Chapter 17 #2
“I know I should keep my distance. You’re Coach’s daughter, I need to focus on hockey this year, and I’m leaving after this year.
” He squeezes my hand gently. “But I don’t just want you, I care about you, so I need to know we’re both all in.
Because I can’t do casual with you, Sophie. Not with you.”
Euphoria crashes over me first. It’s intoxicating, being wanted like this by someone who cares about me like nobody has before, and who asks what I need and actually listens. But then anxiety floods in, cold and overwhelming, because this is exactly what I swore I wouldn’t do.
Not with Mom’s health.
Not with grad school devouring my sanity.
Not with Hazel needing rides to fourteen activities.
And Mike just said it wouldn’t work for him, either. He’s got NHL scouts watching him weekly. At the end of the year, he’ll be leaving for some city that won’t be driving distance. More than likely, we’d have an expiration date from day one.
Mike is chaos in hockey skates. The guy who took up karaoke on a whim. Who modeled nude for art class because it “might be interesting.” And I know, no matter how good the packaging and how well-built the engine, that dating him would be like strapping myself to a rocket.
The idea of falling in love with Mike Altman is like deciding to go skydiving without a parachute when I haven’t even mastered tying my shoes. Terrifying, reckless and probably exhilarating, but guaranteed to end with me in pieces on the ground.
And there’s too much resting on my shoulders—too many people counting on me—for that. So I step back and drop his hand, creating physical distance to match the emotional walls I need to rebuild. My stomach twists with something that feels suspiciously like regret.
“You’re right,” I say, the words tasting bitter. “This isn’t… I’m not ready for anything but friendship with you.”
The words hang between us like a physical barrier. I brace myself for disappointment, for argument, for the hurt that would confirm how much he cares. Instead, his expression shifts into something calm and accepting, which shocks me most of all.
“That’s OK,” he says simply.
I blink, thrown by his easy acquiescence. If he wants me as badly as he just claimed, why isn’t he fighting harder? Why isn’t he trying to change my mind? The complete lack of visible disappointment is both a relief and strangely deflating.
“It is?”
“Of course.” His voice is soft but steady. “Sophie, I meant what I said. I care about you. That means I respect what you want.”
I swallow hard, uncertain how to respond to this mature acceptance. Jimmy would have pushed, would have made me feel guilty, would have pointed out how much better our relationship could be than our friendship. I’m not used to a guy—friend or otherwise—who simply accepts my choice without question.
“You’re not upset?” I ask, unable to keep the confusion from my voice. “You’re really fine?”
“I’m disappointed,” he admits with a small shrug. “But I’m not entitled to more than friendship just because I want it. I’ve enjoyed getting to know you, and I don’t want that to stop. So if that means we stay friends, then I’m happy with that, Sophie.”
The tension in my shoulders eases slightly. “I’ve enjoyed it too.”
“So we keep being friends,” Mike says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. As if maintaining friendship with all this sizzling attraction is easy.
“I should probably head home,” I say, suddenly desperate to escape before I do something stupid like kiss him again. “I have a research paper due.”
“Yeah, I should tackle my growing pile of homework too,” he says with an exaggerated grimace. “I have a case study on rotator cuff injuries that’s been giving me nightmares. Every time I close my eyes, I see anatomical drawings of shoulder muscles chasing me down dark hallways.”
The mental image pulls a genuine laugh from me, easing some of the awkwardness.
This is what I’m afraid of losing—this easy rapport, the way he can make me laugh even when I’m tied in emotional knots.
But I know the risk of falling for him has more risk, and right now I can’t afford to jump with no net.
We walk out of the batting cages, and I’m hyper-aware of the space between us.
Before, he might have thrown an arm around my shoulders or taken my hand.
Now, there’s a careful distance that feels both necessary and painful.
In some ways, this feels worse than when he left me at the bar with a kiss on the cheek.
Then, there’d been the promise of more, if I wanted it.
Now, it feels like an end.
I turn to face him, suddenly awkward again. “Thanks for bringing me here. You were right about hitting things being therapeutic.”
“I have my moments of accidental wisdom,” he says with a crooked smile. “Though if you ever repeat that, I’ll deny it. I have a reputation for being a beautiful idiot to uphold.”
I roll my eyes, but can’t suppress a smile, despite everything that just happened and everything that just changed. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
As he turns and walks away, headed to his apartment, I can’t stop watching him, the confident set of his shoulders, the way he moves with casual athletic grace. I fight the urge to call him back, to tell him I’ve changed my mind, that maybe we could try to be more than friends after all.
But I don’t. Because Mike is leaving after this year.
Because my mom’s health is unpredictable.
Because I have Hazel and school and a million responsibilities that don’t leave room for heartbreak when it all inevitably falls apart.
And because, to my surprise, he seems totally fine with my friend-zoning him.
So I stay silent, watching him and wondering why doing the sensible thing feels so much like making a terrible mistake.