T H E O G R A Y

"OVER HERE." I call out, waving my hand the moment I spot Sandra walk into the library. She lifts her head, eyes scanning the rows of tables before landing on me. A soft smile curves her lips as she heads over, balancing a stack of books in her right hand like it weighs nothing.

I catch a couple of side-eyes from nearby students-yeah, maybe my voice was a little louder than necessary. I offer a half-hearted, "Sorry," under my breath, then shift my attention back to the table as Sandra slides into the seat across from me.

Since the Titans pulled off that win in the second round, Coach made it crystal clear-our next opponent won't go easy on us, especially if they know half the team is barely passing their classes. "No stupid mistakes off the ice," he said, which basically translates to: focus on your damn studies or sit your ass on the bench.

Fair enough.

I've been managing to stay afloat-turning in all my assignments, showing up for group projects, doing what needs to be done. But when it comes to the hands-on, practical stuff in my program, I've been skating on thin ice. That part actually requires focus and, well, effort.

So I asked around. A couple of people pointed me in Sandra's direction. Word is, she's the smartest person in our department. Like, scary smart. The type that always has the answer, the backup answer, and the citation for both. I needed help. She offered. I accepted.

And honestly? I'm kind of grateful she didn't run the moment she saw my GPA.

I know having a 3.5 as my GPA is not bad but I hear she's been on 5.0 ever since her first year.

That's super smart.

Sandra opens one of the books and flips through a few pages. "Ready to dive in?"

"As I'll ever be," I mutter, grabbing my pen. "Thanks again for doing this."

"It's really no big deal," Sandra says, offering a warm smile as she starts arranging her books. "I actually like tutoring-it keeps me sharp too. So, you said it's the practicals giving you trouble?"

"Yeah," I nod, leaning back in my seat. "Biochem has never really been my enemy... until this semester. The theory's fine-I've memorized most of the pathways and enzyme functions. But the practicals? That's where it all goes to hell."

Sandra raises a brow, flipping open a thick, tabbed notebook. "Enzyme kinetics, protein purification, spectrophotometry... which one's been the worst so far?"

"All of them," I say dryly. "Last week we had to determine Km and Vmax using the Lineweaver-Burk plot. I knew what to do in my head, but when it came to plotting, pipetting, and reading the spectro results? It was like my brain just... left the room."

She lets out a short laugh. "It happens. Practicals can be overwhelming, especially with the amount of work we're balancing in 400 level. But the thing is, you already know the content. You're just overthinking the technique."

"Tell that to my lab partner who looked like she wanted to file a restraining order against me and my clumsy hands."

Sandra chuckles again, more softly this time. "Alright, then let's start with enzyme kinetics. Walk me through what you did, not what you were supposed to do."

I glance at my notes and scratch the back of my neck. "We prepped the substrate concentrations, used the spectrophotometer to get absorbance readings at intervals... but my reaction rates were inconsistent, and my graph was all over the place. I couldn't even get a clean curve."

"Did you pre-incubate your enzyme?"

I blink. "...What?"

She gives me a look that's half pity, half amusement. "Okay, we've got a lot to go through."

"Fantastic," I mutter, adjusting my seat. "Just don't make me cry in this library."

"No promises," she teases, already sketching diagrams on a sheet of paper. "But by the time we're done, you'll be plotting enzyme graphs in your sleep."

We begin to start and By the time we've been at it for over an hour, my brain feels like it's on the edge of short-circuiting-but in the best way possible. For the first time in weeks, I actually understand the step-by-step process behind enzyme assays, and my Lineweaver-Burk plot doesn't look like a five-year-old drew it. It's progress.

Sandra's got this way of explaining things without making you feel like an idiot. Every time I get something right, she nods in this calm, encouraging way that makes me want to keep going. Still, there's a small voice in the back of my head whispering the same thing it always does: How do you make sure all this sticks by the time the test comes?

That's always been the real issue. Not learning-remembering. Retaining. Keeping it all in your head long enough to regurgitate it when it counts. I've got notes, diagrams, even Sandra's colorful cheat sheet now, but that doesn't change the fact that half of it might vanish the moment I walk into the lab.

"I have to head out," Sandra says suddenly, glancing at her phone as an alarm buzzes. "I've got a meeting with my project supervisor in like fifteen minutes."

"Oh-yeah, no problem. Thanks, seriously."

She smiles as she gathers her books. "You're getting the hang of it, Theo. Just keep going over the steps and make it muscle memory. It'll click."

We exchange a casual wave and she disappears down the library aisle.

I sit back and take a deep breath, the leftover tension in my shoulders finally starting to ease. I stay there for another thirty minutes, going over everything she said, repeating certain terms under my breath, sketching and re-sketching the same graphs until they stop looking like alien language.

Once I'm confident I've squeezed as much info as my brain can hold for now, I pack up and head out. There's a small café across the street that sells overpriced but decent coffee, and I figure I've earned a break.

When I walk in, the familiar clink of mugs and low hum of conversations greet me. The smell of espresso hits like a warm punch to the face. I scan the room and spot her-Tory.

She's tucked in a corner, hunched slightly over her laptop, eyes locked on the screen like the rest of the world doesn't exist.

For a moment, I hover by the door, debating.

Looking back, I don't remember things ending badly between us. Not exactly. Messy? Maybe. But not dramatic. She's always been cool when she comes to the rink for photos or interviews-professional, like none of it ever happened.

I wonder if I should say hi.

Would she reply back?

As I'm still trying to decide if it's worth walking over or just grabbing my coffee and leaving, Tory's head lifts-and her eyes land right on me.

"Theo?" she says, eyebrows rising a little in surprise.

"Oh-hey." I walk toward her before I can overthink it again. "May I?" I nod at the empty chair across from her, even though there's another bag on the table. She's probably not alone.

"Sure," she says casually, her tone easy, like this is no big deal. And maybe it isn't.

She doesn't hesitate, doesn't give me that fake polite smile people give when they're trying to mask annoyance. It feels genuine. So I slide into the seat and sit across from her.

She shuts her laptop and leans back slightly. "So, what are you doing here?"

Her voice is the same-calm, even, a little curious. Not cold. Not flirty. Just... Tory.

"I come here for coffee sometimes," I say with a shrug. "What about you?"

"Came with a friend to study," she replies, but something in her tone feels... off.

"Okay? Um, I just wanted to say hi-"

"How are you doing?" she cuts in, and I blink, thrown off. "I mean, what's good in your life?"

"Oh... uh." I hesitate, unsure how deep she wants me to go, but I answer anyway. "I was just at the library nearby, reading a bit. Came here for a caffeine break."

She presses her lips together and gives a small nod. "So you're good."

"Yep."

"And nothing's going on."

I let out a soft laugh. "Is something going on with me that I don't know about?"

"Oh, no," she says quickly, shaking her head before letting out a soft chuckle. "Nothing at all. It's just... it's funny seeing a guy-let alone a hockey player-trying to hide his eyebags with concealer. Smart move, though, I'll give you that."

Busted.

"What..." I laugh nervously. "Where in the world did you get that idea?"

She rolls her eyes. "Simple. I'm a girl, and I'm very curious. Now tell me-how did you come up with it?"

"Can we not talk about this?" I lean in a little, lowering my voice. "It's kind of embarrassing."

She laughs louder, then tries to hold it back when she sees the look I give her. "Okay, fine. Calm down. I'm just pulling your leg."

I sigh. "Thanks."

Then she stops laughing, her expression shifting. "But for real-are you okay? Still having trouble sleeping?"

"Yeah..." I lean back in the seat, exhaling. "Yeah, something like that."

Soph hasn't been taking pictures of me since I pulled that stunt last Sunday. Which means my bed's been feeling way too cold on the other side-and I fucking hate it. I know I was a dick, teasing her in front of her friends and threatening to kiss her if she didn't shut up. But I was in a shitty mood after our fight, and on top of that, my dad's been breathing down my neck, trying to force me to skip school and fly to Miami for his damn wedding.

It's been taking a lot of self-control not to snap at anyone lately. Thankfully, no one's pushed me too far yet-it's just the headaches and the mood swings.

God, I miss her touch.

If I'd just kept my mouth shut, she probably would've been in my arms this morning. We'd piss each other off over something dumb, and I'd feed her to make up for it.

She's only quiet when she's eating.

"Have you tried maybe sleeping pills?" she suggests, and I shake my head.

"Not a fan of pills unless I'm really sick," I reply, and she nods in understanding. We sit in silence for a moment, and I clear my throat before slowly getting to my feet. "Well, I better grab that coffee and head out..."

"Oh, sure," she says, glancing up at me. "Also, you better have someone take care of you. You need the rest for practice, and I need my pictures of you to be perfect."

I chuckle. "You really need those marks, huh?"

"Of course I do," she responds, eyes bright with determination. "It's literally the only reason I'm coming to that rink of yours. It's fucking freezing there, if you didn't notice."

I shrug. "You get used to the cold after a few practices on the ice."

She snorts. "Well, I don't see myself getting used to that." She opens her laptop and then looks back at me. "But seriously, take care of yourself. Or maybe don't live alone. Stay with the guys or someone. Just let someone take care of you, you know?"

I know she's concerned, but the way she says it, it's almost like she knows Soph is staying with me. But that can't be right. No one knows about us. Soph makes sure our paths never cross at the rink-no eye contact, no small talk, nothing. And as much as that hurts, I can't tell Tory. Not without opening a whole can of questions.

Questions I have no way of answering.

"Definitely will-"

"Oh, sorry, babe-" A girl's voice cuts through, and I turn to see a redhead standing in front of us, looking hesitant. "Uh..."

"Riley." Tory immediately gulps, then smiles warmly. "You took long enough."

Riley laughs softly, a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks. "Sorry, I was with my mum. She takes forever."

Am I missing something here?

"It was nice talking to you, Tory," I say, feeling like they've completely forgotten about me.

Tory's head turns, and she nods. "It was. See you later, Theo."

I nod back, giving Riley a small smile before turning away. I head to the counter, hoping she doesn't say anything else. As I place my order, I feel the familiar rush of caffeine and a sudden craving for something sweet.

"I'll have the iced mocha," I tell the girl behind the counter.

She nods, and I glance up at the menu, letting my mind wander for a moment. Then, a thought strikes me.

I pull out my phone and text Blair.

'What does Soph drink on a normal day?'

If I was going to get back on her good side, I needed to start somewhere. Something in me told me this distance would happen, and I think she felt it too.

She wants distance. I fucking don't.

But I'll respect her choice, for now. I'll chase her from the shadows, quietly, relentlessly.

And like I said the first time we kissed in my car-if she runs away, I'll keep chasing her. Every step, every move, until she's comfortable with me.

That's a promise.

◇◇◇

Soph is definitely a mango freak.

I've lost count of the times Blair's mentioned how obsessed Soph is with mangoes. I almost chuckle every time I think about it.

A few days ago, I even took Blair's number when Soph stopped talking to me. I'd asked how Soph was doing in class, if any guy was bothering her. I always said it was just me being protective, looking after her.

Which, yeah, was mostly true... in some cases.

I take a look at the small packages of mango mochi, the mango croissants, mango muffins, and mango cheesecake sitting in the seat beside me. And then there's the Mango bubble tea I picked up too.

Is that too much mango?

If it is, I don't care. If she loves mango, then she's getting every mango I can find. And more. I'd give her the whole damn orchard if it meant I could have her in my arms tonight.

A warm feeling starts to bloom in my chest as I imagine those pretty eyes of hers lighting up at the sight of the snacks. I make a turn, grinning without realizing it, humming to myself as I head home.

Then my phone rings.

The name flashing on the screen drains every trace of warmth from my body.

I groan, reaching for it with a heavy sigh and putting it on speaker.

"You haven't been picking my calls," Dad says, his voice sharp and already pissed.

The urge to scoff is strong, but I swallow it down. I haven't been picking Mom's calls either, so what's new? I think, biting my tongue.

"I was busy."

Now it's his turn to scoff. "Busy, my foot. You better start answering when I call-or you won't be living in that nice apartment of yours. Do you hear me?"

My grip tightens on the steering wheel. Jaw clenched. Breathe. I need to breathe.

"Is that clear, young man?" he snaps, his voice taking on that familiar, stern edge that always makes my blood boil.

"Yes, sir," I mutter, teeth grinding behind the words.

"Good. Now I expect you to be in Miami in two days. The wedding is on Friday. Am I understood?"

Who even does a wedding on a Friday?

"Okay," I reply, flatly. My eyes catch a free spot on the side of the road, and I pull over, figuring I might as well park while I'm being lectured by my sperm donor.

"I hope you'll be happy for me this time around," he adds, all sentimental now.

I roll my eyes so hard it almost hurts. "I will. I need to go-battery's low and I've got a lot to study."

He sighs like he's the tired one. "Fine. Goodbye, son-"

"Goodbye," I cut him off before he can dip into another fatherly guilt trip and drop my head to the wheel.

I seriously can't wait to be free from his grip. I know I've saved up enough to rent a place on my own, but I still need his help with student loans and final project fees.

That shit costs a lot. And he's fucking rich.

That's honestly one of the few reasons I'm still putting up with him.

Guess I need to pack for Miami, then.

I sigh, leaning back into the car seat. My eyes trail up to the roof, then scan the streets around me. It's the one I usually take when I'm heading back home, so I don't think much of it until I notice a car pulling up just ahead.

Looks familiar.

Curiosity kicks in a little harder when the door swings open and Soph steps out.

Her friends wave at her from the car and she waves back, then they drive off. I expect her to walk toward the estate, toward our apartment, but she doesn't. Instead, she crosses the street.

Without thinking twice, I start the car and follow her.

I know. I should probably mind my own business. But the idea of sitting alone in that apartment right now? No thanks. I'd rather do anything else. Even if it's just... this.

She walks for a bit, then stops at a bus stop. There are already two people sitting on the bench, so she slips into the edge and pulls her phone out from the pocket of her skirt.

She looks pretty today.

Like, really pretty.

Her blonde hair is braided today, neat and soft-looking, the tail of it resting gently over one shoulder like it belongs there. She's wearing earrings-tiny, sparkly ones that shimmer when the light hits-and a necklace I don't remember seeing before. It's delicate, sitting perfectly against her collarbone, like it was made to sit there.

And her lips... they're pinker than usual. Like she changed her lipstick. I can't tell if it's gloss or something else, but it makes her smile seem warmer, softer, even from a distance.

God, it's been so long since I've seen her.

I hadn't seen her all morning. She's been leaving the apartment early, sometimes not coming home at all-just texting me that she's crashing at her friends' place.

Those messages calm me down.

Because it means she's still close. Still reachable.

I watch from a bit away, letting the engine idle, watching the way she kicks her feet lightly as she scrolls. I could sit here all day if the engine oil won't die on me.

That sounds creepy but I don't care.

After a few minutes, a bus pulls up in front of her. She stands, tucks her phone back into her skirt, and steps onto it along with the other two.

And again, like it's the most normal thing in the world, I put the car in gear and follow.

I drive at a safe distance, my fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel. I'm not sure where she's going, and honestly? I don't care. I just want to see her a little longer. Make sure she's okay. Maybe... maybe she'll smile and it'll make me feel like I can breathe again.

The bus finally slows down and pulls over near a small street I don't usually take. My eyes zero in on her as she steps out, clutching her phone again, glancing around like she's looking for something-or someone.

Then she walks straight into a little building tucked between a flower shop and a bakery.

I squint.

Is that... a pet shop?

I blink, lean forward a little as if that'll help me see better. There's a little bone-shaped sign on the glass and a cartoon cat above it. Yup. Definitely a pet shop.

Does she want a pet or what?

I switch off the engine, still watching the storefront like I'm in a damn spy movie, then finally snap myself out of it. I pull into a free parking spot a few feet away and step out of the car.

The afternoon air is warm, but there's a bit of a breeze as I shove my hands into my jacket pockets and casually walk over like I just happened to be in the area. Like I didn't just trail a whole city bus like a damn idiot.

The closer I get, the more I feel my heart beat faster-like it always does when she's nearby. It's ridiculous. It's constant. And I hate that I love full-on adrenaline that rushes in with the heart pounding.

I pause outside the shop and peer in through the glass.

And there she is.

She's crouched beside a little pen full of puppies. Golden retrievers maybe? Her face is soft, her head tilted just slightly, one finger poking through the bars as a tiny fluffball licks her knuckle.

She's smiling.

Not just any smile. One of those rare ones. The kind that hit me in the chest harder than any hockey puck ever could.

And for a moment, I forget about Miami. Forget about my dad. Forget about the ache in my chest and the distance in her voice and every text I've typed and deleted a hundred times.

God, she looks so happy. So calm. Like the world doesn't suck for her the way it does for me.

I can't move.

It seems like she comes here often as the puppies play freely with her.

I keep staring at her, fully memorized, until her eyes suddenly flick toward the window and I freeze.

Shit.

Her smile drop like a switch just flipped. Her brows pull together and her lips part, the soft pink of them still glossy under the shop lights. Her eyes widen-shock, confusion-then the full force of a frown settles in. I mutter under my breath.

"Shit. Shit. Shit."

She caught me.

Quadruple shit.

I turn immediately, like a criminal mid-heist, walking fast-almost running-back to my car. I can hear my pulse thumping in my ears as I reach for the handle, my heart hammering like I just committed a felony.

She's definitely not letting this go.

My fingers barely wrap around the door handle when it suddenly slams back shut with force. I blink, stunned, and my head jerks up.

She's standing right there.

Staring at me with those sharp, furious green eyes that always cut straight through my soul. She folds her arms slowly, her blonde braid falling over one shoulder and I should be terrified.

Her lips are still tinted that soft pink I'd noticed earlier, but they're pursed now. Angry. Fierce. And god-I shouldn't be thinking this right now-but damn, I'm tempted to kiss her.

Because God, I miss those lips. I haven't stopped thinking about them since the night we kissed. The way she sighed against me. The way she clung to my hoodie like she'd fall without me.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, her voice low and deadly.

I blink and force myself to focus. Eyes up. Say something smart.

"I..."

She cocks her head, arms tightening across her chest.

"Are you stalking me now, Theo?"

Yes.

"No," I say too quickly. "I just came to... uh... search for some pet. I want to get a cat."

My voice is calm. My brain is not.

Okay, that was solid. That's a good excuse. Totally believable. I love that for me.

She raises a brow, smirking now. The kind of smirk that says you're screwed and I'm enjoying this.

"You want to get a cat, huh."

"Yeah," I say, crossing my arms to match her energy.

"You. Want a cat."

"I said that. Is there a problem if I want to get a cat?"

She pauses. Leans in just a little, eyes narrowed.

"There's no problem... except I remember you being allergic to cats as a child."

And there it is.

I internally facepalm so hard my soul winces. Why did I forget that part?

I clear my throat, trying not to look like I've just been cornered in a game of emotional chess.

"...Might've outgrown it?"

She snorts.

And I swear even her snort is pretty.

I'm so fucking gone.