Page 98 of Only Ever You

“Hell would freeze over before she’d let me follow her,” I mutter as I exit her profile.

I type “Dean Williams” into the search bar before I can stop myself. A list of people with that name appears, but I quickly find the profile pic of a guy standing on a podium and navigate to it.

He has over a hundred thousand followers and just over one thousand posts. He looks exactly like I remember him—dark brown hair, tall, and lean, though instead of stubble, he has a neat beard. He’s stupidly photogenic. I swear, there isn’t a single picture of him from a bad angle.

In several of the pictures, he’s with his skating partner, Cassie Keller. Some look like they were taken at practice, others from competitions, and even from the Olympics, where they won silver.

I scroll slowly, taking in every photo, every reel. Before long, I find what I’m looking for—Isla. She’s in the background of one picture, wearing a red dress and talking to Elena. In another, she’s sitting beside Cassie on a bench, lacing up her skates.

The next image of her sends my thoughts scattering chaotically. My heart cracks as I look through the pictures in the carousel. Isla and Dean stand on the ice, looking past the photographer, her back pressed to his chest, his hands on her hips. There’s another of the two of them laughing, her face turned toward him in a way that makes me wince. There’s even a video of them skating together. He does a twist lift, effortlessly tossing her into the air. She spins twice before he catches her and sets her back on the ice, and they laugh together afterward, breathless and close.

My lungs constrict, my breaths coming fast and painful.

How have I not considered the possibility that she’d be with him? He’s about two years older than us, if I remember correctly, and it makes sense that he and his partner followed Elena to Boston too.

Isla has lived a whole new life without me. And if these pictures and videos are any indication, Dean took the place I’d always imagined myself in.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

of course i care

MICHAEL

Nineteen years old

The turbulent thoughts swarming in my head make me dizzy. Was this guy her first kiss? Her first boyfriend? Is he the one who⁠—

My phone buzzes in my hand, halting my thoughts. A new notification appears, then another, then a dozen more in rapid succession.

What the fuck?

Blinking, I tap the first one. It’s a comment left under a picture I was tagged in, an image of me sending the puck into our opponent’s net. It was taken two days ago, during our first preseason game. We beat the Bears, and apparently, our social media manager, Kandi, is posting shots today. Based on the tags, many other people are posting our pictures too.

The moment I read the comment, I regret even opening the app. My mood was all over the place, but now, it’s ruined. I don’t check handles, only comments.

looks like Thompson’s wrist still isn’t 100%. hope he’s worth the draft pick

bro better show something this season or he’s done

I said it once and I’ll say it again: Thompson is not NHL material. He’s not like his dad at all

overrated #IMHO

dude peaked in high school, be ready to witness his downfall

A cold dread settles in my gut, and my skin itches as I scroll faster. Every new comment slices deeper.

this guy better prove himself quick. Otherwise, the Phantoms are gonna regret drafting him

another pretty boy with wasted potential

nepo baby

argh, dude is talented but so inconsistent

doubt he has what it takes mentally. such a pity, because his dad was the goat

The comparisons to my dad hit the hardest. All my life, I’ve worked to avoid it, but the fans just can’t leave it alone. My vision blurs for a second, but I blink rapidly, clearing it. There are good comments too, way more than bad ones. Several people are even defending me, but it doesn’t matter. My brain has already chosen to latch on to the negativity. The room feels too small, too hot.