Evie's POV
The sky outside the rink had turned the color of bruised plums, a heavy, oppressive grey that promised a downpour. I watched through the streaky window as the last few parents hurried their kids out, laughter echoing weirdly in the suddenly silent arena. I knew I should have been halfway home already, beating the storm, but the last two little mites were still waiting, their parents undoubtedly stuck in traffic. And then there was Tristan, slumped against the wall by the locker rooms, clearly impatient.
“Look, I really gotta go,” Tristan said, pushing off the wall. His voice was laced with that familiar whine he saved for when he didn’t get his way. “Practices are done. My car’s waiting. I’ve got places to be.”
I turned from the window, crossing my arms. He smelled faintly of
