Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
CONNOR
“You can’t keep doing that, buddy.”
Hayden picks at the end of his hockey stick.
It already looks like it’s seen better days, and the way he keeps scratching at it has pieces of tape flaking onto the scuffed ice beneath his skates.
Judging by the way it’s got his oldest brother’s initials carved into the handle, I have a feeling it’s a hand-me-down.
“Matt does it,” he says, shrugging, but the movement is weighed down by his thick padding and barely makes his shoulders move.
He is sulking down at the floor, and I have to give it my all to keep my facial expression neutral as I stare at the kid in front of me who thinks he could outskate a professional hockey player.
“Yes, but he’s Matt Cunningham.” And he’s a star player for the NHL who has taken his fair share of punches. He’s not a ten-year-old kid who cries whenever he scrapes his knee.
“So?”
“You’re not.”
“I could be.” He says it with so much defiance that I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.
I’m not going to be the person to crush this kid’s dreams, but I’m also not going to let him break his bones trying something that’s way above his level.
He’s got potential—with the right training he probably could make it as far as the pros.
Could being the operative word, because he first needs to learn how to keep from wobbling on his skates.
“And one day you will, bud,” I assure him, grabbing his shoulder and steadying him on the ice. “But for now, let’s stick to being you today. Okay?”
He lets out an exasperated sigh that makes his whole body slump forward, and I bite my lip to keep from chuckling. I don’t remember ever being this dramatic on the ice. “Okay.”
Hayden takes off in the direction of the rest of the team, all huddled around the net at the far end of the rink, no doubt trying to hide from cleanup duty while they take turns hammering the puck into the net. I give them another five minutes of free time before I call them off the ice.
Ollie waits for me while I lock up the rink. He’s perched against the hood of my truck, a bag of candy in one hand and his phone in the other. “Took you long enough.”
“You know, you could just drive on your own.”
He shrugs, stuffing a stick of licorice in his mouth before jumping off the hood. “Nah, I like carpooling with you better.”
I snort. Like that’s ever been a reason for Ollie to do anything. “Or you forgot to put gas in your car and now you’re broke for the rest of the month?”
“You know me too well.” He beams, bumping his shoulder against mine before slipping into the passenger seat. I scowl at him through the window as I round the car.
He’s got his boots propped up on my dashboard and is stuffing licorice in his face when I pull out of the parking lot. I’m half tempted to tell him to walk his dirty boots home.
“You’re a menace.”
He doesn’t even flinch at my comment; he’s too busy texting to even notice the glare I’m sending his way. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”
“I’ve got that assignment due for Hollister’s class.”
“Skip it,” he says as we come to a stop at a red light. “You’re my double.”
I groan and drop my head onto the steering wheel, wishing I had booted him out of the car the second the thought occurred to me. Double dating with Ollie is like walking straight into a trainwreck waiting to happen. “No way. Not again.”
He elbows me in the side, and I look up to find a pretty brunette girl smiling at me on his phone. I vaguely recognize her from a party last year. Pre-med, I think. “Tell me she’s not your type.”
I probably should let Ollie convince me to go on a date with her. If nothing else than to get him off my back. But it doesn’t feel right when I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Daisy all week.
We had a great night together. Knowing she doesn’t want anything more should be a relief, but no matter how hard I try to remind myself of that, I can’t help but feel a little disappointed.
The lights turn green, and I turn onto his street, spending a little longer than necessary checking my mirrors in order to buy myself some time. “She’s not my type.”
“Bullshit,” he exclaims as I pull into the driveway at the hockey house. “Are you sick or something? Did you hit your head a little too hard at practice?”
“I don’t have to have a brain injury to not want to date a girl,” I say as we step through the front door.
“She’s hot as fuck.”
“She is.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“What’s going on?” Luke appears in the doorway to the kitchen as I hoist myself onto one of the bar stools at the island.
“He’s hit his head,” Ollie declares in a big sweeping statement that has Luke stopping in his tracks to assess me with concerned eyes.
I roll my eyes. “My head is just fine.”
“Yeah, well, then it must have been a personality swap or something.”
“Take Tanner instead.”
“I can’t, the only reason I got Keely to go out with me is because I promised her you would take her roommate out. You.”
“Should I feel used that you’re pimping me out to your date’s friends?”
“It’s never been a problem before.”
“Well, it is now.”
“You’re impossible.” He huffs, folding his arms over his chest in a fit that makes him look like an overgrown toddler.
“Are you going to stomp your foot too?” I joke half-heartedly.
“I’m tempted.” He scowls. “She’s coming to Luke’s birthday party.”
“Still not interested.”
“He’s right. You’re off your game,” Luke adds.
“I’m not.” How did I end up at the center of an intervention? It’s usually Tanner we have to pull from the edge.
He crooks a brow, and it’s all it takes for the raging guilt to come crushing back in. He’s right. My brain is like a never-ending rollercoaster. Sometimes I feel like one wrong move might send it tumbling off its tracks. And there’s no way I can lie to Luke. I owe him too much.
I sigh, opting for the closest truth. “They’re closing the old rink.”
Saying the words out loud feels a little like rubbing salt in the wound. Luke must see it, because his first response is to pop open the fridge and grab two beers. He slides one across the counter to me before hoisting himself onto it. “Spill.”
I take a long sip of the beer and then I tell him everything. When it’s all out there, I feel more wrung out than I have in a while, but at least I’m no longer thinking about blonde hair strewn across my pillow.