Chapter 34
HAILEY
He didn’t answer. Not even a murmur of protest.
I rolled my eyes behind him. Seriously? What the hell could he have told them that he didn’t want to repeat? His silence wasn’t doing him any favors right now in redeeming his jerk image. But it looked like he didn’t care about redeeming himself.
And it felt like whiplash. This asshole just kept doing things that gave me fucking emotional whiplash . He must be having fun, toying with me.
I simmered in the silence, my jaw locked tight, fists clenched at his shoulders.
Every inch of me prickled with frustration.
God, I wanted to punch him. Or better yet, just launch myself off his back and limp the rest of the way on my own steam.
But I knew that would be hell for my ankle right now, and I couldn’t chance ruining it any further.
And I couldn’t kill him, either. Which meant that I was stuck with this secretive jerk.
“Fuck you, you asshole,” I muttered venomously, and felt his fingers clench tighter around the backs of my thighs.
“So…” he started slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he was entering a minefield or not. “You’re not gonna answer my question—”
“ Fuck no , I’m not,” I growled. “You didn’t answer mine.”
“I answered two of them,” he argued, like a moron .
“Hey,” I said, dangerously soft, leaning forward just enough for my lips to brush the shell of his ear. “Do you wanna die?”
Silence.
Good.
We fell into another thick quiet, the only sound the rustling of leaves under his boots, the faintest breeze brushing through the branches above us. I glared at the back of his head, willing it to explode or something.
But I couldn’t ignore the careful way he moved with me on his back. Couldn’t pretend not to notice the sheen of sweat collecting at the nape of his neck, the steady, sure rhythm of his steps.
He hadn’t told me why he’d made my life hell in freshman year. But he had told me a lot more than I’d ever expected to learn about him. Stuff I hadn’t even realized I’d wanted to know. And now that I knew it…ugh. Fuck.
Because the thing was, I was still mad. But knowing what I did now, about him: how lonely his childhood had been…how sad he’d sounded when he talked about his parents. How much pain he tried to keep hidden behind those stupid jokes and pretty-boy smirks. He reminded me of myself.
And I hated him for that too—for making me feel all these things I didn’t want to feel.
God. Why did I have to be the one to comfort him?
He was a jerk. He was . But even as I told myself that, the feeling just kept growing in my chest, warm and soft and insistent, until I could barely stand it anymore.
Fuck.
Comfort wasn't exactly my strong suit—how could it be, when I spent so much time trying to keep my own problems to myself? But something about the vulnerability he’d shown me today, and the comfort he’d offered me without prompting, made me want to try .
So, I said, tone gruff and grumpy, “Hey, Lively?”
“Mm?”
“Well,” I started, awkwardly, “You don’t need to follow your parents’ script, you know. For what it's worth,” I continued, the words coming easier in the growing darkness, “I think you made the right choice. With hockey, I mean. You're not just good at it—you love it. Anyone can see that.”
His grip on my legs tightened slightly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I nodded, doing my best to keep my head up, away from the temptation of his shoulder. “And maybe... maybe that's worth more than living up to someone else's expectations.”
And are you going to be taking your own advice? I thought to myself. I pushed the thought aside at once. This wasn’t about me, that was what I told myself.
The words hung between us, heavy with meaning.
Then I cleared my throat, “Don’t think this means I’m letting the freshman year thing go. I’m going to hate you for that until you tell me why.” I said.
I felt Lively take a deep breath, his back expanding against my chest, before a small chuckle slipped out. “I guess that’s okay. I think I can manage it.” He said softly, and my brows furrowed even deeper.
Seriously. What the fuck was his deal, for god’s sake? What the hell had he told them?
At that moment, I caught some movement out of the corner of my eye, and I turned my head to check it out, my eyes adjusting in the darkness. And then they flew wide.
“Hey, hey!” I tapped his shoulder urgently. “Put me down! Put me—” I started to say, but it was already too late.
Dylan Langley spotted me first.
“What the! Hey, Gina, look over there!”
Man, what the fuck? Aw, hell no, man . I groaned, my arms tightening around his neck and Lively chuckled, turning his head to say,
“You know, when I gave you the three options on what you could do to me,” he said, and his cheerful and mischievous drawl had come back, as if the last few minutes hadn’t really happened, “How did you know choking me was the one I preferred?”
This… asshole ! “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I tried to let go of him, my lips twisting in disgust, but he reached back with one hand, catching my wrists and holding me in place.
“Stay still.”
“Is that... Lively carrying you?” Dylan's voice carried across the clearing, laden with a mix of amusement and confusion.
“I think the real question is, is he touching you?” Gina huffed, her mouth falling open in a look of blatant enjoyment of my predicament.
Shit. Just... shit . My face burned as they approached us.
“What the hell are you guys doing here?” I asked, the words coming out fast, like my tongue was a snapdragon.
Gina paused in front of us. “We thought we should come find you guys, you know,” she said, her words coming out in halting sentences, “In case anything happens.”
I narrowed my eyes at my vice captain, and then turned to look at Dylan, too. “I know about the stupid bet you guys made.” I said flatly, and was satisfied with the way the both of them flinched.
“Yeah, Baleman, see, it wasn’t a serious-”
“So, uh, what’s this?” Gina cut in, her eyes raking me up and down. I caught the way Dylan pressed his lips together at her interruption, but didn’t say anything. Hell, if anything, he looked a tiny bit terrified, even.
“I sprained my ankle,” I sighed. In fact, the words tumbled out fast, desperate to get ahead of whatever assumptions they were already making. It was better to cut it off right now before they ran off with their wild assumptions.
The reaction was immediate. The playful atmosphere evaporated as they rushed over, their faces transforming from teasing to concern in an instant.
“What? When did this happen?” Gina demanded, her dark eyes scanning me with the intensity she usually reserved for studying game tapes.
I shook my head dismissively, still perched on Lively's back like some kind of oversized backpack. “Chill out, it's not that bad—”
“Not that bad?” Gina cut in, her vice-captain-mode fully activated. “You’re letting Lively Summers carry you.” She gave me a flat stare.
“Because she's stubborn as hell,” Lively answered before I could, earning himself a pinch to the shoulder.
“I will muzzle you right now if you don’t stop talking.” I hissed into his ear, and he chuckled in response.
“Kinky.” He said and my eyes flew wide.
This little shit …I was just going to have to deal with his brand of bs later. I faced Gina. “I can handle a little sprain—” I started, but Dylan’s words cut me off.
“That's it,” He said, his expression replaced with concern. “You're going back to the cabin. Now.”
“I heartily agree,” Lively chimed in, and I could hear the smirk in his voice.
“Guys, seriously—” I tried to protest, but three voices immediately shouted me down.
“No!”
“Absolutely not .”
“Don't even think about it.”
I mean, I knew I was being too stubborn. I should take the injury seriously. I was the captain of a team…I couldn’t afford to let an injury persist. It was weird how my common sense was only just returning to me now. Yeah, my brain was definitely not all back to working great, obviously.
Dylan pulled out his phone. “I'll text Coach—”
“It’s late, you don’t have to bother…Don't you dare," I started to say, but Gina was already nodding.
“Text him. I’ll text ours.” She said and I scoffed in sheer disbelief. “She needs to get that ankle looked at properly. We’ll go ahead of you to get stuff prepped.” They were completely ignoring me right now, weren’t they?
“Lively,” Gina said, her tone shifting to something more serious. “You'll make sure she gets back okay?”
“I mean,” His grip on my legs tightened slightly. “It’s not like she can run.”
This little shit. Both vice captains nodded in acknowledgement before turning and jogging down the trail, heading back down.
And Lively followed suit barely a second later, although Dylan and Gina’s voices were already fading as they further away from the look out point. Damn it. I really hadn’t wanted to cause any problems for our teams, and yet, here I was.
My phone's vibration caught me off guard. I’d pretty much forgotten
“Hey, put me down,” I said, tapping Lively's shoulder. “I need to check my phone.”
“Can't you check it while I'm carrying you?”
“Summers, I swear to god—”
“Alright, alright.” He chuckled, finally stopping near a fallen log. “Here you go.”
He set me down carefully on the log, and I pulled out my phone, ready to fire back another retort. But the words died in my throat when I saw the caller ID.
Mother .
Mrs. Hartley…Me and Mallory’s adoptive mom. For other people, getting a call from your mother, adoptive or not, wasn’t something that should cause their pulse to skip…in a negative way. But that was not the case for me.
For a moment, I just stared at the screen, my mother's name burning into my retinas like a brand. My fingers hovered over the answer button, trembling ever so slightly. I’d spent the last five years keeping my distance from them, trying not to burden them with my problems so they could focus on Mallory and they’ve done their best to respect that boundary unless—
No .
“Everything okay?” Lively's voice seemed to come from very far away.
I answered before I could think better of it, pressing the phone to my ear with a hand that suddenly felt numb. “Hello?”
The sound that came through wasn't my mother's voice—not really. It was raw and broken and terrifying . “Hailey—Hailey, I think you need to come home. Now .”
The world tilted sideways. “What happened?” The words scraped against my throat like broken glass.
“Mallory— she's—” A sob tore through the connection. “The doctors are trying, but—” Another broken sound.
And the rest of her words dissolved into static.
ICU. Mallory . And the only question ringing in my head at that moment was just, why?
Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? She’d been totally fine when she’d been discharged last week.
This was my worst fucking nightmare come to life—that Mallory would have a severe crisis like this, and I wouldn’t be there with her.
“Hailey? Are you there?” My mother's voice penetrated the fog. “Sweetheart?”
Sweetheart . The Hartleys were so kind to us.
Even though I tried my hardest to keep them at arm’s length, they never stopped caring for me…
never stopped believing I was as much their child as Mallory was.
I honestly didn’t understand why they hadn’t given up but right now, that one word was an unexpected salve that gave me a second of clarity.
“I—” The word came out as a whisper. I tried again. “I'm coming. I'll take a bus back right now. I'll—”
The phone slipped from my suddenly nerveless fingers. I lunged to catch it, forgetting my ankle entirely. Pain shot up my leg as I twisted wrong, but it was distant, meaningless compared to the void opening up in my chest.
“Whoa, careful—” Lively caught me before I could fall, his hands steady on my shoulders. “Hailey? What's wrong?”
I tried to answer, but my throat had closed up completely. The world was fracturing around the edges, breaking apart into sharp, glittering pieces that cut deeper with every breath. My vision blurred, and I realized I was crying—harsh, silent tears that burned like acid.
“Hey.” Lively's voice softened into something I'd never heard from him before. “Talk to me. What happened?”
“Mal—” I choked on her name, on the terror clawing its way up my throat. "Mallory's not okay…they don't—” A sob ripped through me, violent enough to shake my whole body. “I should have been there. I should be there. I—”
The words dissolved into broken sounds as everything I'd been holding back for months— years —finally shattered.
My carefully constructed walls, my desperate attempts at independence, my determination to prove I could handle everything on my own—all of it crumbled like sand against the tide of pure fear coursing through my veins.
Lively's arms came around me, and for once, I didn't fight it. Couldn't fight it. I buried my face in his shoulder and let myself break apart, ugly sobs wracking my frame as I clutched at his shirt like it was the only thing keeping me from drowning.