CHAPTER NINETEEN #10
The twins jab shoulders, chirping each other, and the rest of the guys howl. Everyone's loose. Pumped. Ready to run Lakeview over with a semi.
Everyone but me.
I'm sitting on the bench, gear half-done, stick limp across my knees.
I catch my reflection on the glass and nearly flinch.
I look like shit. Circles under my eyes so dark I could pass for a raccoon.
Eyes dead, lifeless, like someone pulled the batteries out overnight.
My hair's a sweaty mess even though I haven't done a damn drill yet.
My body feels like it's made of wet cement, heavy and dragging, because I didn't sleep a wink. Not one.
Last night's still clawing at me.
Caroline's face — the wrecked, devastated way she looked at me when she told me why she left. Her voice shaking, her hands trembling, tears running like I'd cracked her open all over again. And when she shoved me out, literally dragged my ass out of her room... I didn't leave.
I stayed in that hallway for two hours, slumped against the door like an idiot, waiting. Hoping she'd open it again. That maybe she'd let me fix it, even just for a second.
She didn't.
The only thing I heard was her crying.
Not soft, pretty tears like in the movies. No — this was raw, ugly, broken. Sobs that cracked and broke, spilling out of her like every breath hurt to take. Each one slammed into me through the wood of her door, carving straight down my ribs like knives.
And I just sat there. Back against the door, fists pressed into the carpet, every sound tattooing itself into my skull. I couldn't block it out, couldn't stop hearing her, even when my ears rang.
God, it gutted me. Because I knew those tears were mine. My fault. My cheap, dirty words put them there. And even after the sobbing faded into silence, that silence felt heavier. Like it was pressing me flat, grinding me into the floor.
That's when I left. Not because I wanted to. Because I couldn't take sitting there one more second, knowing I'd already broken her in ways I couldn't tape over.
And now, here I am. Game day. As an alternate captain, I should be running strategies through my head — faceoff plays, power play rotations, penalty kill setups. I should be thinking about how to shut down Lakeview's top line or how to get under their skin.
Instead, all I see is her face. That look of pure anger. Pure betrayal. Pure hurt.
I should feel relieved, right? I finally got answers to the questions that's been eating me alive for three years. I should be planning how to make it up to her, how to win her back, how to get my best friend back.
But I can't.
I'm sitting here paralyzed, drowning in guilt. Because now I know the truth: it was me. My words. My cowardice. My stupidity. The one thing I never meant to do, I did anyway. Hurt her.
And hurt doesn't even cover it.
Destroyed is the better word. I destroyed her. And the worst part? She heard words I didn't even mean, words I never wanted her to hear. And still, they broke her.
So yeah, my team's amped, pumped up for blood tonight. And me? I'm sitting here like a shell. Suit on, skates laced, body on the ice but my head buried somewhere back in that dorm hallway.
I'm supposed to be their firestarter. Instead, I'm smoke and ashes.
My body's in the rink, but my head? Not even close. It's nowhere near hockey, nowhere near tonight's game plan. It's stuck in the past — locked on the one moment that ruined everything.
That day. That fucking day.
The day she overheard me. The day that burned it all down in one stupid, careless instant.
If I could, I'd mark it on my calendar in red ink, circle it a hundred times, slap a skull sticker on it. Cursed. The day I torched the only friendship that ever mattered.
I remember it all too well...
3 years ago...
Prom's in a few hours and, yeah, I know it's not exactly normal for a guy like me to feel giddy. But screw normal — I'm practically vibrating out of my skin. My heart's racing like I just downed three Monsters and a pre-workout shake on an empty stomach.
And it's not even about prom itself. Couldn't care less about the stupid slow songs or finding out who's gonna be the prom king and queen. It's about what happened last night.
In her bedroom.
Caroline and me, lying there, like always. Except this time wasn't like always.
We've been doing that since forever — crashing in each other's beds, sleepovers practically every night, sharing rooms like it's the most natural thing in the world.
Back then we didn't care about stuff like changing in front of each other either — stupid kid stuff, y'know?
Yeah, well, that changed. Pretty sure it'd be weird if she just stripped down now like she used to.
Not that I'd complain... Shut up, Zach.
Point is, we've always had our thing. Just us two, hanging in each other's space, never crossing the line. Until recently. Until I started toying with it. Just little hints. Testing the water.
And last night... last night felt like the line got blurry.
My chest was pounding like it was trying to tear through my ribs. And her eyes—those aquamarine eyes—snared me, hypnotic and magnetic, like they were pulling me under. Her lashes dipped, slow, flicking to my mouth before meeting my eyes again, and that one look scorched me.
Her breath skimmed across my lips, warm, shaky, and all I could think about was how close she was.
How her body pressed into mine, her weight pinning me to the mattress in a way that was equal parts torture and heaven.
Every curve of her was right there, searing through her clothes into me, and I wanted—God, I wanted—to drag her closer, to feel all of her flush against me.
Her lips parted, just barely, and it damn near killed me.
Like she was taunting me. Begging. Daring me to close the gap.
My fingers twitched at my sides, desperate to reach up, cup her face, hold her still so I could finally claim what I'd been dying for.
One inch. One breath. That's all it would've taken. And I swear, if I'd leaned up, I would've kissed her until the world burned down around us.
Oh, fuck.
I groan and roll over in my bed, jamming a pillow over my lap because just thinking about it sets me off all over again. My boxers are doing jack shit to hide it. Painfully hard and stiff.
And yeah, I literally just came back from jerking off in the bathroom. And guess what? I might have to go for round two. That's what last night does to me every time it pops back in my head.
I know. I know. Best friends aren't supposed to think this way. I'm a shitty person, I get it. Saints and perfect gentlemen don't do this. But newsflash — I've never been either of those.
Forgive me, okay? I can't help it. Caroline's... well, she's Caroline. My best friend. My whole damn life. And I'm not immune to her. Never was.
But listen — this is not just hormones. Not just me being some horny teenager looking to get laid. I want way more than that. Always have.
Truth is, I've been in love with her forever, and whatever happened last night? That was the push I've been waiting for. The BIG sign.
I saw it in her eyes — she wanted that kiss too. Which means she feels something. For me. Right?
And that's why I'm bouncing off the walls today.
Like literally. I can't sit still.
I pace around my room like a caged animal, running my hands through my hair, grinning like an absolute idiot every time I replay her face in my head. I catch my reflection in the mirror and I'm actually smiling at myself.
Who does that? Psycho people. Or guys who think their dream girl might actually like them back.
I grab a pillow and launch it in the air like I just scored OT in the Frozen Four. Then I dive on my bed, face buried in the sheets, laughing into the mattress like a maniac because holy shit — this could be it.
Tonight's prom. Tonight's the night.
We'll dance, we'll laugh, and I'm finally shooting my shot.
And yeah, I'm anxious as hell. First time confessing to a girl I'm in love with. And not just any girl. The girl. My best friend.
If luck's on my side? I walk out of prom with a girlfriend. Not just any girlfriend. Caroline.
The nerves are eating me alive, and if I keep pacing around my room I'm gonna wear a hole straight through the carpet. I need a distraction. Bad.
So I hit up Jacob. Of course he's already on — the guy's basically married to Elden Ring. We've been running co-op since the season ended, and yeah, I've kinda gotten sucked in too.
Next thing I know, we're an hour deep, grinding through some cursed castle with fire-breathing gargoyle things swooping at us from the rafters. My controller's slick with sweat because if I die one more time on this boss, I swear I'm gonna snap it in half.
"Bro, watch the left, WATCH THE LEFT!" Jacob's yelling through my headset.
"I am on the left!" I bark back, rolling my character out of the way just as a giant axe slams into the stone floor. "Maybe if you actually pulled aggro instead of hiding behind me—"
"I'm not hiding, I'm strategically retreating!"
I bark out a laugh, almost choking as my screen fills with fire. "Strategic my ass! You just left me to tank this thing alone!"
Jacob's cackling, his character sprinting back in like some kind of hero after I've already eaten three hits. "Relax, I got you. Pop a flask, stay alive—NO, don't roll into the fire—"
Too late. My health bar vanishes, and my controller vibrates like it's mocking me. "You've got to be kidding me!" I drop back on my bed, groaning. "I'm never playing with you again, dude. You're bad luck."
Jacob's howling, actual tears in his voice. "Bro, you're the one who panicked rolled! That was all you."
"Yeah, yeah." I respawn, shaking my head. "Next time you're bait. I'll stand back and strategically retreat."
We go again, and again. And somehow an hour turns into two, the both of us swearing, trash-talking, and laughing like idiots every time we wipe.