Chapter 8
CALEB
I am humming a little as I walk across campus. I can’t help it. Yesterday was so great. I mean, the scrimmage, that was very cool. Especially our last-second goal that won the game after the score had been neck-and-neck the whole time. But mostly, it was sharing that with Dash.
Which is dumb, I know. I mean, first of all, we were sharing it with six thousand other people. And second of all, it’s just a hockey game. Dash is just a guy I watch hockey with.
But here I am in the middle of campus, biting back a smile because maybe it’s ridiculous, but after all this time, I like having somebody to watch hockey with. Who has gorgeous eyes. And an infectious laugh. And, okay, fine, fine… a nice ass.
And who went off and read hockey romances. Because of me.
It’s a good thing I’m just about at the rink because I’m starting to feel a little warm all of a sudden. Except when I turn the corner, there’s Dash, standing outside the rink, propped up against the building. He’s scrolling his phone, but he looks up when I approach.
A smile spreads across his face. “Hey.”
“Hi! How come you’re waiting out here?”
He pushes away from the wall and pockets his phone. “It’s a good news, bad news kind of a thing.”
I don’t like the sound of this. Is he canceling on me?
But would he come all the way down here just to tell me he’s not going to make it?
And then I realize I haven’t given him my phone number.
I mean, I thought about it, but that just felt, I don’t know, kind of forward, I guess?
But now I realize I’m an idiot because I didn’t do that, and now he had to come down here just so poor pathetic me wouldn’t wonder where he was.
“No practice today?” I ask, trying to cover my disappointment.
Dash looks surprised. “Actually, yeah, but—”
“No, it’s okay, it’s fine.” I’m babbling.
I have to get out of here. I can’t let him see that I’m upset.
It’s stupid to be upset. “Thanks for coming down to tell me. You really didn’t have to.
I’ll just go in—” But as I try to yank the door open and escape my own embarrassing social incompetence, I practically dislocate my own shoulder because… “The door’s locked.”
“Yeah,” says Dash, still looking confused. “Something broke overnight, and all the ice is melting, so they cancelled practice. I thought you… never mind. Anyway, that’s the bad news and the good news.”
I want to say that I don’t see how it’s good news at all, but I force a smile. “Yeah, cool. You have somewhere else to go?”
“I hope so. You want to go into Northbridge with me and grab something to eat?”
Dash and I ride the shuttle bus the fifteen minutes between Briarfield, where Green Mountain State University is, and Northbridge, home of Holy Heart.
Because Briarfield is basically synonymous with the U— the school literally has its own zip code, and there’s no real town—students regularly take the shuttle to Northbridge if they want to get off campus.
We pass fields and farms and miles of trees just a few weeks from starting to turn, when they’ll give us those beautiful fall colors Vermont is famous for. Dash is going on about the rink repair, giving me all the inside information he got from Gavin this morning.
“…going to take at least a week…”
But I’m only half listening.
“…practicing at Holy Heart’s rink…”
Because, mostly, I'm freaking out. In a good way. I think.
“…gotta wonder how the Pine Martens are taking that….”
Is this a date? I don't want to assume it's a date. I mean, it is us going somewhere other than the hockey rink together. Which feels like a big deal. Maybe it's not a date. Or not a date date.
Does it matter, though? I get to go out and spend more time with Dash, right? That's good either way. I like Dash. I like spending time with Dash. And clearly he—
No, okay, it matters. It does matter.
Suddenly, there's a warm hand on my shoulder. I turn to find Dash standing in the aisle with an amused look on his face. “Hey, we're here. We have to get off, or we're just going to turn around and end up back at the U.”
“Oh, right, yeah.”
I get to my feet and follow him, and we emerge from the bus onto Main Street.
I haven't actually been to Northbridge before, unless you count driving through on my way to Green Mountain State.
How do I explain it? It's like if you looked up “quaint college town” in the dictionary, there would be a picture of Northbridge.
Shops line the street, facing the town green.
Every one of them is unique and a little quirky, with names like A Stitch in Time and Good Ol’ Toys.
Not a chain store in the bunch. Most of the signs look hand-painted, and quite a few of the shops have merchandise out on tables or racks on the sidewalk, with customers browsing in the warm early September afternoon.
“Come on,” says Dash. “I’m starved. There's a sandwich place along here somewhere Gavin told me about.”
Multigrain on Main is a quirky, casual spot with worn wooden tables and chairs, local art for sale on the walls, and folk rock playing softly in the background. Dash and I order at the counter and go and grab a table.
When a cute, compact brown-skinned guy delivers our order, I recognize him as Ben Diaz, Holy Heart’s promising sophomore right defenseman.
I wouldn’t have thought he’d want to split his time between hockey, school, and a job.
Which probably means he needs the job. You have to admire that kind of commitment to, well, anything.
I must be looking at him funny because he squints at me and says, “Do I know you?”
Great.
“Oh, uh, no. Thanks for the food.” I stuff a chip in my mouth before I can make more of an idiot of myself.
Diaz leaves. Dash is staring at me. I sigh.
“He’s a Pine Marten. Second string defense.”
Dash raises an eyebrow. “You looked up their roster, too?”
“Yes—I—it’s not that weird. I wanted to know what kind of stats we were up against.” I'm feeling slightly defensive, but when I look up... Dash is looking at me with more fondness than anything else, and I just kind of melt.
“Yeah, I was surprised the game was so close. I thought Holy Heart was, I don't know, kind of David to our Goliath, I guess?” He starts in on his sandwich.
“They are. Or they usually are. They look surprisingly good this year. That guy, Diaz, is actually kind of a standout. He's only a sophomore. Plus, the captain has some pretty impressive skills.”
“The one with the chiseled jaw who kept getting into it with Gavin?”
I laugh. “Luke Morgan, yeah. Oh, hey, let me show you this video.”
I pull up the 24NN Sports Extra video on my phone. Dash scooches his chair around and leans in so he can see. He’s so close I can feel the heat coming off him, but I try to stay focused. On the screen, shots of the game are interspersed with the report on predictions for this season.
“Oh yeah, that guy, I recognize him. He was at the scrimmage with a cameraperson.”
I nod. “Cameron Doherty. He's actually a Green Mountain alum. He was the star center, drafted by New York. But he got injured and went into sports reporting instead.”
“Cool. I mean not the injury part, obviously.”
I shoot a glance over at Dash. “He’s also gay. Came out right after he graduated.”
Dash gets quiet. “Is it… Do you think that’s as tricky as it seems in the books?”
“I think, yeah. Unfortunately, that’s probably one aspect where they aren’t too far off from reality. Still.”
He half snorts. “Wait, are you telling me the ludicrously hot rivals-to-lovers locker room sex scenes aren’t true to life?”
My face heats. Fortunately, now we get to the part of the video I really wanted to show him. “Oh, look.”
On the screen, Doherty is interviewing Gavin West between periods.
“This is your first year wearing the C, along with Luke Morgan for Holy Heart. And it looks like they might give you some trouble this season. Got any words you'd like me to pass along to your opposing captain, Gavin?”
Gavin looks very seriously into the camera. He swallows hard. “Watch out, 'cause I'm coming for you, Morgan.”
Dash cracks up. “He's about as menacing as a golden retriever, isn't he?”
“Yeah, kind of. He seems like a good guy.”
“He is.”
The video cuts to a clip of Doherty interviewing Luke Morgan. “The Green Mountain captain says he's coming for you. What do you have to say to that?”
Morgan, much more effectively, locks eyes with the lens. “Bring it,” he smolders.
“And there you have it, folks—”
I stop the video. Dash shakes his head. “Is it wrong that I'm shipping them already?”
I laugh, but secretly? I'm a little relieved because I had that thought too, even though there is zero indication either of these guys—or any of the Stags or Pine Martens for that matter—are playing for our team. “Maybe we've both been reading too much MM hockey romance?”
“Probably,” he admits, scooting back to his side of the table and tucking back into his sandwich, “But you saw that game. You have to admit, there was a certain chemistry there. If it wasn't two straight dudes in a bunch of padding, I might have considered that foreplay.”
I can’t quite look at him, so I pick at my sandwich.
“So you’ve been reading the books?”
“Oh, yeah. I started this series that takes place at a college where somehow basically the whole team is gay. It's putting a serious dent in my homework time. If I flunk out this semester, I'm going to blame you.”
He winks, and I just about swoon, but I try to cover it by focusing on my food.