EIGHT
HAYDEN
MICHIGAN
“Woo! Yeah, Hayden!”
Almost every seat in the arena is filled, but I can pick out her voice over it all.
A quick glance gives me a view of Emerald, right at the glass, cheering me on. She’s in one of my hoodies, claiming she forgot her coat. I handed it over without hesitation. She looked very pleased as she pulled it on and asked me how she looked.
Stunning, always.
So beautiful it hurts.
Her in my clothes is driving me insane, the cup I’m wearing now painfully tight.
Instead of saying that pervy shit, I just told her the truth.
“You look like a real hockey fanatic now.”
She beamed brightly and turned, pointing to the back.
SAWYER.
My name on Emerald’s back made my throat go dry. Thoughts I had no business thinking about invading my brain and digging in deep.
Emerald Sawyer.
Mrs. Emerald Sawyer.
Mrs. Sawyer.
Hayden and Emerald Sawyer .
“More of a Hayden Sawyer fanatic,” she beamed, her eyes practically glittering under the arena lights. Then she laughed and pointed at the ice. “Go kick some ass, hockey man.”
Emerald has been coming to every home game she can since we became friends.
My English grade has improved, and Professor Jenks even commented that he’s been impressed by my performance. I thought I was hearing things when he told me that. No one’s ever complimented me academically before. Not before Emerald.
I’m working with a dyslexia specialist after being officially diagnosed, but I still get tutored by Emerald.
I lied to my father and said that I still needed some extra help in my other classes, and since he doesn’t want anything getting in the way of me going pro, he still pays for Emerald to tutor me.
And over the last two months, Emerald has become my best friend.
I’m more comfortable with her than I’ve ever been with anyone else. She’s patient and doesn’t laugh when I stumble over a word while reading aloud; she just gently corrects me and smiles, encouraging me to continue.
We don’t always study at the tutor center. Sometimes it’s burgers at Margaret’s, my dorm common area, or, most frequently, her dorm room.
It’s become so routine that when her roommate sees me, she makes herself scarce, sending a wink to Emerald that makes her cheeks color. Every single time we’re together, I just sit and try not to gawk at her gorgeous, expressive face and retain the information she’s telling me.
My mood has improved as well. At practice, I feel sharper, faster, and I’m working harder than I’ve ever worked. My coaches have said that if I keep this performance up, I’ll go pro in no time .
That thought no longer floods me with excitement, just relief to have good news for my father. What excites me now is getting a good grade, having fun on the ice with my teammates, and, above all, spending every spare second of time with Emerald.
But there’s a problem.
I know what a crush feels like, and this is beyond that. Whenever she’s near, my heart pounds, my palms sweat; books slip from my shaking hands. I choke on my words every time I try to speak.
And Emerald is always just... Emerald.
Gentle, funny, a little chaotic and clumsy, and more brilliant than sunlight.
I’m so fucked.
Really fucked.
This wasn’t the plan, and I have no idea if Emerald even feels the same about me. I know she likes me enough—she’s told me multiple times she likes hanging out with me—but what’s the next step in this?
I’ve never gotten this far with other girls before.
Never really wanted to because hockey was always the priority.
But now, what I truly want is Emerald.
I want her more than anything.
I have no idea what to do about it, which makes me incredibly frustrated.
So when I see my winger, Brendan, being sent straight into the boards by a cheap hit, I ignite.
This is what my size is made for.
My long strides eat up the distance in seconds, and the opponent barely has time to react before I’m crashing into him, returning the hit tenfold. Clean, but violent. Just as all my hits are. I never drop my shoulder; I never use my stick; I just use my size and speed. That’s always been enough.
As always, the arena explodes, the student section going crazy.
All I can hear is the pounding in my ears and Emerald’s voice reverberating in my mind.
“Yes, Hayden!”
I chance a glance at her, out of her seat, hands pounding against the glass, and excited joy on her face.
My parents have come to my games before, but it’s always been an obligation, an act. I’ve never had someone come to a game just to cheer me on. It makes me smile, which is a mistake because the opponent I just clobbered into the boards stands up from the ice and sees who I’m looking at.
He skates right up in my face.
“Trying to impress your bitch, huh?”
My muscles tense.
Despite always fighting in games, I never really get angry. Frustrated sometimes when I’m not playing well or when my teammate gets knocked down, but never angry.
But his words, clearly directed at Emerald— my Emerald —demand a violent answer from me.
He grins lewdly, “Yeah, I’ll show her something real impressive after the game—”
I shove him hard, his ass hitting the ice. My vision is red as I rip off my gloves and helmet, and he does the same after he stands back up.
“Come on,” I snarl, satisfied by the brief flash of fear on his face.
I let him swing first, before I throw mine. I like letting the guys I fight get lulled into a sense of confidence that they’re keeping up, because that’s when I end them. I follow his right jab immediately with a fast right hook—my haymaker.
One clean hit.
He’s face down on the ice.
Goodnight, prick.
The crowd goes crazy, and the refs guide me to the penalty box.
My name is being chanted by the student section, ‘Saw-yer! Saw-yer!’
But all I can hear is Emerald.
As I sit in the box, I lock eyes with her.
She’s still clapping and cheering for me, joining the chant of my name.
And I smile at her.
◆◆◆
“That was so much fun!”
I grin at Emerald’s enthusiasm as we walk back to her dorm. Like always, she waited for me after the game—for me to get showered, checked out by the trainer, and talked to by the coach.
And she still waited for me.
The sun has set, and it’s very brisk out, snowing gently, just dusting the ground. Even with the low light, I can still see Emerald’s smiling face clearly. She’s still wearing my hoodie, and every time I look at it on her, something in me goes a little feral.
“...really?”
“Yeah! You were awesome out there, Hayden!” she says, bouncing in place and holding up her fists.
“You were like bam, bam, bop-bop-bop —here, hold up your hands, yeah—like that,” Emerald says, grabbing my own fists and lifting them up in a boxing stance.
The size difference between us as we face off is laughable, and she’s so damn cute it makes my teeth ache.
“You were like— bam-bam-bam!”
Emerald throws adorable little punches at me, acting like a boxer and making sound effects to punctuate the jabs. I just stand there and smile at her, no doubt looking like a dope, completely gone for this girl.
“Come on, Hayden!” she’s laughing so hard she’s barely able to get the words out. “I want to look tough —like I’m fighting Hayden Sawyer for real!”
“Oh,” I raise an eyebrow, “You want to fight for real?”
“Yeah! I’m tough, you know! I think I could take you,” she smirks, still throwing me jabs, clumsily pretending to dodge a hit. “I have a lower center of gravity, and I’m fast—”
Emerald doesn’t get to finish because I move, my arms around her, lifting her clean into the air. Her surprised shriek turns into giggles as I easily hold her with one arm so that I can tickle her with the other.
“Mercy! Mercy! Please—Hayden—have mercy!”
I stop tickling her, but I don’t put her down.
Big mistake.
Because she’s flushed and still giggling in my arms, eyes shimmering and looking at me with the softest expression.
“Wow,” she murmurs, bringing her face closer to mine. “You’re very beautiful.”
I blink. “...I am?”
“You are,” she nods, her eyes move all over my features. “Your eyes are so blue, and your smile... yeah, I think you’re beautiful, Hayden.”
My throat has gone completely dry. I swallow once, twice, try to clear it, but combined with the way my heart is racing from Emerald in my arms, I can’t.
My hand moves without thought, brushing some of the dark hair away from her face.
Snowflakes catch in her lashes, her cheeks and nose rosy from the cold.
And I open my mouth and speak the truth.
“Well, if I’m beautiful, then they should invent a new word for you...”
Her smile drops, and her eyes go wide, before glistening with unshed tears.
Panic strikes me. Too far. You creeped her out.
“I-I’m sorry, Emerald, that was—”
For a second, I’m frozen, and then I register Emerald’s soft, warm lips against mine.
On instinct, my arms pull her flush against me, and she makes a soft, pleased-sounding squeaking moan against my mouth.
Holy shit.
Holy shit, I’m kissing Emerald.
Emerald is kissing me.
When the need to breathe becomes too much, we pull back, but my forehead stays pressed to hers. I need to crouch to meet her height, and she’s up on her tiptoes, meeting me halfway.
“Was that okay?” she asks, breathless.
I answer by kissing her again.
There are no words to express how happy she’s just made me, how her lips are everything, how she’s my fucking dream girl incarnate.
And how I think I’m in love with her.
“You know,” she giggles, my lips chasing hers, “I had a whole thing planned with mistletoe—oh, your lips are soft— and trapping you under it—wow, this feels so nice—which I had no idea how I was going to do because you’re huge—”
Emerald speaks against my lips, pausing only to kiss and compliment me. Her words do register in my kiss-drunk mind. She had been thinking about this, about me, like that.
Is it all-consuming for her? Is it painful when I’m away from her? Can she not think about anything but me?
Does she dream about me, too?
The last one makes my cheeks heat, thinking of all the dreams I’ve been having of her, wet dreams like I’m going through puberty again.
I wake every day aching. Emerald has dug herself deep into my very soul, and it looks like she’s making a home out of it.
And I don’t want to do a damn thing to stop it.
“Come home with me for Christmas,” she grins, biting her lip and looking a little shy now.
“What?” I blink, once more caught off guard.
I had told her two weeks ago that my Dad and Mom were spending Christmas on their yacht, chasing warm weather. They even sent me my Christmas gift early—a couple thousand wired right into my account, with the impersonal note: Merry Christmas, Hal and Janet.
I’m used to holidays either spent with my au pairs or by myself. Sometimes one of my teammates would take pity and invite me home with them.
But this?
This is a golden ticket.
“I don’t want you spending Christmas here alone,” Emerald says when I don’t respond, brow scrunched into a worried look. “I won’t be able to enjoy my holiday without you, and won’t that just make you feel guilty? Come home with me.”
The offer is so tempting .
“But...”
“My mom already said it’s okay, she doesn’t want you alone either. It’s just going to be my parents and Ruby, and they’re dying to meet you—”
“You talk about me? To your parents?” I cut her off, completely surprised.
She rolls her eyes and smiles. “Duh, you’re my best friend, Hayden.”
Warmth floods my entire body.
“You’re my best friend, too,” I whisper, and Emerald’s eyes crinkle when she smiles.
“And...” she drags out the word, making me frown.
“And?” I shake my head, confused.
She huffs, crossing her arms. “Well, I’m a lady, Hayden—I don’t just go around kissing my best friends.”
Clarity clangs like a buzzer in my mind.
“Oh!”
Fuck, I’ve never done this before. How do people in movies do it? Do I just ask? Flat out?
But then I look at Emerald’s wide, smiling eyes. I see her practically vibrating from excitement, and I just know what to say.
“Emerald, would you be my girlfriend?”
My chest feels so tight, every worst-case scenario worming its way into my brain to cast doubt.
And then...
“Depends,” she sniffs, sticking her nose in the air and affecting a snooty tone. “Do you promise to still take me out for Maggie’s burgers even though you have to follow that meal plan? Do you promise to bring me to the elf houses in Iceland one day? ”
Last month, she made me watch D2: The Mighty Ducks because she claimed it was “educational hockey cinema.” We sat with our sides pressed against each other on her dorm bed.
At one point, I even did that lame stretch move to wrap my arm around her.
She just smiled widely when I did so and cuddled into my side.
That was when Iceland was brought up, and she told me about the elf houses there. She talked about it with such exuberant excitement, as if she truly believed in the folklore.
And you know what? The way she talked about it made me start to believe, too.
I laugh loudly at her requests before her eyes turn almost pleading.
“And, most importantly, will you still remember me, even when you’re a big hot-shot hockey player?”
My answer is easy.
“I promise to still take you for burgers and shakes, because Maggie’s food is just too damn good,” I place a hand over my chest and vow, making her giggle. “I promise, I will bring you to Iceland to see the elf houses where we can leave them treats, and I’ll ask them to help me win the Cup.”
She grins broadly at me, and I drop my voice, my hands now cradling her face.
“And I could never, ever , forget you, baby. Not in a million years.”
Her eyes brighten at the endearment I’ve already been calling her in my head.
Lifting up on tiptoes, I lean down to meet her, and she smiles against my lips.
“Yes, Hayden,” she murmurs, and it sounds like a vow. “I’m yours.”
Kissing her deeply, I nuzzle her nose as I promise.
“And I’m yours, Emerald.”