Chapter 6 — Carter
Carter
Carter Hayes had a problem.
A Lena Brooks problem.
A kissing-her-in-parking-lots problem.
A waking-up-with-her-name-still-in-his-head problem.
A looking-at-his-phone-like-it-might personally bless him if it lit up with a text from her problem.
And based on the way Mason Cross was staring at him across the locker room, Carter was not handling it subtly.
“You look different,” Mason said.
Carter shoved his practice jersey into his bag. “That’s vague.”
“Happy.”
“Don’t be disgusting.”
“Terrifyingly happy.”
“I said don’t be disgusting.”
Mason leaned back against the locker, eyes narrowed. “You’re either in love or you got free wings.”
Carter zipped his bag too aggressively. “Those are not comparable.”
“You’re right. Free wings last longer.”
Jonah snorted from two lockers down.
Tank, who had been quietly taping his stick, looked up. “Are we talking about Carter and Lena?”
“No,” Carter said.
“Yes,” Mason said.
Tank nodded thoughtfully. “She’s good for you.”
That should have been easy to shrug off.
It was not.
Because Tank said it simply. Like it was obvious. Like Carter’s whole team had been watching him change in real time, and he was the last one pretending it wasn’t happening.
“She makes you less annoying,” Jonah added.
Carter pointed at him. “That is not a compliment.”
“It is from me.”
Mason clutched his chest. “Our boy is becoming emotionally house-trained.”
“I will put your skates in the shower.”
“See?” Mason said to Tank. “Still needs work.”
Carter tried to laugh, but it came out too quiet.
The teasing was fine.
What wasn’t fine was the truth under it.
Lena was good for him.
Carter had replayed it more times than was healthy.
Worth the risk.
That phrase could mess a guy up.
“Hayes.”
Coach Harlan appeared in the locker room doorway, and every player immediately looked busy.
Carter turned. “Yeah, Coach?”
“My office.”
Mason whispered, “Oh no. Relationship probation.”
Carter smacked him in the shoulder as he passed.
Coach’s office smelled like coffee, old paper, and hockey tape. The walls were covered with framed team photos, schedules, and one motivational quote Carter had made fun of freshman year and then secretly used as his phone lock screen during playoffs.
Coach sat behind his desk and gestured to the chair.
Carter sat.
“Shoulder?” Coach asked.
“Fine.”
Coach gave him the look.
Carter sighed. “Sore. Manageable.”
“You’ll keep seeing the trainer.”
“Yes, Coach.”
“And you’ll stop pretending pain disappears when you ignore it.”
Carter’s mouth twitched. “That advice feels broader than my shoulder.”
“It is.”
Great.
Here they went.
Coach leaned back. “Fundraiser went well.”
“It did.”
“You did well.”
Carter looked down at his hands.
Compliments were still terrible.
Possibly worse from Coach.
“Thanks.”
“Brooks did well too.”
Carter looked up despite himself.
Of course he did.
His expression sharpened, but not unkindly. “You two need to be smart.”
Carter’s jaw tightened. “We are.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“Because I saw backstage.”
Carter resisted the urge to sink into the chair. “Technically, you saw after.”
“I saw enough.”
“Right.”
Coach folded his hands on the desk. “I’m not your father. I’m not here to lecture you about dating.”
“Appreciate that.”
“But I am your coach. And I’m telling you this because I know you.” Coach’s voice softened, which was somehow worse. “You have a habit of turning real things into jokes when they start asking something of you.”
Carter stared at the floor.
He focused on that.
Safer.
“Lena isn’t a joke,” Carter said.
“I know.”
Carter looked up.
Coach studied him for a long moment. “Do you?”
The question hit harder than Carter expected.
He thought of Savannah touching his arm at the fundraiser. Lena’s careful blank expression afterward. The fear in her voice when she admitted she was scared he might become a regret.
He had a reputation.
He had earned some of the doubt.
And Lena had still held his hand.
“I know,” Carter said, quieter.
Coach nodded. “Then don’t play around with her because it feels good to be seen.”
Carter’s throat tightened.
That was exactly the kind of sentence Coach should not be allowed to say before noon.
“I’m not,” he said.
“Good.”
A beat passed.
Coach looked toward the framed photo on the wall from Carter’s freshman year. “You’re playing better when you care.”
Carter let out a humorless laugh. “That sounds fake.”
“It’s not.”
“Caring makes people distracted.”
“Caring gives people something to show up for.”
Carter did not answer.
Because that sounded suspiciously true.
Coach tapped the desk once. “Practice tomorrow. Rest the shoulder today. And Hayes?”
“Yeah?”
“If you hurt her, Denise will probably file paperwork. Brooks will use the paperwork as kindling. Mason will make shirts. And I’ll skate you until you forget your own name.”
Despite himself, Carter laughed.
Coach’s mouth twitched. “Dismissed.”
Carter stood.
At the door, Coach added, “And the speech was good.”
Carter paused.
His chest tightened again.
“Thanks, Coach.”
Lena was in the library when he found her.
Carter stopped at the end of the aisle and watched her for half a second.
He walked closer and set a muffin on the table beside her coffee.
Her face did that thing again.
The tiny brightening before she controlled it.
Carter was getting addicted to that.
“A muffin?” she asked.
“Blueberry.”
“Why?”
“Because if I brought balloons, you’d think I was mocking you.”
“You are always mocking me.”
“Only with affection.”
Her eyes narrowed, but her mouth curved. “Is this a thank-you muffin?”
“For the fundraiser.”
“That was last night.”
“I’m delayed but sincere.”
“Sincere,” she repeated.
“I’m trying a new brand.”
She picked up the muffin and peeled back the wrapper. “Thank you.”
He dropped into the chair across from her.
She raised one eyebrow. “Are you joining me?”
“No.”
“You sat down.”
“I’m supervising.”
“This is the library.”
“Exactly. Very dangerous. Books everywhere.”
“You do know what books are, right?”
“I’ve seen them in movies.”
Carter leaned back, pleased in a way he tried not to show too much.
She noticed.
Her expression softened, then turned thoughtful. “How’s your shoulder?”
“You and my shoulder are becoming emotionally attached.”
“Answer.”
“Sore. Trainer says I’m fine.”
“Did the trainer say fine, or did you translate it into fine?”
“Wow. That’s invasive.”
“Carter.”
“It’s manageable.”
Her eyes stayed on him.
He sighed. “I’m resting it today.”
Warm.
He picked at the edge of a napkin. “Coach talked to me.”
“About your shoulder?”
“About you.”
Lena’s fingers paused on the muffin wrapper.
“Oh.”
“He said we should be smart.”
“Smart is good.”
“He also threatened to skate me until I forget my own name if I hurt you.”
Her lips twitched. “That sounds like Coach.”
“Mason apparently makes shirts in this scenario.”
“What do the shirts say?”
“Probably Team Clipboard.”
She groaned. “I hate that I can picture it.”
Carter smiled.
Then the smile faded because he had not come here just to joke.
He had come because Coach was right.
Because if he wanted her to trust him, he had to start doing the uncomfortable thing and say what he meant before a crisis forced him into it.
“I told him you’re not a joke,” Carter said.
Lena looked up fully.
No fundraiser chaos.
Just her and him and the sentence sitting on the table with the muffin.
“You said that?” she asked.
“I don’t want you to think I’m just…” He searched for the word and hated all of them. “Caught up.”
Lena noticed.
Her cheeks warmed.
“Among other things,” he said.
“Carter.”
That made her go still.
He leaned forward, forearms on the table. “I like kissing you. Obviously.”
“Obviously?” she said, though her voice was a little thinner now.
Her lips pressed together, trying not to smile.
“But I don’t just like kissing you,” he said.
He forced himself not to look away.
“I like being around you,” he continued. “I like that you make me show up. I like that you call me out when I’m hiding. I like that you’re bossy and terrifying and somehow make checklists look attractive.”
It kept him from panicking.
“And I know,” he said, quieter, “that I have not exactly built a reputation for being careful with people. So I’m not asking you to trust me because I say one decent thing in a library.”
Lena was very still now.
Too still.
He kept going because stopping would be cowardly.
“I’m asking you to let me try.”
Her throat moved.
“Try what?” she asked.
But all of those words felt too small and too huge at the same time.
So he told the truth.
“To be worth the risk.”
Lena stared at him.
Not that stupid.
They walked in silence past the stacks and through a side door into the old library stairwell. It was empty, gray concrete walls, one narrow window, the faint smell of dust and old radiator heat.
Lena set her coffee on the windowsill.
Carter stood two steps below her because somehow even stairwells were creating situations now.
She looked down at him.
For once, he had to tilt his head up.
“I’m scared of you,” she said.
Not the words he wanted.
But maybe the words he needed.
“Okay,” he said carefully.
“Not because I think you’d hurt me on purpose.”
His chest eased slightly.
“But because I think you could hurt me without meaning to.”
The fear she had been circling since the fundraiser.
Carter looked down at the stair between them.
But promises were easy. He had made easy promises before and treated them like feathers.
Lena deserved weight.
“You’re right,” he said.
Her expression flickered.
“I could,” he continued. “Not because I want to. But because I’m good at leaving before things get serious. Or making jokes when things matter. Or acting like wanting something less means it can’t mess me up.”
He looked at her then.
“And I don’t want to do that with you.”
Lena’s eyes shone faintly.
He laughed once, soft and rough. “Because you scare me too.”
Her brows drew together.