Chapter 24
Jefferson
The last week went by in a whirlwind, and now that graduation is over, it already feels like things are different. No more classes. No more practices. No more countdowns on the schedule that kept me anchored for four straight years.
My parents flew back home this morning. It was good having them here, showing them my world for a couple of days without interruptions. I promised I’d visit before I head to Florida and start the season, but the truth is that I don’t want to think about hockey right now.
I want to see Ingrid.
The next date I’ve got circled is the fundraiser for the Flockton Foundation in Miami next week. I’d hop on a plane tonight if I hadn’t promised Coach we’d spend time with the new players he recruited for the fall.
Ingrid and I have only texted here and there–short messages, both of us busy.
I miss her. Badly. And not just her body or the way she feels in my hands.
I miss her laugh and smile. Her quick wit and intelligence.
And it sucks that I haven’t even seen the final show on the tour.
I know it was a spectacle, but the last twenty-four hours have been packed: the ceremony took up most of the day, followed by dinner with my roommates and their families.
This morning I went to breakfast with my parents and then drove them to the airport.
By the time I got home, I had to help the guys start cleaning out the kitchen.
I’ve done my best to avoid spoilers, although it’s nearly impossible. Everyone’s said it was insane, a total blowout, but the biggest thing I keep hearing, whispered in every recap, is that she sang a new song.
That alone is enough to keep me off the internet until I can see it for myself.
“Please don’t tell me you’re going upstairs to eat pizza and have phone sex,” Reid calls as I pass through the kitchen, three greasy slices balanced on a paper plate. Half the kitchen is packed up in cardboard boxes.
“So what if I am?” I shoot back. God, if only. It’s been a week since I’ve gotten off. My hand just isn’t cutting it anymore.
“Stop.” Shelby slaps her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“Relax. I’m just going to watch last night’s concert.” I wink. “Pants on.”
“Stop winking at my girl.” Reid picks up a throw pillow and tosses it at me. I dodge it easily and grin.
“Oh, watch it down here,” Shelby says, straightening on the couch. “I want to see it too.”
I hesitate, then shrug. She’s right. It’s better on the flat screen anyway.
We settle in–me in the armchair, Shelby tucked under Reid’s arm on the couch. She knows every lyric, even the deep-cut tracks. She’s singing under her breath the whole time, and it’s weirdly comforting, hearing someone else love Ingrid’s music as much as I do.
When the lights on the stage dim, I sit forward. “I think this is it,” I murmur. “The new one.”
Behind the stage, the backdrop transforms into a midnight sky glittering with stars.
A stagehand crosses to her and hands her a guitar.
She adjusts the strap, lays her hand across the strings.
She looks so casual–like this is second nature–but I can see it.
The nerves, tucked just beneath the stage smile.
Her voice comes through the speakers, soft and certain: “I know you love the hits, and I love them too, but it didn’t feel right closing down this show without giving you a little gift of something new.”
Then she begins.
“You walk me down the empty streets
Actin’ like this could repeat
But I’ve been the girl in someone’s dream
And I know how this ends
You’ve got charm, you’ve got the game
Silver tongue and a well-known name
I let you close, but not too far
You don’t get to say you had me…”
I freeze, the slice of pizza forgotten in my hand.
Shelby’s voice cuts through, low and knowing. “This is so good.”
I don’t look at her. My eyes are locked on Ingrid, framed in light, spilling truth into a microphone.
Because then she hits the chorus, clear and sharp, every syllable a blade.
“That’s all this is…”
Fuck.
I listen to the whole thing, my heart pounding harder with every lyric. A surreal, out-of-body sensation settles low in my gut, heavy and cold. Now I know what her exes feel like, but that’s not me. Right? I’m not an ex.
This song isn’t about us. Not the late nights, the way she laughed against my chest, the way we kept choosing each other again and again.
No.
It’s about the night we met. About one kiss and nothing more. A flicker. A moment. Disposable.
The way she sings it’s like that’s where we began and ended.
But that night. That kiss. It hooked me for good, and my mind scrambles back through the last couple of days. The short replies. The simple emojis. Busy. Tired. Talk later.
I wanted to believe it was just the tour, just the chaos of her schedule. My family being in town and graduation.
But now…
The song ends, her voice fading out as the crowd roars. Shelby’s still humming under her breath when I push to my feet, the pizza untouched, my body on autopilot.
“Jefferson?” Shelby’s voice chases after me as I grab my phone off the table and head for the front door. “Are you okay?”
I don’t answer. The porch air hits my face, cooler than the heat brewing inside me.
I scroll to her name. Hit dial.
To my shock, she picks up on the first ring.
“That song,” I say, my voice rougher than I expect. “Why does it feel like a fucking goodbye?”
There’s a pause on the other end, a soft rush of background noise. Then Ingrid’s voice, low and sharp. “Is it true?”
“Is what true?”
I’m already wracking my brain searching for the answer before she says, “The list, Jefferson. The one with my name at the top. Is it true?”
“How do you…” I inhale sharply, my mind going straight to the wrinkled piece of paper I carried around for so long. “Who told you that?”
“So I was a conquest?”
“No. Fuck no, Angel–”
“Don’t call me that. Jesus.” Her laugh is brittle, humorless. “People say I have a silver tongue, but you got me with yours. Hook, line, and manipulative sinker.”
“That’s not how it is.” My mind is spinning, trying to sort out what she’s asking. Why is she asking?I haven’t looked at that list in months. “Yes, there’s a list–”
“Thank you. That’s all I need to know.”
The line goes dead before I can form another word.
I drop onto the porch step, my phone heavy in my hand, fury burning through me. At myself. At life. At the goddamn timing of everything.
The door creaks behind me, and Shelby’s voice floats out. “Jefferson? You okay?”
I don’t look at her, fists tensing. “No.”
I knew better than to think she’d go back inside. Shelby is the little sister none of us asked for, but got anyway. “She’s mad. Somehow she knew about the list I made.”
“Oh no.” Shelby curses under her breath, coming down the steps. Reid follows, crossing his arms. Great.
“Your sex list?” he asks.
“Yeah, apparently she found out about it, and now she thinks I think of her as a conquest.”
Shelby hesitates, shifting back and forth on her feet. “It might’ve been us,” she blurts.
I look up at her, that sweet little innocent face, and ask slowly. “What does that mean?”
“The girls and I,” she confesses. “We brought it up during the Frozen Four after-party. We thought it was funny, harmless. I swear we didn’t think it mattered–it was the first night you two met. We had no clue it would turn serious.”
“You brought it up to Ingrid?” Reid asks, already shaking his head. “Babe.”
“Not Ingrid,” she promises, looking between us. “Madison.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, running my hands over my face. “Well, that explains that.”
“Explains what?” Reid asks.
“Why Madison spent the last month telling Ingrid that she thinks dating me is a bad idea.”
“She does?” Shelby asks. “Why the hell would she think that?”
“I overheard them talking before she left last weekend. Madison even accused me of being the one to post about our location at the arena. She thinks I’m looking for attention.”
“That’s bullshit.” Shelby slams her hand down on the porch railing, the sharp crack making Reid and me both look at her. “It is. First of all, you don’t need to look for attention. It comes for you.”
“True,” Reid adds, smirking. “I think it’s the pretty boy looks.”
“Shut up.” I lean back with a groan. “I would never do something like that, but none of that changes the fact that there is a list, and she found out about it. There’s no way out of this: I look like I used her.”
“Okay, I have to ask,” Reid says carefully. “Did you pursue her just to say you banged Ingrid Flockton?”
My jaw locks, ready to punch Reid for even asking, but it’s a fair question considering my past. I don’t want to talk about it.
Not about Ingrid, about us. About how the time we spent together was the best damn thing in my life.
But I push the words out anyway. “No. I don’t expect you to believe me, but there’s more to this than you know.
” I swallow. “That first night I was looking for a hook up–a way to cross her off my list.”
“At the Frozen Four.”
I shake my head. “No, when she was in town for the concert. The night before we left for Chicago, I taped the letter to my locker. She DMed me. We met up–”
“What?!” Shelby shouts, holding her hands up. “Say that again, you did what?”
“I left her a note on my locker with her name on it. I had no idea if she’d get it or if it’d still be there when I got back, or, more likely, in the trash. But somehow she did get it. I’d offered to show her around, and she messaged me about the best place to get a burger–”
“The Jefferson Parks Special,” Shelby says under her breath. “You mean she’d had it before.”
“Yep, the night before. We met up outside the Den. I had a bag of takeout, and I took her on a tour of campus.”
“And you kept this from me?” Shelby asks, her expression going from incredulous, to angry, to shocked, then rolling back again. “I thought we were friends!”
Her outrage is kind of adorable. “She asked me to.”