Chapter 19 Easton
Easton
Aside from the low hum of the radio, the inside of my dad’s SUV is quiet.
Too quiet.
Usually, I don’t mind the silence. After practice my body is wrecked, my brain is drained, and I don’t care about anything but food and sleep. But tonight?
Tonight, my head is a mess.
I barely remember the way my skates cut across the ice during drills or the weight of my gear as I lugged it through the parking lot afterward. All I can hear is Harper’s voice in my head, soft and careful, asking, If a girl thought you liked someone else…would you still want to know?
Yes, I said. And she said…nothing.
Which is good. We’re friends, right?
Friends don’t kiss like that.
I drag a hand down my face, staring out the window as streetlights blur past. Mom’s working late, my friends would be zero help, and I know I should let this go…
But I literally can’t.
So against my better judgment I blurt out, “Dad, can I ask you something?”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then he grunts, barely glancing over. “You just did.”
Ha ha.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Another thing, then.”
Dad nods. “Go for it.”
I hesitate.
We never talk about girls. My dad has always discouraged dating, told me to stay focused. Relationships can wait. They’re a distraction from bigger things.
And honestly? I’ve never had a reason to argue. I’m too busy, too caught up in hockey, in making sure I don’t screw up my shot at college and eventually going pro.
Last night’s conversation with Harper, though? Won’t stop replaying in my head, looping like some annoying highlight reel I can’t turn off.
I clear my throat, steeling myself. “How do you know if a girl likes you?”
That gets his attention.
His eyebrows rise, but he doesn’t say anything right away. He resettles in his seat, rests his wrist against the gear shift, and lets the silence stretch long enough that I regret asking.
Shit.
This was a mistake.
I should’ve kept my mouth shut. Too late—I said it, and I can already tell by the way my dad exhales, slow and measured, that he’s not exactly thrilled about it.
His fingers tap the steering wheel. “You sure you want to have this conversation?”
Hell no. Not anymore.
Backing out now will only make it worse, though, so I force myself to nod. “Yes.”
Dad sighs, rubbing his jaw like I’ve just asked him the world’s most problematic question. “Girls complicate things.”
I huff a laugh. “Wow. Inspiring.”
“I’m serious, Easton. You’re a senior. Everyone is watching you, playoffs are coming up—and I don’t want to see you lose focus over some girl.”
There it is. The speech I was expecting!
I should’ve known this would turn into a lecture, but I push forward anyway. “I’m not losing focus.”
He hmphs skeptically. “Then why are we talking about this?”
Good question.
“Jeez, dude, I’m just asking a question.” I jerk my eyes toward him and glare. “Do you or do you not want me to come to you when I have problems?”
He gets the same look I get when I’m torn. “Depends on the problem.”
I snort. “Oh, so girl problems are off-limits?”
“I didn’t say that.” Dad adjusts the radio’s volume until it’s almost silent. “I just didn’t think you’d come to me about them. This is usually Mom’s territory.”
Fair. I didn’t think I’d go to him, either, but here we freaking are.
“Look, girls are complicated.” His voice sounds strangled. “They say one thing and mean another. They expect you to just know things without them telling you.” He shakes his head. “It’s a nightmare.”
“Great.” Just the pep talk I needed.
Dad shifts again, like he’s physically uncomfortable having this conversation, and honestly? Same.
“So,” he says, clearing his throat. “Is there a girl who likes you?”
I huff a breath, crossing my arms over my chest. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.” Duh.
His smirk is barely there. “Well, she’s not doing a great job hiding it if even you’re suspicious.”
I glare some more, staring out the side window.
Harper might like me. But she could’ve been talking about someone else last night. If that’s the case, why did it feel like she was waiting for me to figure it out on my own? Her clues sucked as bad as my guesswork.
“Hey, relax,” Dad says. “Son, let me give you some advice.”
“Oh, good.” I groan. “More wisdom.”
He ignores my sarcasm. “If a girl likes you, she won’t tell you—she’ll show you.”
I frown. “Show me? What does that even mean?”
“She’ll find ways to be near you. Touch you. She’ll probably stare. Try to make you read between the lines like a damn magician.” He shrugs. “And if you’re really dumb, she’ll start dropping hints so obvious you’ll feel like a fucking idiot for not catching them sooner.”
A sinking feeling twists in my gut, because that’s exactly what Harper did.
Detonated land mines all over our conversation.
She stares at me.
Lingers at the locker, pretending to gather her crap when it’s obvious she has nothing to grab.
And she kissed me back…
“Bud?”
I look at my dad across the cab of his SUV.
“If you’re not sure, you need to ask yourself—do you want her to like you?”
Do I want Harper to like me? I’ve spent months—years—thinking about Maddie Miller. Watching her from a distance, waiting for some moment, an opening, a chance to impress her. And for a while, that was enough. I was content to have my crush continue unrequited. It suited me fine.
But lately, seeing Maddie doesn’t hit me in the gut the same way. There are no stomach flips. No racing pulse.
Lately, my head’s been filled with someone else.
Harper rolls her eyes at me but sticks around. She challenges me, makes me want to be myself, even when she’s annoying as hell.
“Judging from your silence, it sounds like you’re not sure. And that’s okay—you have other shit to worry about.” Dad’s voice cuts through my thoughts like a buzzer at the end of a game.
I blink, realizing I’ve been staring out the window, my breath fogging up the glass.
He keeps blabbing about keeping my head in the game, not letting distractions get in the way of the season, shit like that. About how I need to push harder, be smarter, work out more.
I nod along, half listening. “Noted.”
Honestly, I’m sick of being talked at. Especially when my brain is not on hockey. I continue staring out the window, my thoughts on her.
On Harper.
She’s messing with my head.
The thing is—before this prom-blackmail-mascot shit—when I had a hard-on for Maddie, chasing her felt like a goal. A challenge. Something I wanted because I knew I couldn’t have it. Something everyone else wanted, too.
With Harper…it’s different.
She’s not out of reach—she’s right there.
Always has been.
For some reason that feels scarier.
Dad clears his throat like he knows I’m completely checked out. “You done brooding?”
“I’m not brooding.”
“Right.” He smirks, shaking his head. “Well, whatever’s going on in that head of yours, figure that shit out. If you keep overthinking all the bullshit you’ve got going on, you’ll get in your own way.”
I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means quit acting like you’ve got all the time in the world,” he says simply. “You don’t.”
That pronouncement sits weirdly in my chest.
I know he’s not talking about girls—he’s talking about hockey. Obviously.
But for some reason, it feels like he’s talking about girls.
My knee is bouncing as I stare out the window. “I get it, Dad. Focus, don’t screw up, don’t waste time—message received.”
He grunts. “Good. Then you won’t waste time second-guessing yourself.”
“I’m not.” I am.
Dad turns into our neighborhood, slowly passing mailbox after mailbox.
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you,” he concedes.
“And I don’t need to.” He pulls into our driveway, puts the SUV in park, then turns to face me.
“But if you do nothing, don’t be pissed when the choice gets made for you. ”
Wise words.
Annoying words.
I grab the small duffel at my feet, push the car door open, and step into the night air. The house is mostly dark, just the kitchen light glowing through the window. My dad disappears through the garage door, but I linger on the driveway for several moments, staring up at the sky.
I used to think girls were simple. You flirt. You made a move.
But this?
None of this is simple.
I scrub a hand down my face and head inside, the door clicking shut behind me.
One thing is clear: I can’t sit in the middle of two people.
I need to figure out what the hell I’m doing.