Chris Sturniolo had been in Ellie’s life for as long as she could remember.

He and her brother Nate had been inseparable since they were two, a package deal that showed up in every childhood memory. Scraped knees. Backyard hockey. Late nights that ended with Chris asleep on the couch because he practically lived there anyway.

When Ellie was little, Chris treated her like something fragile. Carried her on his shoulders. Let her sit in his lap during movies. Taught her how to tie her skates even when her fingers were too small to keep up.

When she hit her early teens, the dynamic shifted just enough to feel confusing. Teasing smiles. Comments that lingered a second too long. Nothing crossed, nothing spoken, but something quietly changed.

Then hockey changed everything.

The injury ended his career and took something out of him with it. The easy grin vanished. His patience wore thin. Anger replaced the softness Ellie remembered.

He never hated her.

But he was always irritated now. Short replies. Dismissive looks. Like she was noise he couldn’t afford to hear.

So when Ellie moved in at nineteen, suitcase in hand, officially sharing a place with Nate and Chris, it felt like stepping into a ghost.

Chris barely looked at her when she arrived. Just nodded, jaw tight, eyes tired.

“Hey, kid,” he muttered.

Kid.

Her chest ached at the word.

This wasn’t the Chris who used to sneak her extra snacks or defend her from Nate’s teasing. This was someone sharper. Closed off. Always tense.

Ellie tried not to care.

Tried not to miss the way he used to laugh with her.

But every late night in the shared kitchen, every quiet moment where their eyes met for half a second too long, reminded her that something had been lost.

And maybe…

Something had never really gone away at all.