Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
HUNTER
I firmly believe skating across wide-open ice is the closest sensation to flying anyone can experience.
The rush of cool air makes my eyes water and the strain of hustling so hard has my quads burning. But I keep skating, losing track of how many times I’ve circled the rink, as I chase that feeling of freedom.
By the time my strokes slow, I’m breathing hard and soaked with sweat.
I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk tomorrow. My muscles are literally trembling. I doubt I’ve ever skated this much in a single day before. I practiced with Conor and Aidan earlier—Phillips spent most of the time teasing me about causing “Somerville’s first draught” with my “selfish showering habits.”
I went to the library to finish working on my thesis presentation, and then I came back to the rink to skate solo for a bit before heading home.
“I see Hart is keeping a real close eye on that key.”
I stop in front of the away bench, sending a spray of shavings across the blue line. Conor only left me the key because he had a study session to get to and I was the last one in the showers earlier. But Coach is kidding—I think. His rare humor is hard to decipher.
“Hi, Coach. You’re here late.”
“So are you,” Coach Keller replies.
I shrug. “You going to kick me out?”
“You going to tell me why you’re skating faster than you ever did during practice?”
I crack a small smile. “More room on the ice now than there was during practice.”
“I suppose that’s true.” He rests his elbows on the plastic partition separating the bench from the ice. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
“Whatever has you here.”
I have a lot of respect for Coach. He’s one of the main reasons I chose Holt.
I didn’t come here chasing a hockey career, like Conor did. I knew the past four seasons would be the final four I ever played competitive hockey, and I wanted to do it as part of a program that I was proud to be associated with. Despite Holt’s mediocre reputation when it came to winning, it had everything else I was looking for.
Or maybe because of its mediocre reputation when it came to winning. If you ask me, how you lose says a lot more about you than how you win.
But my relationship with Coach has never extended very far off the ice. I was never the flashy star—Conor—or the troublemaker—Aidan—that required any extra attention. I was reliable and responsible, and we never became very close as a result.
I glance at the new championship banner hanging from the rafters, then at Coach. “I think better here.”
He nods. “And what are you thinking about?”
“I’ve, uh, I’ve got to decide what to do with the rest of my life.”
It’s a cop-out of an answer. I mean, yeah, I have to decide that. Eve is the main reason I’m here skating like a madman, though. But broaching girl troubles with Coach seems like a real leap from our previous exchanges.
“Is that all?”
I catch one of Coach’s rare smiles before looking down at the ice.
I skate a little closer, leaning a hip against the boards. Now that I’ve stopped moving, I’m exhausted. My trembling muscles feel like lead.
“Nothing’s as permanent as it seems, Morgan. You’re young. You’re allowed to make mistakes. Change your mind. You’re starting a new chapter, but it won’t be the last one.”
“I just…” I move my left skate forward and back, deepening a groove in the ice. “I like getting things right on the first try, I guess.”
Coach chuckles. “Don’t we all.”
I clear my throat. “Have you ever gotten something you really wanted? I mean, really wanted? Not a good grade or a pair of new skates, but something super important. Life-changing. Or, gotten close to getting it, and realized how scary actually getting it would be? Like, you wanted it, but you also liked wanting it because as long as you didn’t have it, you could never lose it? Did that make any sense?”
He glances up at the banner. “Yes.”
“I’m not talking about hockey.”
“I’m not either, Morgan.”
“Oh. Right. Well, she?—”
Coach’s expression doesn’t change when I let the pronoun slip. “Go on.”
“She might—she might finally be mine. And I always thought if there was ever an opening, I’d have the balls to make a move. But now I’m…sort of…choking.”
“Because you’re scared of losing her?”
I nod.
He sighs. “I’m a hockey coach, Morgan, not a relationship expert. But the way I see it, if you don’t fight, you’ll definitely lose her. And if you do fight, you might lose her or you might not. Which odds do you want?”
“I’m not much of a gambler.”
Which Coach knows, after coaching me for four years. I pick the reliable play over the risky one, every time.
Coach looks up at the banner again. “Winning that championship was the third best day of my life. Second best was when I married my wife. And the top spot will always be getting to hold my little girl for the first time. Most terrified I’ve ever been in my life.” He tugs the brim of his Holt Hockey cap lower. “Do you know how I found out my daughter was dating one of my players?”
“Uh…”
Is this a trick question? Discussing the morning we discovered Aidan had snuck into our coach’s daughter’s room was high on my topics to never bring up with Coach Keller.
“Phillips was never a rule follower. But he wanted that win for Hart. If I’d found out about him and Rylan any other way, I would have doubted his intentions. I would have smelled the bullshit of him showing up in a tie on my doorstep asking permission to date my daughter a mile away. But him jeopardizing the entire team? That made a damn impression. Opportunities don’t fall into your lap, Morgan. You have to make them happen.”
“So, you’re telling me to go for it?”
“I’m saying you miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take, Hunter.”
His use of my first name draws me up short. Coach always calls us by our last names. I wasn’t even sure he knew my first name.
He’s right.
I want Eve; there’s no question about that. And I hope she feels the same way about me, but it won’t change how I feel. I have nothing to lose, except my heart, and I think I already handed that over to her.
“Thanks, Coach,” I say.
He nods. “Good luck, Morgan. I’ll see you at the dinner.”
I nod back, pretending like I hadn’t totally forgotten about that. When he turns to leave, I add, “Coach?”
He glances back, one eyebrow raised. “Yes?”
“Aidan is one of the best people I know. He would die for her. I know she’s your daughter, but if you’re worried…don’t be.”
Coach chuckles a little. “You’re a good man, Morgan.”
I watch him head for the lobby that serves as the rink’s main exit. For some reason, this moment feels like the end of hockey. I thought it would be raising the championship trophy after that final game. But that was a team event. A celebration, mostly, because we won. This, talking to Coach in an empty rink, felt more final.
I skate slowly to the door that leads to the tunnel. Back in the locker room, I shower and change for the second time today. Before leaving, I also empty out my locker, shoving all the gear and clothing into my hockey bag.
I don’t know the exact date they’re melting the ice, but I know it’s coming up soon. And this should get washed anyway.
It’s pitch-black out when I leave the rink. There’s a pang of nostalgia as I walk to my car. During the season, leaving at this hour was a regular occurrence.
Rather than drive straight home, I head toward Eve’s. I could call or text her, but this feels like a conversation we should have in person. She hasn’t called or texted me, despite now knowing she has my number, but I shove that concern to the back of my head.
When I get to Eve’s house, the driveway is empty and all the windows are dark. No one’s home.
I swallow my disappointment and continue to my place, which is the total opposite of empty. I have to park halfway down the street, since my usual spot is taken by what I think is Robby’s black Jeep. Even this far down the block, I can hear the music.
What the hell is— shit . It’s Sunday. It’s Robby’s birthday. Why didn’t Conor or Aidan mention it when we were at the rink this morning?
I’m guessing the answer is they were distracted by what happened before our weekly practice, same as I was.
I swear under my breath as I walk toward the front door, a heavy bag of smelly hockey equipment slung over one shoulder.
As soon as I step inside, there’s a loud chorus of my name. The entire team is here, plus a lot of other people. The only shout I acknowledge is Robby’s, clapping him on the back and wishing him a happy birthday.
I sneak upstairs as soon as I can, depositing the bag in my room and changing into jeans before heading back downstairs.
Aidan and Conor are in the kitchen. So’s Robby. He’s talking with Jake Brennan. It sounds like they’re discussing Brennan’s twenty-first.
“Your days of delinquency are almost over.” Robby knocks his cup with Jake’s so hard that some of the beer in his sloshes over the rim and into the one Jake is holding.
Jake grins. “Dunno about that.”
Robby grins back, then notices me. “Where are your Jell-O shots, Morgan?”
“Didn’t make any,” I say.
“What?” Conor asks, glancing over from his spot by the stove. “Why?”
“No one else likes them.”
Conor’s frown deepens. “You do.”
“Well, it’s not my birthday.”
“Can you make some now?” Aidan asks. His expression is uncharacteristically somber. For anytime, let alone at a party.
“Yeah, but it takes a couple of hours to set.”
Aidan shrugs. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You live here, Phillips.”
“Exactly. You want some of Morgan’s famous Jell-O shots, Sampson?”
“Hell yeah!” Robby calls back.
“Fine.” I open the cabinet that contains my extra stash and pull out boxes of cherry and lime.
Conor shifts to the left so I can boil the water on the stove. “Wasn’t sure you’d make it,” he says in a low voice that I can barely make out over the commotion in the kitchen.
“I forgot,” I admit. “You guys didn’t mention it this morning.”
“Because you never forget shit.”
I watch the bubbles form on the bottom of the saucepan. “I know.”
Rylan appears, setting an empty can by the sink before walking over to me. “Hey, Hunter! I was wondering where you were.”
“Here,” I say, returning her hug. “Just making Jell-O shots.”
“Can I help?” she offers.
“Sure. Cups are in the drawer. Vodka’s in the cabinet above the fridge. Grab a mixing bowl too.”
Rylan nods. “Got it.”
She returns with the items a minute later. “Is Harlow coming?” she asks Conor. “I haven’t seen her.”
Conor shrugs, then scratches his jaw. “I’m not sure.” He also glances at me.
“You’re not sure?” Rylan asks, confused.
“She went home for the weekend,” Hart says. “I forgot to mention it before she left, and she didn’t answer when I called earlier. I texted her about it, but she might still be driving. Or back, and busy with Eve.” He slants another look at me.
“Invite Eve too!” Rylan suggests. “I haven’t hung out with her since spring break.”
Conor makes a vague “Uh-huh” sound.
“Jell-O shots, huh? Should have known I’d find you over here, Morgan.”
I glance at Jack Williams, a smile appearing automatically. I’ve always liked Williams. Oftentimes—and especially at parties like this—we were the twin pillars of reason when guys would suggest streaking across campus or breaking into the rink to skate suicides.
We haven’t hung out much since the season ended. We’ve never socialized much outside of hockey. Jack and Harlow dated sophomore year, and Conor is…Conor.
“Hey, man,” I greet. “They’ll be ready in a bit.”
“No rush.” Williams props a hip against the counter. “How’ve you been?”
“Not bad.”
“You pick a grad school yet?” he asks.
Jack and I were the two guys doing homework on the bus to away games. He’s from LA, like Aidan, and working for his dad’s accounting company after graduation.
“He’s still busy weighing his many offers,” Conor says.
I roll my eyes. “Not that many.”
“Morgan got into every fucking school he applied to,” Hart brags.
“What? I didn’t know that!” Aidan interjects. “Did they send you something I can put on the fridge?”
I laugh and shake my head. “A couple of schools sent welcome packets, yeah.”
Including University of Pennsylvania, which is the program I’m leaning toward. It’s one of the top in the country, and Philadelphia is a cool city. For many reasons, including its proximity to New York.
The water’s boiling. I grab a potholder and pass the pan to Rylan, who carefully mixes it with the Jell-O powder and then adds the vodka.
Aidan’s busy rearranging the papers on the fridge so there’s an open spot for my grad school decision. And fuck if that doesn’t make me feel as sentimental as clearing out my locker did.
“Is Kylie here?” I ask Jack.
Jack shakes his head. “Nah, we broke up. End of senior year is a tough time to start a relationship, especially if you’re not headed to the same place. She got a job offer in Chicago…and that was pretty much it.”
I nod, attempting to ignore how similar his words sound to my own situation. “Sorry, man.”
“S’okay. It was amicable. But thanks.”
“Yay! You made it!” Rylan abandons the Jell-O shots halfway through pouring the mixture into the tiny cups, setting the pan on the counter and then shoving her way toward Harlow, who’s appeared in the doorway that leads from the front hall.
“Hey!” Harlow hugs Rylan back, mouthing something at Conor that makes him grin.
Harlow smiles back. Then, she glances at me, and I immediately tense.
She knows about me and Eve. I can just tell.
And then Eve herself appears and steals all of my attention. She stops beside Harlow, looking around the packed kitchen with wide eyes. It doesn’t seem like she knew there was a party, and there’s a spark of hope in my chest when I realize that means she likely came to see me .
Rylan pulls Eve into a hug. Harlow moves deeper into the kitchen.
“Hey, Hart’s girl,” Brennan greets. He’s leaning against the wall at that end of the kitchen, next to Robby.
Next to me, Conor nods approvingly at the address.
I’m pretty sure Harlow rolls her eyes before saying hi to Jake.
Jake straightens and steps closer to the girls, holding a hand out to Eve. “Hey, I’m Jake. We’ve never met before.” He smirks. “I’d remember.”
My jaw clenches tight as I watch Eve shake Brennan’s hand.
I can feel eyes on me. Conor and Aidan, I’m guessing, but I don’t glance around to confirm.
My fuse is long. I don’t lose my temper.
Eve and Jake are still talking.
There’s enough activity in the kitchen that I can’t hear everything they’re saying. But I hear him offer to get her a drink, followed by Eve’s “I’m okay, thanks” clear as a bell.
Brennan acts all disappointed, flashing her the grin I’ve seen succeed many times before and rattling off some different options in a cajoling tone.
Harlow’s looking at me now too.
And my fuse was long, because I’m pretty damn close to losing it. He says something else, and it burns down to nothing.
“She said no , Brennan.”
A beat of total silence follows. My voice was louder—flintier—than I intended, cutting through the conversations in the kitchen and leaving complete quiet in its wake. I don’t say anything else. I don’t soften my tone or cut the tension with a joke.
And I hold Jake’s gaze as he stares at me, eyebrows raised.
Surprisingly, he breaks eye contact before me. I’ve seen Brennan go head-to-head with plenty of guys on the team before, and it’s rare he’s the one to back down first. It’s usually me and Williams pulling them apart to break things up.
“Sorry,” he tells Eve. “I didn’t know you and Morgan were together.”
I don’t correct Jake’s assumption. Neither does Eve. She says something to Brennan I can’t hear, and then starts weaving her way around the people in the kitchen. Toward me.
People are talking again. Most of them are also staring this way. The worst offenders are Harlow, Conor, Rylan, and Aidan, who aren’t even bothering to be surreptitious about it.
“Hey,” she greets, slipping in next to me.
“Hey,” I echo, scanning her expression.
“I didn’t mean to crash your party.”
“You aren’t. I would have invited you if I’d remembered it was happening.” I reach up and rub the back of my neck. “And I meant to text you, when I got home, but there was the party and I accidentally left my phone upstairs and?—”
Eve cuts me off by rising up on her tiptoes and kissing me.
Distantly, I’m aware of commotion. Cheering. But mostly, I’m focused on Eve. The tiny moan she makes when I suck on her tongue and the way she leans into me like close isn’t close enough.
And how it feels like I finally got the girl.