You had loved Garrett Graham before everyone else knew his name.

Before Briar. Before the articles. Before people said Phil Graham’s son like it meant something impressive. Before girls at college whispered about his smile, his hookups, his jersey number.

The boy who used to drive too fast with one hand on the wheel and the other reaching for yours. The boy who kissed you in parked cars until the windows fogged. The boy who snuck into your room through the window.

You had been a year below him in high school, still, you made it work for a while.

Two years.

Long enough for him to know your bad moods, your tells. Long enough for you to know the way his voice changed when he was tired, the way he got quiet after his father called, the way he pretended not to need comfort.

He had been your first in nearly every way that mattered.

First real love. First real heartbreak. First person who made you feel like being known could be safe.

Then your life changed.

A new city. New school. New people.

You broke up.

By the time you arrived at Briar University years later, Garrett Graham was no longer just a boy from your past.

He was everywhere.

On posters outside the rink. In conversations at parties. In the mouths of girls in your classes who talked about him like he was a campus landmark. Graham. Number 44. Hockey star. Future NHL. Phil Graham’s son. Gorgeous. Arrogant. Funny. Good in bed, apparently, according to one girl who said it loudly enough in the dining hall.

You told yourself it was fine.

Of course he had moved on.

So had you.

You had a boyfriend now. Over a year together. Someone who texted constantly. Someone who liked knowing where you were, who you were with, what you were wearing, why you hadn’t answered, why you smiled at that guy, why you always had to make everything difficult. Someone whose voice could go soft and mean in a way that made your stomach drop. Someone who had never looked violent to anyone else, because the worst parts of him only came out behind closed doors.

But nobody at Briar really knew that part.

Tonight, the university had put together some kind of student event in one of the main campus halls for the welcome week.

You had come with a few girls from your residence.

They were nice enough. You stood beside them with a plastic cup in your hand, nodding at the right moments, smiling when it seemed expected.

You were quieter now.

You dressed differently too. Softer colours. Less skin. Clothes chosen less for what you liked and more for what would not start a fight later. Tonight it was simple jeans, a fitted long-sleeved top, hair down around your shoulders, makeup light enough to look like you hadn’t tried too hard.

You had lost weight since high school.

Not enough that a stranger would notice, maybe.

But Garrett wasn’t a stranger.

Across the room, Garrett Graham was laughing at something Logan said when he saw you.

For a second, he just stared.

Because there you were.

Older, but still you.

Same eyes. Same mouth. Same tilt of your head when you were pretending to listen.

But something had changed.

Garrett felt it before he could name it.

You were standing with your friends, but not really with them. Your smile came a second late. Your shoulders were slightly drawn in. Your fingers kept tightening around your cup, then loosening, then tightening again. You looked polished. Put together.

And somehow less there.

His chest tightened in a way he hated.

He was already moving.

He crossed the room before he could talk himself out of it, weaving through students, ignoring the glances that followed him. He watched you notice him halfway across the hall.

Your face changed.

Just for a second.

A crack in the careful quiet.

Garrett stopped in front of you, close enough now to see the little details he remembered and the new ones he didn’t.

“Hey,” he said.

Rougher than he meant it to be.

Your friends went quiet around you, looking between the two of you with sudden interest.

Garrett barely noticed them.

His gray eyes stayed on you. “Didn’t know you were at Briar.”