Chapter 1

The metallic clang of locker doors slamming shut echoed through the crowded hallway of Crestview High, a chaotic morning noise that usually faded into the background.

My focus was entirely on locker 402.

My locker.

I told myself I wasn’t expecting another note.

That would’ve been ridiculous. Still, before I reached for my books, my eyes automatically checked the back corner of the metal shelf.

I spun the combination dial—32-14-09—and popped the latch.

As the heavy door swung open, a small, neatly folded square of pale yellow paper drifted down, landing softly on the cover of my AP Economics textbook.

A slow smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. I glanced over my shoulder, scanning the hallway full of kids rushing to their first-period classes. Backpacks slung over shoulders, gossip floating through the air, shoes squeaking on linoleum. But no one was looking my way. No one was waiting to see if I’d open it. The sender was still a ghost.

I picked up the paper and carefully unfolded it. The handwriting was neatly written in dark blue ink.

“You looked really tired after practice yesterday. I hope you’re taking care of yourself too. Don’t forget to breathe, Captain.”

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, folding the note back up and slipping it into the inner pocket of my jacket. It was the fourth note I’d received this month.

Everyone at Crestview thought being Weston Hale had to be awesome. Big house. Expensive car. Captain of the hockey team. Apparently that meant life couldn’t possibly suck.

Funny how nobody ever asked.

Whoever wrote these notes noticed the things everyone else missed. Not the goals. Not the trophies. The tired look on my face after practice. The way I’d been rubbing the back of my neck during chemistry yesterday.

It was weird. Maybe even a little creepy. But if I was being honest… I looked forward to them now. Whoever wrote it somehow knew exactly what I needed to hear.

I hadn’t told anyone about the notes, not even Jonah. He’d never let me live it down. I’d be hearing Ooh, Hale’s got a secret admirer for the rest of the season.

And definitely not my dad.

My dad played six seasons in the NHL before a shoulder injury ended his career. Ever since I could hold a hockey stick, he’d acted like I was supposed to finish what he started. After every game, he usually texted me one thing—a stat I should’ve done better.

No “good game.” No “how are you?”

Just hockey.

That was how we talked. Or maybe… how we avoided talking about everything else.

"Earth to Hale!"

A heavy arm slung over my shoulders, nearly shoving me into the lockers. I didn't need to look to know it was Jonah Doyle. Jonah was my best friend, my co-captain, and the best defenseman Crestview had seen in years. He was also loud, full of energy, and constantly eating.

"You're brooding," Jonah decided, grabbing an apple out of my open locker and taking a big bite. "Stop doing that. We have the Oakridge game on Friday, and if my center is out of it, Coach is going to run us until we pass out."

Jonah knew me better than almost anyone. If anyone would’ve noticed something was off, it’d be him. Too bad I wasn’t planning on telling him.

"I'm fine, Doyle," I said, pushing his arm off and grabbing my book. "Just thinking about the Econ midterm."

Jonah groaned, rolling his eyes. "Don't even say the word 'midterm.' Piper kept me up until two in the morning quizzing me on calculus. My sister is a tyrant. A short tyrant with a terrifying stack of flashcards."

I laughed, shaking my head. I knew Jonah's younger sister, Piper, but mostly just from seeing her around or at their house. She was nothing like him. Quiet, focused on her work, and usually buried inside an oversized sweater with a stack of books nearby.

"Tell Piper I said thanks," I said. "If you fail calc and get benched, I’m the one stuck taking all the hits."

"Yeah, yeah. She's a nerd, but she's my sister," Jonah mumbled, tossing his apple core into a trash can as we walked. "Come on, let's get to class before Harrison locks us out."

By three o'clock, we were out on the ice. The cold air hit my lungs as the skates bit into the hard surface, but my mind was completely scrambled.

Coach blew his whistle, the sound echoing off the glass. "Hale! Set it up! Line drill!"

I took the pass from Jonah, controlled the puck, and cut hard toward the net. I had an open shot on the top left corner—a shot I could make in my sleep.

As I drew my stick back, the note flashed through my mind.

Always remember to breathe, Captain.

For the smallest bit of a second, I wondered who could’ve been dropping those notes.

My timing slipped.

The puck clipped the post with a loud clang and ricocheted into the corner.

The rink went strangely quiet.

I stared after the puck, surprised because I almost never missed that shot.

Coach skated over, his eyebrows pulled together as he blew a short tap on his whistle. "Everything alright, Hale?"

I wiped a sleeve over my forehead, leaning on my stick and trying to sound casual. "Yeah. Just lost my grip."

Coach stared at me for a second, measuring my expression, before nodding slowly. "Take a lap and shake it off. Let's run it again!"

"Got it," I muttered, turning to skate toward the outer ring. Jonah gave me a questioning look as I passed him, but I just kept my eyes on the ice. I wasn't okay, but I couldn't explain why to anyone out here.

After practice and a long shower, the building was mostly empty. The sun was setting, casting orange light down the quiet halls as I walked toward the library to grab a book for an English essay.

The library was totally silent, smelling of old paper and dust. I walked down the main aisle and headed toward the back corner where the history section was.

As I turned the corner, I stopped.

Sitting on the floor between two tall shelves was Piper Doyle, hunched over a sketchbook with her knees pulled, her glasses sliding down her nose while her hand moved fast across the sketchbook. The sound of charcoal scratching against paper was the only noise in the room.

I stepped closer to say hi and maybe thank her for helping Jonah with calc. But as I got nearer, I caught a look at the page.

I froze.

It wasn't a picture of the school or a building. It was a drawing of a hockey player sitting on the bench, helmet in his hands, staring off into the distance. It looked so real it almost felt like a photograph. The guy looked completely wiped out, but his eyes carried a heavy weight.

It was me. She’d drawn me right after we lost that game to Northside last month.

"Is that... me?" The words came out before I could stop them.

Piper gasped and dropped her charcoal. She snapped her head up, her eyes wide with panic behind her glasses. A bright, deep red blush instantly hit her cheeks and spread down her neck.

She slammed the sketchbook shut with a loud thwack, pulling it tight against her chest.

"It's... it's for art class!" she stuttered, her voice way higher than normal. She pushed her glasses up her nose with a shaking hand, looking anywhere except at my face.

"We had to draw... shadow and posture. Jonah wouldn't sit still, so I just... I was just practicing!"

She looked embarrassed. Like I’d stumbled into a secret she never meant anyone to see.

I took a quick step back to give her space, holding up a hand. "Hey, it's okay. It looks really good, Piper. Honestly. You're super talented."

“Thanks… I really have to go!” she blurted.

She scrambled to her feet, dropped her eraser, scooped it up, hugged the sketchbook to her chest, and hurried past me without looking back.

I watched the library doors swing shut behind her. I’ve never seen her panic like this before.

Maybe I’d embarrassed her by seeing her draw me.

I couldn’t blame her.

Shaking my head, I let out a small laugh and slipped my hands into my pockets as I headed to the shelf.