Chapter 21 #2
We finished our drinks and walked back to campus in relative silence. But it wasn't the battle-ready tension of before. It was something else—a different kind of tension that made me hyper aware of every breath, every shift of her body.
It made me aware of how desperately she kept her distance, but not with the usual rigid determination to avoid any accidental contact. This felt… different , somehow.
When we reached the fork in the path where we'd need to split up, she paused. In the fading light, her profile was all sharp angles and shadows.
“Thanks again,” she said, the word clipped like she was rationing syllables. “For helping Dani today.”
I nodded, fighting every instinct to reach out and touch her. “Anytime, Hailstorm.”
She rolled her eyes at the nickname but didn't correct me. Progress.
“See you at camp, I guess,” she said, and that was way more acknowledgement than I’d gotten, say, a week ago.
“It's a date,” I replied, throwing in a wink for good measure.
“In your dreams, Summers.” she scoffed, lips turned down as she turned away.
Oh, you have no idea , I thought, watching her walk away, her silhouette cutting a stark line against the sunset. You have absolutely no idea.
“Noooo!” Logan fell to his knees in exaggerated sorrow, holding up his phone like it was displaying the end of the world. “Kent? Are you kidding me? She hates my guts!”
The rest of the Rink Runners were sprawled across my and Dylan's apartment, scattered like hockey gear after a rough game.
We'd been waiting for the pairings list to drop all evening, and now that it had, the reactions were exactly what I'd expected—a mixture of horror, resignation, and poorly disguised amusement at each other's misfortune.
Randy leaned against the kitchen counter, quiet satisfaction radiating from him as he announced, “Ferguson's my partner,” in that low rumble of his.
Logan shot him a glare hot enough to melt ice. "Like that'll stop me."
Randy chuckled, his massive shoulders shaking. "Oh, I'm not gonna stop you, man. By all means, step to her." His grin widened, eyes gleaming with anticipation. "At least I have a front row seat to witness every angle of your rejection."
The guys erupted into laughter, the sound filling the living room. Matt glanced down at his phone again, his face a complex mix of horndog excitement and genuine trepidation.
“Shit. Curtis is my partner.” He groaned, his palm over his eyes.
Suspicious 'coughs' immediately started around the room, each one barely disguising the word “fucked.”
“I think you're fucked, man,” Dylan said, not even trying to hide it. He sprawled on our couch, legs propped up on the coffee table.
Marcus just arched a brow, his usually stoic expression cracking with amusement. “Aren't you stuck with Whitehall? You think you should be throwing stones?”
Dylan's face transformed into a pained wince, like he'd just taken a slap shot to the nuts. “Shut up, man. I know I'm screwed, too.”
I was barely listening to any of that, though, sprawled as I was in the bean bag smack dab in the center of the parlor, still riding the high from my not -a-date with Hailey earlier where I’d talked enough for both of us.
Sure, it wasn't a date. Not really. But it was something. A crack in her armor. A foothold on the impossibly steep cliff I'd been trying to climb for two years.
My phone buzzed with a new message, and I couldn't stop the stupidly wide grin that split my face as I checked it, even though I knew damn well it wasn't from her.
She hadn't texted me once since we parted ways, but that didn't stop me from hoping, from checking my phone every thirty seconds like a desperate fool.
Dylan's disgusted voice cut through my thoughts. "Ugh, get this sick bastard outta here," he said, and I finally looked up, catching the judgment in his eyes.
I smirked at my Vice Captain and best friend, pushing myself up from the bean bag with exaggerated slowness. "With pleasure," I said, heading for my bedroom.
Dylan tsked as I walked past. "Man is in a honeymoon phase all by himself."
I flipped him the bird as I closed my bedroom door behind me, the gesture automatic and half-hearted.
The smile hadn't left my face, and I didn't care how pathetic it made me look.
For the first time in two years, I'd had Hailey Baleman's undivided attention for almost an hour, even though she’d threatened my life more than once in that one hour.
Totally worth it.
My phone lit up with an incoming call, and my heart did a stupid little flip in my chest before immediately plummeting when I saw “Dr. Summers” flashing on the screen. The smile slipped from my face like it was never there, replaced by a muscle-memory grimace.
Ugh. I answered with reluctance that weighed on my finger as I swiped the screen. “Hello?”
My father didn't wait for me to say anything else, his voice clipped and cold, every syllable precise. “Dinner. Friday. Seven o'clock. Don't be late this time.”
No greeting. No check-ins. Just orders, as always. I immediately regretted picking up the call at all.
Following his failed attempt at setting me up with one of his snooty elitist friends' daughters a few days ago, I knew exactly what this dinner was. Another setup. Another attempt to steer me onto the path he'd decided I should follow.
“I won't be there,” I said, my voice flat, devoid of the warmth it held just moments ago with my friends. With my real family. “I'm going to be at a pre-season retreat for a week.”
“ Pre-season retreat? ” The disdain dripped from his voice like poison. I could picture him perfectly: sitting at his desk in his immaculate office, not a hair out of place, expression carved from marble. “Lively, this dinner is important. The Crawfords are significant donors to the hospital—”
“And I’m happy for them, Dad, but I'm just not gonna be there,” I cut him off, something cold and hard sliding into place in my chest. He wanted me to just drop everything to cater to his ambition while I neglected my own?
Well, if there was one thing I didn’t regret inheriting from the man, it was stubborn will. Obviously, I wasn’t going to listen to him now. I had a feeling he knew it, too.
“I didn't call to ask for permission to go, Dad. I’m just giving you a heads up.” I said, my tone steady, without any tells that my blood had turned to molten ice in my veins.
“You—”
Click. I just hung up. The silence that followed felt like a physical presence in the room, but it was one I welcomed with open arms. I tossed it onto my bed and followed it down, flopping onto my back and staring at the ceiling.
The cold knot in my chest loosened, started to dissolve as I let my mind drift back to what really mattered.
To whiskey-brown eyes that flashed with irritation whenever I called her “Hailstorm”.
Thinking about her was an automatic happy pill, and all thoughts of my father’s call dissolved into nothingness in the span of seconds.
One week at Blackwater Bay. One week of basking in Hailey Baleman’s presence, and attention. Excitement bubbled through me like champagne, effervescent and giddy. So much so that I kicked my legs up in the air like a teenage girl in a rom-com, muffling my giggles by pressing my face into my pillow.
I totally couldn’t wait to see her again.