8. Harper
8
HARPER
O livia and I enter the arena with no small amount of trepidation. I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: just because my brother plays hockey doesn’t mean I follow it. And this will be my first time attending one of his home games as a student, sitting amongst our peers. Not just his—mine. Which is arguably the most nerve-wracking part of this whole thing.
I’d much rather be sitting in her dorm room, watching The Breakfast Club for the eightieth time, than be here. What can I say? It’s a timeless classic.
But Cynthia had some cheerleading meeting come up, she had already got a ticket from the Student Center and asked if I knew anyone who would use it. So I grabbed a ticket for myself, and now Olivia and I are at a hockey game.
She borrowed one of my FSU sweatshirts. I stole one of Royal’s hoodies that has his name on the sleeve.
It’s been three days since I stayed at the hockey house.
Three days since I’ve seen Camden Church.
And for three days, I’ve struggled to wrap my mind around him. And what he did.
As soon as he left, I opened the window and let in the chill fall breeze. It smelled like sex in Royal’s room, and I didn’t know how I would explain it if he came in. Which, according to Camden, would be a horrible, terrible thing.
For him.
But also for me, if his threats are to be believed.
In the end, it didn’t matter. I cleaned up, stared at my pale face in the mirror, contemplated showering to rid myself of the sensation of his touch, then eventually gave up and went to bed. Royal never came up, and when I crept out in the morning—sheets changed on his bed like a nice sister—he was still asleep.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I glance around the arena at the mouth to our section. Only a small portion of the stands are filled in so far, and no one is looking at me. My gaze coasts over the rink full of players warming up, and I pause on one player.
Helmet on, cage obscuring his features, but it’s very clearly Camden. He’s looking in my direction. Assuming he’s looking at me would be laughable.
I shake it off and take my seat with Olivia. The rumors about him died out relatively fast. It never spread farther than student social media, which is good. No need for the NHL media to catch wind of a… prank.
A misunderstanding, more like.
The horn blows, and the players leave the ice. The Zamboni comes on, along with two students who remove the goals and push them out of the path.
I fiddle with my sleeve. Then my nails. Olivia goes to get us popcorn, and I sink lower in my seat. We’re about to be surrounded by FSU students. I keep my legs angled out of the way, and my row fills out, along with the ones around me.
No one pays me any mind.
The good news is, I’m an unknown on campus. No one has connected me to Royal, besides a few teammates who heard our introductions at that party. Tomorrow morning, they’re all getting on a bus for an away game tomorrow night. A fan bus has been arranged to take students over to Crown Point University, which is a four-hour drive from here.
Nothing sounds worse than a four-hour drive in a cramped bus full of preening girls hoping to get laid by the star players. Plus, a four-hour drive home after the game.
No thanks.
A chill goes down my back. I rub my arms and glance around again, just as my phone vibrates in my pocket.
Royal
You at the game?
Yeah, grabbed tickets last minute. That ok?
Of course.
Good luck x
He doesn’t reply, and I tuck it away again. By the time Olivia returns with popcorn and drinks, the opening ceremony is beginning. The main lights dim, while spotlights dance over the crowd and the ice. We stand at the edge of the student section, which is going nuts for the players about to burst out from the locker room.
Their opening music swells, and the visceral excitement of the people around me almost chokes me. Echoing boos fill the arena when the opposing team makes their appearance.
Finally, our players skate out and the arena goes crazy. The whole team skates a few laps, then lines up on the goal line. The cheers turn to boos when the other team appears on the ice.
The announcer calls the home team’s starting lineup. A video plays along on the screen, and my breath catches when Camden appears. He smirks at the camera. Royal is next, crossing his arms as the camera pans around him. He looks confident. Almost a stranger.
Once the announcer is done, the lights come back on. Those not starting go to their benches. One national anthem later, and the game begins.
My brother plays defense, and he leans over with his stick at the ready, positioned between the face-off and his goalie. The ref skates up to the two players in the middle of the red center circle.
He drops the puck, there’s a flurry of motion, and I lose track of it almost immediately. The players have no problem following it, though. The other team—in white jerseys with red lettering—get it back in their zone. They seem to take a minute to collect themselves, then attack.
It’s fast-paced, and the way the players crash into the boards makes my heart skip. Especially when it’s Royal—either doing the hitting or taking it—but he seems fine every time. He steals the puck from an opposing player and passes it to Camden. It’s so fast, the puck slaps against the blade of his stick with a crack .
Camden takes it toward the goal, dodging around an incoming player like we saw him do in the highlight reel, and veer toward the goal. An SVU player dives.
I jerk, wincing, and Camden somehow avoids him. He goes airborne, the puck seeming to keep with him, and he’s all alone on the ice.
Shoot— score .
The horn blows. The crowd around us leaps to their feet. Olivia and I belatedly follow. It was so fast… I don’t know how anyone even followed that, let alone a goalie having a chance at stopping it.
“Holy shit.” Olivia laughs. “That was epic!”
I stare down at the ice. Camden is swarmed by his teammates, their celebratory huddle brief. He takes off from the pack first, going down his bench line and bumping his glove with the rest of the team. The spotlights flash around again, music blaring.
Around us, people high-five, bump fists.
The game passes in a blur. One period blends into two, and at one point I look up, shocked to see there’s only two minutes left of the third period. The score is 4-1 in favor of Framingham State U.
Good.
Great, even.
The final seconds count down, the buzzer sounds, and we all scream and cheer as the home team jumps out onto the ice. I imagine the team will be celebrating tonight, which means I can spend another night free of Camden.
Rather, free of worrying Camden is going to do something.
It doesn’t matter. None of that matters.
I grab Olivia’s hand and pull her up the steps along with the crowd. We get into the hallway, and everyone heads in the same direction.
“Harper!” a guy calls.
I stop dead in my tracks. Olivia crashes into me from behind, sending me stumbling forward. It takes a long moment for the crowd to open up, revealing the body attached to the voice.
Max Keegan .
Olivia’s grip on my hand tightens, crushing my fingers.
She knows him, too.
He comes toward us decked out in red. The opposing team’s colors. Shadow Valley University is written across his chest in black lettering. He dodges around people, and Olivia yanks me backward. We reach the wall, and the flood of people stops moving all around us. They just stream in front, with our backs to the wall.
But he still approaches.
“Wow.” He stops a foot away, and that feels too close .
My breath catches. “What are you doing here?”
He squints, confusion flickering across his expression. Like he can’t imagine why I’m asking. “I go to Shadow Valley. I came as a fan.”
“I—”
“I love hockey,” he continues. “I used to play, remember?”
Olivia is going to break my hand with her death grip. But I think I’m squeezing back just as hard. He looks the same but different. Taller, if that’s possible? His sandy-blond hair is styled. The sweatshirt, clinging to his biceps, is fitted around his torso. It shows off what he’s proud of—his strength, his fitness, his size .
All that is familiar. The squareness of his jaw, his dark eyes. The way his lips flatten when people say things he doesn’t like, but just for a split second. Like a tic, or a twitch.
Seeing him is like seeing a ghost.
Terrible. Impossible.
“Y-you love?—”
“Hockey,” he finishes. His smile is bland. “And obviously the chance to see Royal in action couldn’t be passed up. But seeing you ? This has got to be fate, Harper. I had no idea you decided to go to FSU.”
Olivia shifts, putting herself a little in front of me. “You’re not playing for Shadow Valley then, Max?”
Disgust flashes across his expression. “No. Knee injury ruled me out, unfortunately. No matter—it was a stupid high school dream.”
“Shame,” Olivia murmurs. “Well… we’ve got to get going. Meeting friends, you know. It was good to see you.”
He looks at me, and I barely suppress a shudder.
I can’t find any words that will get me out of this situation, but Olivia isn’t allowing room for Max’s doubt. She tows me away from him with a casual, backward wave. We weave through the crowd. It’s only when we’re around a corner and Olivia murmurs the all clear that I take a gasping breath.
It’s not enough—my chest aches. I can’t seem to inhale enough. The closeness of the crowd only adds to the overwhelm. Light spots flicker in my peripheral vision.
“I’m going to pass out,” I say as loud as I can.
Ahead of me, Olivia swears. We take a turn, go through a door, and the noise, the crowd, it all goes quiet. There’s a stairwell in front of us, and she guides me down a step, then another, and presses on my shoulders.
I fold, sitting hard on the stairs. There’s an elephant on my chest.
“It’s okay.” She cups my cheek. “Breathe slow. After me. Inhale… ah, fuck .”
My hearing goes first.
Then my vision.
Then, I suppose, everything else.