### Chapter 3: CONNOR The moment I made the connection—that Meems’s favorite librarian was the same woman I found myself sitting beside at Callie’s games—something deep within me shifted. It was a secret I held close to my chest, largely because it provided me with an intimate insight into Mildred through the lens of my grandmother. But now that secret is out, and the walls I tried to build around my perception of her have crumbled. As I step into the arena, my palms are slick with an anxious sweat. I wrestle with the urge to shove Mildred back into the neatly labeled box of ‘my enemy’s best friend’, the familiar compartment where I’ve kept her for far too long. But yesterday, she burst from that box, and now, I’m at a loss; I simply can't close it. Beyond her gentle interactions with Callie, I witnessed the undeniable bond between her and Meems. I saw the anguish etched on Mildred’s face when she discovered the possibility of losing someone she cherished. Her concern mirrored my own fears and left me unsettled. During practice today, I kept an observant eye on Flip, scanning for any signs of strain. Mildred is his best friend—perhaps more, but I’ve never seen evidence of deeper feelings. He seemed as untroubled as ever, focused on the drill, phone firmly tucked away in his locker. This leaves me wondering: is he oblivious to the turmoil unfolding around her? If he doesn’t know, why? The kids are already on the ice; I spot Callie in goal, her tiny figure poised and ready. My attention drifts to the crowd, and there she is—Mildred, occupying the front row, bundled in her winter jacket and sporting a team toque. The sight of her radiant smile brings my heart to a rapid thrum, and for a fleeting second, I lose myself in the moment, caught by the way she adjusts her glasses, blissfully unaware of my approach. “I heard he’s usually here by now,” one of the team moms mentions as I draw closer. “Maybe he’s not coming,” another replies. “Here’s hoping. He’s a bad influence on the kids.” “Right? Seriously, when isn’t he mouthing off on the ice?” “Did you catch the latest article? The head coach is worried about the season without Hammerstein.” “I heard he’s the only one who can keep Grace in line,” another chimes in. I’ve grown accustomed to this chatter, painted as the perpetual villain—the team’s troubled player in everyone’s eyes. A role I play with a twisted sense of pride. It’s my thorny crown, forged from wealth and entitlement, marked by what the media claims: that I bought my place in professional hockey. It’s a title I wear willingly. Why not embrace it? It’s easier than fighting against public perception. Yet, Mildred sees past that. She doesn’t label me a villain, despite her best friend’s disdain. That alone fuels my intrigue. I settle into the seat beside her, an electric anticipation prickling at my skin as the whispers from the moms fade to silence. She smells like a delightful mix of books, strawberries, and vanilla—a comforting blend that feels both foreign and familiar. Her glossy brown hair is tucked beneath her cap, and her glasses need a good cleaning, her nose and cheeks flushed with the winter chill. Every inch of her radiates the essence of a true librarian. Mildred glances in my direction, her eyes darting briefly over her shoulder before returning to the ice. “They’d probably quiet down if they saw you with your Meems.” “Doesn’t change the fact that I’m a jerk on the ice,” I reply, stealing another glance at her. A tiny smile plays at the corners of her lips, and I find myself drawn to it before redirecting my gaze to the rink. “True, but it is eye-opening,” she retorts, absently tugging at the hair tie on her wrist. “How is Lucy?” “In love with you,” I tease, and her smile broadens. “Tell her it goes both ways,” she laughs softly. “She wants me to invite you for dinner.” The mention of Meems brings a flutter of emotion. She’d raved about Mildred’s kindness and beauty, igniting a tempting spark within me to pursue her. But such a move could plunge me deeper into villainy than I’d ever intended. Mildred’s gaze locks onto mine—a depth of chocolate brown filled with secrets and wonder. “Is she feeling better?” I nod, my chest swelling with the truth. “She’s getting her strength back.” But with that, I realize I might not have a reason to visit Mildred at the library anymore. Requests for books will dwindle, and if she accepts that dinner invitation… “How long have you known I’m her librarian?” she interrupts my thoughts, tilting her head with curiosity. “A while.” I can’t help but feel a tinge of regret for keeping that connection to myself. “You never mentioned your link to the Terror, though.” “Neither did she,” Mildred replies, a hint of something—defensiveness, perhaps?—in her voice. “It didn’t seem relevant. It’s about appearances, isn’t it? We bring up our connections to someone famous to feel significant ourselves.” She raises her chin, challenging. “If you didn’t care about Callie and what she thinks, wouldn’t you give those moms more ammunition to talk about you?” She’s absolutely right. I don’t ever want Callie to see the monster other people paint me to be. As if summoned by our unspoken agreement, Callie makes a stunning save, and we leap to our feet, cheering in unison. “What’s a while?” she asks, breaking the silence as we return to our seats. “Pardon?” “You said you’ve known I’m Lucy’s librarian for a while, but you haven’t given me any specifics.” “Does it help?” I ask, self-conscious, running my hands down my thighs. The moment I recognized that only Mildred guided Meems during those library trips, I began asking about their weekly visits—not out of simple curiosity, but to uncover more about the woman beside me. Her commitment to community programs, her love for romance novels, her fondness for sourdough bread and strawberry shortcake—all of it crafted an image of her I wanted to embrace. Mildred hums, satisfaction twinkling in her eyes as she turns back to watch the game. We settle into a comfortable silence, lost in the rhythm of the match, cheering for each of Callie’s triumphant stops. As the minutes tick by, my earlier thoughts surge back to the surface. “What’s going on with your apartment?” At that, I notice her posture stiffen, and she counters my question with a sharpness that cuts through the air. “Does it matter?” “If you’re in trouble—” “Please, let’s not.” Her expression shifts, blending hardness with vulnerability, fury intermingling with hidden pain. “But you—” “I can’t talk about it right now.” She gestures to Callie, who is busy on the ice. “That little girl is my family. So are Lexi, Flip, and everyone else. They’re my entire world. Losing my apartment? It puts everything at risk. Again. Like it always seems to. So please, let it go. It’s already hurting me enough without you pouring salt into the wound.” The final buzzer slices through the tension, signaling the kids to file off the ice. Callie dashes toward me, her oversized goalie gear making her look like a small, determined knight. “Did you see my shutout?” she exclaims, arms wrapping around me in a tight hug. “I sure did! You were phenomenal! Good job defending the net. I’m so proud of you.” “Thanks!” Her eyes light up, a smile pure enough to melt glaciers. “I think I play better when you’re here. You’re my good luck charm.” “Right back at you! I feel the same way when you come to my games.” I wink at her, stepping back to allow Mildred a moment with her friend. Mildred’s gaze meets mine, her lips softly curved into a smile. I know I come to Callie’s games out of genuine care, but this connection with Mildred is something more. It brings a spark of importance, something I’ve craved, something rooted far deeper than my ties to Meems. As Callie heads to the locker room, the coach pauses to speak with Mildred. I contemplate lingering, perhaps walking her out, wanting to draw her into a conversation, to ask the questions brewing in my mind. But I hold back, respecting the space she needs. She smiles and waves as I pass by, and for a moment, I’m struck with the wish that I could be something other than the villain—the bad guy burdened with his reputation. Or perhaps, with Mildred, I don’t have to choose. Maybe it’s time to explore the possibility of being both.