Page 67 of Blades Out
The bus dropped me a block from the rink, and I walked fast, shoulders tight, head down. Every sound behind me made my neck twitch, but nothing followed. By the time the arena doors slid open, I’d forced my expression blank. The familiar rush of cold air helped steady me.
I slipped through the hallways, ignoring the echo of skates scraping the ice somewhere deep in the building. The café lights were already on. Jenna moved behind the counter, wiping down the espresso machine.
The café smelled like burned espresso and sugar when I pushed through the door. Normal. Familiar. Safe.
She glanced up from the register, ponytail swinging. "You're early."
"Couldn't sleep." The lie came easy. I shrugged out of my jacket and hung it on the hook by the storage room.
"Join the club." She tossed me an apron. "Ben called in sick, so it's just us until noon."
Great. Fewer distractions meant more time to spiral. I tied the apron tight and moved behind the counter, focusing on the routine. Fill the cups. Check the syrups. Wipe down the espresso machine.
The coffee machine clanked—loud, metallic—and I flinched hard enough to knock my elbow against the counter.
Jenna paused mid-count on the register. "Easy."
"Sorry." I rubbed my arm and forced a smile I didn't feel. "Still waking up."
She studied me for half a second too long, then went back to counting bills. "You look like hell."
"Thanks."
"I'm serious. You okay?"
"Fine." The word came out sharper than I meant. I softened it with a shrug. "Just tired."
The door slammed open behind us—Maddox, all swagger and noise, laughing at something another player said. His voice boomed across the café, too loud, too sudden.
My shoulders jerked up. Heart hammering. Hands trembling against the counter. I gripped the edge of the sink and forced myself to breathe.
It's just noise.
You're fine.
But the cold weight in my chest wouldn't lift.
"Liv?"
I turned. Ben stood in the doorway, jacket half-zipped, keys dangling from one hand. Not sick after all.
"Thought you called in," Jenna said.
"Changed my mind." He crossed to the counter and dropped his bag, then looked at me. Really looked. "You good?"
"Yeah." I nodded too fast. "Didn't sleep much."
His expression didn't shift—concern lingering in the soft furrow of his brow. "You sure?"
"I'm fine. Promise." I turned away before he could press, busying myself with straightening cups that didn't need straightening.
I couldn't tell him. Couldn't tell Jenna. Couldn't burden them with the truth—that I'd woken up terrified, that a parked car had sent me into a spiral, that every loud noise made me want to run.
They didn't need that. Didn't deserve it. So I shoved the fear down deep and focused on the work. One order at a time. One breath at a time. One moment closer to making it through the day without falling apart.
The morning rush thinned out around ten, leaving the café in relative quiet. Ben wiped down the counter beside me, humming something off-key under his breath.
"You know," he said, grin tugging at his mouth, "last game night, I thought Jenna was gonna strangle that guy who kept asking for extra foam."
