Chapter 23 Harper
I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans as I take the stairs to the new hockey arena two at a time.
Marissa and I spent another hour hashing out the details of my apology, and by the time we were done, I couldn’t imagine waiting another day to do it.
Who could focus on jewelry making or homework at a time like this?
I need to talk to Dawson.
My heart hammers as I mentally rehearse everything I need to tell him.
Namely, that I’m so sorry for keeping him a secret from my friends.
That he went above and beyond to be open and welcoming: bringing me to a party with the entire hockey team and telling them to leave me alone; wrapping me into the cozy circle of his jokes with Ryan and Alex at Skate Night; trying to find me in the halls and in precalc and at the diner.
He never gave me any reason to think he saw us differently, that he was ashamed of people seeing us together. What he said in the car hurt, but I hurt him, too, and we were both, um, pretty emotionally heightened.
If he’s willing to see me, we at least need to try to talk it out. I can’t bear knowing he might slip out of my life because I’m too proud to apologize.
The doors of the arena are decorated with posters advertising the Northview game on Friday.
I recognize Sabrina’s signature glitter pen embellishing them, and an unexpected flutter of nerves butterflies around my stomach at the reminder that the biggest game of Dawson’s career so far is only a few days away.
I want him to get everything he dreams of. And I want to be by his side when he does.
“Harper?”
I whirl to see Liv and Miguel just a few yards down the sidewalk. Liv has a garment bag slung over her shoulder, and Miguel’s carrying a box brimming with hats. I haven’t spoken to them much in weeks. Last I heard of Liv, she was texting Marissa about my date with Dawson.
“Hey.” I raise a weak hand in greeting. “How’s the play?”
Liv gives me a death glare worthy of one of Shakespeare’s bloodier tragedies. “Still struggling to properly light the stage.” She jerks her chin toward the hockey arena. “How’re the jocks?”
I wince. I don’t blame her for feeling a little betrayed.
I’ve built a reputation on standing up for the underdogs around here, and it must’ve been weird to see me suddenly skating arm-in-arm with the king of the school.
“I think they’re kinda stressed too, honestly.
Big game coming up.” I attempt a smile. “Mo’ money, mo’ problems, amiright? ”
Miguel rubs their nose in a way that might be hiding a smile, but Liv doesn’t budge.
“Listen,” I try, “I’m not going to stop advocating for the rest of this school any time soon, okay? But the athletes have dreams too. None of the inequity is their fault. I’m just… expanding my circle of care.”
Miguel raises an eyebrow. “You sure you won’t forget what it was like to not be one of the Hamilton Lakes chosen ones? Even when you’re homecoming queen next year, or whatever?”
I snort. “Unlikely. But trust me, none of the important stuff has changed. Just my perception of a few people I might have judged unfairly.”
After a long moment, Liv nods. “Yeah. I guess that makes sense.” I exhale in relief, but it’s short-lived. “So… you and Dawson?”
I glance at the new facility, remembering my mission. “Kinda rocky right now. But I’m gonna see what I can do about that.” I take another step forward. “See you at the Northview game?”
Liv purses her lips contemplatively. “We’ll see how rehearsals go. See you at opening night?”
“Absolutely.” I grin at her, and she finally grins back.
And then I’m climbing the steps to the arena, ready to put my money where my mouth is.
Inside, it’s way quieter than the last time I was here for the Washington game.
Then, the halls had been full of shouting fans and waving foam fingers, the smell of warm, salty pretzels wafting through the air.
Today it’s nearly silent, the only sound a few distant voices calling to each other from the rinks.
I pause, frowning as I get my bearings. I know Dawson had practice today—we’d been talking about meeting up at the diner, before everything went south between us—so is he in the locker room?
I definitely don’t want to barge in on a bunch of showering hockey bros.
(Though Ryan probably wouldn’t mind.) Maybe I can wait outside. As long as he hasn’t left yet—
“Looking for some more dirt you can use against us?”
I jump at the voice, wheeling to see the absolute last person I want to run into on this particular mission.
Noah’s just emerged from a doorway down the hall, bag of gear slung over his shoulder and eyebrows raised in interrogation.
I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m looking for Dawson.” I’m not going to let this asshole get in the way of my grand romantic gesture.
“What do you need from him?” Noah asks, taking a step closer. He’s clearly trying to be intimidating, and even though he’s a despicable smudge on the bottom of my shoe, I have to remind myself not to shrink away.
“I just want to talk to him.”
Noah huffs out a breath and shakes his head. “Sorry, Harper, but he doesn’t need a distraction right now. The Northview game is this week, and we need him at his best.”
“I know.” My heart twists at the idea that I might have kept him from preparing for it—if he’s losing even half the sleep I am over our fight, that can’t be good for his game. But I muster all my courage and speak the thing I really hope is true. “He’d want to see me.”
Noah’s eyebrows shoot up, and he laughs one harsh, humorless bark.
“Would he, though? He said something about you two being over. And I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he didn’t look too bothered about it.
Made a great pass two seconds later. Honestly, thank God he came to his senses—you two never made sense, did you? ”
His eyes lock onto mine, all my courage bleeding out of me as I stare into that icy blue. Noah may be a jerk, but he knows Dawson much better than I do. We only had a few good weeks together, and that was preceded by literal years of hatred.
Is Dawson relieved I’m out of his life? Doing better without me, when I can barely get out of bed?
Noah takes another step forward, and I wrap my arms around myself against the sudden chill in the hallway.
“I don’t think he wants to see you, Harper.
And frankly, I don’t think he needs someone like you in his life.
I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Dawson has dozens of girls who’d like to talk to him.
And the rest of them… well, they run more in his usual circles, you know?
He was probably just trying to get you to stop harassing the team.
Or…” He grimaces, as if trying to soften his words.
But his eyes glint like ice chips. “He’s a nice guy.
Maybe he thought he was doing you a favor by letting you see what this side of Hamilton Lakes is like. ”
I suck in a sharp breath, the frigid air of the arena piercing my lungs.
Doing me a favor.
And just like that, I’m back in that dark car, feeling more insignificant than I ever have in my life.
Maybe Dawson did mean everything he said. He’s clearly not hurting the way I am.
My eyes burn, and I blink rapidly to clear them.
I will not cry in front of fucking Noah.
My mind races for a moment, wondering if there’s anything more to do—but I’ve just gotten the very clear message to abort mission.
I can’t believe I ran here all full of hope, ready to grand-romantic-gesture Dawson when he’s not losing any sleep over how he hurt me, when he’s back on the top of his game.
Even if we had something real for a while, this is all the proof I need that I messed it up for good.
I’ve always known Dawson had an ego, and I bruised it past the point of recovery.
Noah’s right—I never belonged in his world, with his friends.
I was better off when I didn’t try to fit in somewhere I wasn’t wanted.
So much for your journalistic integrity, Marissa. There’s another side to this story, and in that one, I’m not the heroine.
We’re clearly not right for each other, and it was stupid to think we ever might be.
“Okay, well… thanks,” I say as I back away from the conversation, though I’m not sure what I’m thanking him for. I just want to get out of here.
“Anything you want me to pass on to him?” Noah stands in the middle of the hallway, one eyebrow raised. Gear still slung over his shoulder, hands in his pockets. The immovable guard who’s cleared out the riffraff.
I’m already turning around to head out the doors. Which is good, because then Noah can’t see the way my face crumples as I call over my shoulder, “Just tell him good luck.”