Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
HUNTER
I t’s strange walking around a silent house that’s normally noisy. I can hear the creak of each step as I descend the stairs. The duffel bag slung over my right shoulder bangs against the wall, the rasp of nylon against plaster audible between creaks. If we’d ever gotten around to hanging up anything on the walls, it’d all be askew.
I dump my duffel by the front door when I reach the entryway, and then head into the kitchen.
The fridge is basically cleared out. I pour a bowl of cereal, sniff the milk, and decide to toss the carton. Brewing a whole pot of coffee for a single cup seems wasteful, so I munch on my plain cereal and down a glass of water to wash the dryness away.
Phillips clipped his Stats exam to the fridge door—the retake he just found out he passed, not the original he failed. I stare at it as I sip, trying to rouse some more excitement about the upcoming trip. Aidan is graduating with us. That’s cause for celebration—and a reminder we’ll each be headed our own ways soon. Even if the approaching drive is awkward and I have to watch multiple make-out sessions, this trip will be worth it.
I add my dishes to the dishwasher and take the trash out. I’m not planning on coming back here after my morning class, so I double-check that all the doors and windows are locked before carrying my duffel to the car.
The sun is covered by clouds, but the air feels a little warmer than it’s been. Teased by the barest hint of spring. I roll the window down as I drive to campus, hanging my elbow out an inch and drumming my fingers against the wheel as I wait for another car to continue through the intersection.
Arriving on campus is as strange as walking around the house was. Holt’s a ghost college today. Spring break doesn’t officially start until tomorrow, but there aren’t many students with Friday classes. Even fewer who are bothering to attend them the day before break begins.
I’m a responsible rule follower. Dependable , my teachers and coaches have always called me. I hand in the extra credit. I’m always on time for practice. Part of it is intrinsic to my personality. The rest, I blame Sean for. Even before addiction twisted my brother into someone who’s barely recognizable, he was the impulsive, devil-may-care Morgan brother. That didn’t leave many rules for me to break.
As much as I admired Sean, I saw the aftermath of him missing curfew or skipping practice or failing tests. When you witness how burdens you refuse to carry fall onto everyone around you, it’s hard to justify imitating that destruction.
I score one of the coveted parking spots right by the student center, grabbing my backpack off the passenger seat and then heading toward the door that leads directly into the campus coffee shop.
There’s a line at the register, but it’s not very long. I should have plenty of time to grab a coffee and make it to the political science building on time.
“Morgan! Should have known you’d still be on campus.” Robby Sampson, one of my hockey teammates, punches my bicep as he appears beside me.
The two girls who are in line directly ahead of me—they look young, so I’m guessing they’re freshmen—turn to look at us.
Robby winks at them.
One blushes and one giggles before they turn back toward the counter.
“What are you still doing on campus?” I ask Robby.
Phillips barely eked him out for the title of irresponsible rule breaker on the team. If Coach had two daughters, it might have been a tie.
“My flight got cancelled,” Robby replies. “Tornado warning back home.”
“Shit,” I say. He’s from Tennessee.
Sampson shrugs. “No biggie. I changed my flight to Kentucky instead. I have a good buddy who goes to Lancaster. His spring break was last week, so I’ll bunk with him for a few days before heading home.” He punches my shoulder again, in the exact same spot, and I hide a grimace. That hurts a lot less when I’m wearing pads. “What about you? I ran into Phillips in here yesterday morning, and he said he was about to head out.”
“Yeah, he did. Hart and Phillips left yesterday. I’m driving separately.”
“Long drive to make alone,” Robby comments.
I shrug, not correcting the assumption and telling him Harlow’s best friend is coming with me. Even though I’ve had almost a week to get used to the idea, I still feel…strange about the approaching trip with Eve. Uncertain. A nervous sort of excited. Maybe I’d feel less weird if I’d talked to Eve directly about it. But Harlow and Conor arranged all the details—telling me where to pick Eve up and Eve when to expect me—so I truly have no clue what to expect when I show up at her and Harlow’s place later.
“Hey, Robby. Hi, Hunter.”
We’ve reached the front of the line, where a blonde is standing behind the cash register. Brooke , I recall, even before I glance at the name tag on her shirt. She and Aidan had a fling earlier this year. Before he met Rylan, Aidan had a lot of flings and no relationships.
“Morning.” I aim a polite smile Brooke’s way before scanning the contents of the pastry case. Dry cereal wasn’t much of a breakfast.
Robby orders while I deliberate between buying a muffin or a bagel.
“Wanna skate later?” he asks me once we’ve paid and moved down the counter to wait for our drinks. “Rink’s still open, right?”
“Can’t,” I answer around a mouthful of muffin. “I have class. That’s why I’m still on campus.”
“Oh. I thought you just didn’t want to ride in the Lovemobile.”
I snort at his apt description of Hart’s car, then swallow another bite. “That factored,” I admit.
“Have to say, I figured you’d get a girlfriend way before Hart or Phillips.”
“Yeah, well…” I take another bite of my second breakfast.
“Don’t look bummed about it, man. Monogamy is totally overrated.”
I keep chewing, hoping Robby will move on to another topic unrelated to my single status. Thankfully, he does.
“Did you see the email about the dinner?”
I shake my head. I was busy packing all morning. “What dinner?”
“The school’s throwing it to celebrate the championship. Coach Keller sent an email to the team this morning. Sounds like it’ll be lame—no open bar or anything—but?—”
“Two black coffees,” the barista calls out.
I catch a glimpse of the clock as I grab my cup. “Shit. I’ve gotta run, Sampson. Have a good break, ’kay?”
“Yeah, you too, Morgan,” he calls after me cheerfully.
I make it across campus in record time, thanks to the wide-open walkways. I only pass five people in total before reaching the three steps that lead into the brick building housing Holt’s political science department.
The door is swinging shut when I reach it. I yank it back open, planning to hustle down the hallway, and then slow when I spot who’s entered just ahead of me.
Shit .
“Hi, Hunter,” Holly greets as I screech to a stop to avoid barreling into her.
“Hey, Holly,” I say carefully.
She wasn’t in class on Wednesday, so this is the first time we’ve interacted since she left my car under…tense circumstances.
I was nice about not wanting to come in, to be clear. But maybe I misread some signals, or didn’t know the right ones to look for. And rejection—even polite rejection—sucks.
“Figured you’d be gone for break,” she comments as I fall into step beside her.
I clear my throat. “Yeah…leaving right after this. You?”
“Same. I’m flying to Cancun with some of my sorority sisters. I’d skip today, but I already missed Wednesday to go shopping in Seattle, so…”
It’s occurring to me we didn’t discuss our spring break plans during our date last weekend. I’m not sure how it didn’t come up during one of the awkward pauses, but it didn’t.
“That’ll be fun,” I say.
“Yeah,” Holly agrees. “Are you headed home?”
Another awkward pause follows the question, like Holly just realized she has no idea where I’m from. That she never asked.
“No. California. Aidan rented a place.”
“Oh. Cool.”
We’ve reached the doorway of the lecture hall. Most seats are full. Professor Hayden only allows one unexcused absence a semester—which explains why Holly is here. He also uses and allows limited technology during his classes. There aren’t any slides to look up online. If you miss a lecture, you have to get notes—handwritten notes—from a classmate. Laptops are only allowed for students with learning differences. That enforces the attendance policy pretty well.
Professor Hayden is standing at the front of the room, his hands clasped in front of him. “Miss Johnson. Mr. Morgan. How lovely of you to join us. Please take your seats.”
It’s 11:09—class starts at 11:10—but we both shuffle to our joint row quickly.
Once I’ve sat down and opened my notebook, I tap a pen against the spiral ring anxiously.
I’m not nervous for class. I’m nervous for after class.
Holly leans closer. I can tell instantly, because she wears a perfume that smells like some sweet fruit. Strawberries, maybe? I drove from her sorority house back home with the windows down—despite the snow—simply to clear the smell out.
Cherries, I decide. Holly smells like cherries. The maraschino kind that come in a glass jar of red syrup, so they’re extra sweet.
“Can I borrow your notes from last class?” she whispers to me.
“Yeah. Sure. I’ll give you my notebook after class.”
I won’t need it over break. And if it smooths things over with Holly, she can copy whatever she wants. I hate confrontation and unnecessary drama. And dating, I think. Right before I graduate wasn’t the ideal time to start up a relationship, anyway. I don’t know what Holly’s plans are after graduation. I didn’t ask—on purpose—because I was worried it was a question she might reciprocate.
Class passes quickly. Despite my classmates’ complaining about Hayden’s lack of materials—the only way you can study for one of his exams is by reviewing your notes—I don’t think any of them would deny that we learn better because of it. The girl sitting directly in front of me during one of my classes yesterday was playing Solitaire on her laptop the entire time.
But here, everyone’s hanging on to Hayden’s every word, worried the sentence they miss will be on the next test. I write nonstop, my wrist cramped by the time class ends.
Professor Hayden wishes everyone a good break, and then calls out a gruff “Hunter, stay back a minute?”
“Of course, Professor.” I zip up my backpack, hand Holly my notebook, and walk toward the desk at the front of the room. My grip on the strap tightens as I approach the podium he lectures from.
I know what this is about.
Predictably, Professor Hayden doesn’t bother with any small talk. “You haven’t responded to any of my emails,” he states as soon as I reach him.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“You must have heard back by now.”
I nod. “Yeah. I have.”
He sighs, but his expression is sympathetic. “I’m your academic advisor, Hunter. I can’t advise you on anything, academic or otherwise, if you keep me out of the loop.”
I nod again. “I know.”
Truthfully, I shoved all future decisions out of my head and focused on hockey. That worked—until the season ended. And skating with Conor and Aidan on weekends isn’t a commitment I can justify as an excuse.
It’s silent in the lecture hall. Everyone else hustled out of here, eager to start their break.
“I got in everywhere,” I admit.
Professor Hayden’s bushy eyebrows rise. He looks surprised. Impressed. And Hayden isn’t easy to surprise or impress. “Everywhere?”
I applied to some pretty competitive schools, mostly at his urging. They all waived the application fee, so that wasn’t a factor, and honestly? I didn’t think I would get in. I thought the decision would be made for me.
“Yep,” I confirm.
“Hunter. That’s incredible.”
“Thanks. I’m just— It took me by surprise. And everything with hockey…”
“Your season is over, correct?”
I hide a smile. “Correct.”
He’s really asking.
Professor Hayden might be the one person on campus who has no idea that we won a national championship. He’s not oblivious, just selective with what he focuses on. He’s like Hart with hockey, except he’s dedicated his life to being a political science professor. No wife, no kids. He does sabbaticals around the world every few years, researching ancient Roman and Greek civilizations and assessing the origins of democracy and empires.
“You have until the fifteenth to decide, but we should really discuss your options sooner.”
“I know. I’ll make an appointment after break. I promise.”
Hayden nods. “Very well. Do you have exciting plans?”
“For break?” I fidget with the strap of my backpack. “Uh, not really. I’m visiting California with some friends. What about you?”
He gives me a small smile. “I’m visiting my brother. He lives in Vancouver.”
“Okay, well…” I’m as uninspired by small talk as he is. “Have a good break.”
“You too.”
I nod, then turn to leave.
“And, Hunter?”
I glance back.
Hayden smiles. The widest one I’ve ever seen from him. “Congratulations.”
I smile back. “Thanks.”