Chapter 12 — Carter #2
“You thought it loudly.”
“Sounds like a you problem.”
Mason lifted a tentative finger. “For the record, ‘none-of-your-business purposes’ would not fit well on a shirt.”
“Mason,” Lena said.
Carter watched as she laid out consequences with the precision of a military strategist.
The shirts did not leave the locker room.
No nickname merchandise without approval.
No “for love and logistics.”
No public branding of her personal life.
And if Mason violated those terms, he would find himself assigned to every undesirable fundraiser cleanup job for the rest of the semester.
Mason looked genuinely stricken.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would laminate the schedule.”
Carter whispered, “Brutal.”
Lena turned on him. “You too if you encourage him.”
He put a hand to his chest. “I opposed the design.”
“You laughed at it.”
“It was funny.”
“Carter.”
He smiled. “Still opposing.”
Mason raised a hand. “Can we compromise?”
“No,” Lena said immediately.
“What if the proceeds go to charity?”
Everything stopped.
Carter watched Lena’s face.
Carter could almost see the internal committee forming in her head.
He liked watching her think.
Aggressively liked.
Lena exhaled. “One charity event.”
Mason gasped like he had just been granted land.
“With my approval of the design,” she added.
His joy dimmed.
“No nicknames involving me without permission.”
“Yes.”
“No ‘for love and logistics.’”
Mason pressed a hand to his chest. “But that line has soul.”
“No.”
“Fine.”
“And Carter has veto power.”
Carter’s eyebrows rose. “I do?”
Lena looked at him.
In front of everyone.
His chest warmed so hard it nearly hurt.
Mason whispered, “Confirmed.”
Carter pointed at him without taking his eyes off Lena. “Careful.”
Lena realized what she’d said. Her blush deepened.
He also wanted to frame the moment and hang it in his apartment.
“Emotionally involved in responsible shirt oversight,” he said smoothly.
Amused.
Still pink.
“Exactly,” she said.
Jonah muttered, “Nobody believes that.”
Tank nodded. “But it was kind.”
Logan picked up his bag. “This team is exhausting.”
Mason looked down at his shirt. “Can I at least keep this one for private morale?”
Lena gave him a long stare.
Mason slowly removed the shirt over his practice tee.
“Understood.”
Carter laughed.
Then Lena turned her stare on him.
His dad was still in the hospital. His mother was pretending she wasn’t tired. Carter had slept maybe four hours in the last two days. And Mason kept muttering possible alternate shirt slogans under his breath.
“Logistics Is Love.”
“No,” Carter said as they lined up for drills.
“Clipboard Adjacent.”
“Emotionally Involved.”
Carter nearly missed the pass.
Coach Harlan blew the whistle. “Hayes.”
Carter stopped hard, ice spraying.
Coach stared at him. “You planning to join us today?”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Then join us.”
“Yes, Coach.”
Practice resumed. Carter forced his head into the drill. Pass. Cut. Receive. Shoot. Reset.
Longing went into shooting.
The mental image of Lena saying emotionally involved went into a slap shot that nearly took Mason’s head off.
Mason ducked. “Hostile!”
“Was it?”
“Emotionally.”
Jonah skated by. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It does to me,” Carter said.
Logan’s voice came from behind them. “Stop flirting with language and skate.”
Everyone paused.
Carter looked over. “That was definitely a joke.”
Logan skated away. “No, it wasn’t.”
Mason whispered, “Book him for the team banquet.”
By the end of practice, Carter was sweaty, exhausted, and a little more human.
Lena: Do not make me regret giving you veto power.
Then:
Lena: You better.
Carter read the message three times.
He leaned back against his locker and let himself have one second of happiness before Mason ruined it.
Mason appeared over his shoulder. “Are you sexting Clipboard?”
Carter shoved him away so hard Mason stumbled into Tank.
“No.”
Tank looked startled. “Should I leave?”
“No one is sexting anyone,” Carter said.
Mason rubbed his arm. “That felt defensive.”
Jonah closed his locker. “To be fair, if anyone ever deserved to be hit with a shoe, it was Mason.”
Mason brightened. “The mystery dress shoe in Carter’s car?”
Carter froze. “How do you know about the shoe?”
“Team group chat.”
“What team group chat?”
Carter looked from Mason to Jonah to Tank.
Even Logan paused by the door.
“There’s a team group chat without me?”
Mason winced. “It’s not without you.”
“I’m not in it.”
“Because it’s about you.”
Carter stared.
Jonah sighed. “I told them this day would come.”
Carter’s phone buzzed again before he could demand answers.
Carter: Yes. Currently uncovering betrayal. There is apparently a team group chat about me.
Carter: Can I see you later? No emergency. No hospital cafeteria. Just you.
Carter: I respect the schedule. I fear it, but I respect it.
He locked his phone and looked up.
Mason, Jonah, and Tank were watching him.
“What?” Carter asked.
Tank smiled gently. “You look happy.”
Something about Tank needing an eye exam.
Instead, Carter looked down at his phone and shrugged.
“Yeah,” he said. “I am.”
Just quiet.
Mason put a hand over his heart. “This is beautiful.”
Carter pointed at him. “Do not ruin it.”
“I’m not. I’m witnessing.”
“You’re always ruining while witnessing.”
“Multitasking.”
Coach appeared in the doorway. “Hayes.”
Carter turned. “Yeah?”
Coach nodded toward the hallway. “Minute.”
Carter’s stomach tightened, but he followed.
The hallway outside the locker room smelled like cold air and rubber mats. Coach leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
“Your dad?” he asked.
“Stable. They’re keeping him another night.”
Coach nodded. “Good.”
“Yeah.”
“You going back over there?”
“Later. Mom ordered me to eat and shower first.”
“Smart woman.”
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
“Because she’s smart.” Coach studied him. “You okay?”
Carter almost said fine.
Then Lena’s voice appeared in his head.
Don’t do that with me.
Carter exhaled. “Not totally. But better.”
Approval, maybe.
Or relief.
“Good answer,” he said.
“Honesty usually does when you’ve been dodging it.”
Carter huffed a laugh. “You always this inspiring after practice?”
“Only when my forwards look like they haven’t slept since the Bush administration.”
“I’m fine.”
Coach stared.
Carter sighed. “Sorry. Habit.”
“Break it.”
“Yes, Coach.”
Coach pushed off the wall. “Go eat. See your family. And Hayes?”
Coach’s expression softened by a fraction. “Let people show up for you. Doesn’t make you weak.”
Carter swallowed.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m learning.”
Coach nodded and walked away.
Carter stood alone in the hallway for a moment.
Coach, in his terrifying coach way, was doing it now.
Even his idiot teammates, through unauthorized merchandise and secret group chats, were trying.
Maybe Carter had spent so long performing for attention that he had missed the people actually paying it.
His phone buzzed.
Mom: Dad wants to know if you’re bringing dinner or “just your anxious face.”
Carter: Dinner. After I eat something so Lena doesn’t lecture me.
Carter looked toward the arena exit where Lena had left earlier.
He wanted Lena in hospital rooms and diners and rink hallways. He wanted her at games and in his car and texting him like eating lunch mattered because he mattered.
A sandwich from the place near campus, which he documented and sent to Lena because apparently he was the kind of guy who reported meals now.
Carter: Actual food acquired. Sandwich. Not muffin. Please update my file.
Instead, when he found her twenty minutes later outside the student center, she was smiling.
She stood near the steps with her tote bag on one shoulder, hair loose around her face, looking like the kind of girl a guy either got serious about or regretted forever.
Carter was beginning to suspect there was no third option.
“Hi,” he said.
His gaze dropped to her tote. “Is that evidence?”
She looked down. The sleeve of the confiscated Team Clipboard shirt was sticking out.
“It is.”
“Looks like memorabilia.”
“Do you want veto power revoked?”
He reached for her hand.
She gave it to him easily, which made his chest do something stupid.
“How was practice?” she asked.
“Productive. I only almost decapitated Mason once.”
“Only once?”
“I’m maturing.”
“Proud of this development too.”
He groaned. “You cannot just say that casually.”
Her expression softened.
The steps, the student traffic, the whole campus seemed to quiet around them.
“I am proud,” she said.
Carter looked away for a second, smiling because if he didn’t smile, he might do something embarrassing like tell her exactly how much those words meant.
“You’re dangerous, Brooks.”
“So you keep saying.”
“Because you keep proving it.”
No hospital machines. No fluorescent lights. No crisis forcing honesty out of him before he had time to hide.
They started walking without really deciding where. Past the student center, toward the quad where students were stretched out on blankets and benches, pretending to study while mostly talking.
Neither did Lena.
That mattered.
“Your dad?” she asked.
“Still stable. Still complaining. They’re keeping him overnight, but Mom says he’s mostly mad about mustard now, so that feels like progress.”
“Mustard anger is encouraging.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Are you going back tonight?”
“Yeah. Later. Not for long, probably. Mom threatened to call Coach if I don’t sleep.”
“She would.”
“She absolutely would.”
“And he would answer.”
“Immediately.”
Lena smiled. “Good.”
Carter looked down at her. “You want to come?”
He immediately hated himself.
“Actually, no,” he said quickly. “That came out wrong. You should rest. You stayed all night. You have classes. I don’t want to keep pulling you into hospital stuff.”
Carter stopped too.
She turned toward him, hand still in his.
“Carter.”
“You can ask.”
“I know.”
“But don’t answer for me.”
The late afternoon sun caught in her hair, and she looked so calm it made him feel twice as messy.