. I sit down on one of the leather bar stools in front of the marble island and crack open the can handed to me, taking a gulp.

“She’s not that bad,” he says after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

I snort and shake my head. “You’re kidding, right? She’s the child of

Satan.”

“I think I could like her.” He scratches the back of his neck

awkwardly. “She’s different when you get to know her.”

I am having trouble grasping what he’s saying. Different when you get to know her? This coming from the guy who used to tease her and had shunned her all those years ago? Not to mention how awful she is. Isn’t there a best friend code for not fraternizing with the enemy or something?

“If you say so,” I chuckle, taking another drink of my soda. “Can you please just be supportive?”

I snap my head up in his direction, incensed. “Supportive? Like you’ve been so supportive of my relationship?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snaps, his tone icy.

I shoot up, my stool screeching against the expensive tile floor. Adam glares at me, his cheeks flushed in anger.

“Don’t play dumb. I’m not a stranger. I know when something’s up with you. So, spill it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he spits out, emphasizing each word.

“So you don’t have feelings for me? That’s what everyone else seems to think!” I yell at him, unable to stop my anger from boiling over. As soon as the words tumble out of my mouth, I wish they never did.

The look on his face kills me. He looks so unbearably sad as he takes a deep breath and shakes his head.

“I did,” he says so quietly, I barely hear him. “At least I think I did.”

My heart falls as I let out a shaky breath. I didn’t want Oakley to be right about this. I can handle ‘used’ to, though. I can deal with that. It doesn’t have to change anything.

“Did? You don’t anymore, right? You’ve moved on?”

I put a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. He tenses under my touch and clenches his fists.

“I don’t know. Sometimes I think I’m in love with you, and sometimes I think I’ve moved on. I thought I was content with just being your best friend until Oakley came along. He didn’t even have to do anything and you were jumping into his arms.”

I look away from him so he won’t see the hurt in my eyes.

“I hate seeing you with him. He doesn’t know you like I do. He doesn’t deserve you,” he adds, his face twisted into an expression of contempt at the mere mention of Oakley.

My sympathy slowly morphs into anger and I’m doing everything I can to not lash out at him. It’s a sensitive issue, and I don’t want to make it any worse.

“This isn’t his fault. You’ve always been my best friend, Adam.

That’s all.”

“Do you love him?” Adam asks quietly, his voice sad.

“I never wanted to hurt you. I didn’t know you felt like that,” I add to change the subject. The last thing I want to do is hurt him even more. I can’t believe I was such an idiot.

“Do you? I need to know,” he asks desperately. “I know he loves

you. It’s pretty obvious.”

“I love him,” I mutter, my eyes locked on the countertop. “Does he make you happy?”

My voice shakes when I answer him. “Very.”

“Then I’ll lay off. I’m sorry,” he says ruefully and drops his head in his hands.

Guil, shame, and embarrassment wash over me. How could I not have known? I was so oblivious to it. What if that made it so much worse for him?

“I don’t want to lose you,” I whisper. My heart aches at the thought of not having Adam in my life.

“You’re not going to lose me,” he says without preamble and squeezes my hand. “But I need time.”

I nod my head, not knowing what to say.

“I should probably get some training in. With the playoffs coming up and all,” he says, ending the conversation for me.

“Okay. But I’ll see you soon?” I ask as he walks me to the door. “Yeah, of course,” he says, wearing a tight smile.

“Oh, okay. Bye then, I guess,” I stammer awkwardly and hurry over to my car. Blinking furiously, I swallow past the lump in my throat and start my car. I have to get out of here.

 

 

I’m home alone tonight since Morgan has dinner with her parents and Oakley has a late practice. At least now I can finally catch up on all of my assignments. That’s the plan, anyway.

After far too many months of deliberating, I finally decided where I want to do my placement. Child Welfare is something that always stood out to me. I guess the overwhelming need to protect all of the unwanted, lonely children stems from my own experiences. Now the next step is finding somewhere to take me on.

A knock on the door startles me. Closing my laptop, I head out of my room. I look out the peephole in the front door, and my stomach drops.

It’s Rebecca. Of course, it would be. After three months of waiting she’s finally decided to show up.

I take a deep breath and slowly open the door.

The first thing I notice is the brightness to her skin. She looks healthier? Her sallow skin isn’t as pale. Her cheeks are plump and flushed with a rosy glow. Her hair is clean and shiny. She isn’t wearing dirty clothes either. And her ratty sweatshirt has even been replaced by a thick, grey, woollen coat.

Instead of stained, ripped jeans and filthy sneakers, she wears flared denim jeans and shiny brown boots. Her eyes are no longer crazed and bloodshot. And the most surprising change is that her hands aren’t twitching at her sides.

A few moments of stunned silence passes before she speaks. Even her voice sounds better, clear and steady.

“Hello, Octavia.”

“What do I owe the pleasure, Rebecca?” I ask dryly, leaning against the doorframe with my arms crossed. “Why are you here? I figured you’d vanished again.”

She offers a rueful smile and lowers her gaze. “I’m sorry it took me so long to return. I needed to get better first.”

I scoff and roll my eyes. “I’m sure that’s a line you’ve used before.”

She winces slightly but quickly regains her composure with a warm smile. “Can I come in?”

I hesitate, weighing whether to turn her away or let her in. I decide against it.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Her smile wavers for a moment before she pulls out an old, battered cell phone and flips it open. “Can I at least have your number? Maybe we could meet for coffee this week?”

I can agree to coffee, at least in a public place. I have questions that need answering—whether I like it or not, I need closure.

I take the phone and type in my number quickly. “Just text me with the details.”

She beams at me and moves closer, as if to hug me, but then seems to reconsider. “I’ll see you soon, Octavia,” she says firmly as she heads toward the staircase.

We’ll see about that. Promises have never been your strong suit, Mother.