Chapter 23
Nine and a Half Years Ago
It’s a week after the showcase, and Massachusetts has transformed itself into a sticky circle of hell. The dorms aren’t air-conditioned, and everyone is cranky from lack of sleep. The ice rink is everyone’s favorite refuge, but there’s only so much ice time in a day.
Wear something skimpy, Chase texts to Zoe after dinner, while he’s waiting on the roof.
Is it bad up there? she asks. Or is this a gratuitous request?
Can’t it be both?
Maybe? My mother always says boys only want one thing.
This boy wants ice cream and it’s going to melt if you don’t get your cute ass up here.
Ice cream???? Why didn’t you lead with that? On my way!
True to her word, the door pops open not two minutes later. She’s wearing short-shorts and a tiny tank top, which he appreciates.
When Zoe sees what Chase has done, she gasps. And by the time she’s crossed the roof to where he’s sitting—with his feet in a generous kiddie pool filled with cool water—she practically has hearts in her eyes. “Oh my God! You genius.” She plops down in the opposite chair and unties her shoes.
“How come you don’t have flip-flops like everyone else in the world?” he asks.
“Because my mother thinks they’re dangerous. Skaters get injured enough without breaking a leg running for the bus.”
Chase often has to bite his tongue after hearing little stories like this. Zoe’s mom dictates her diet, her shoes, her life.
“How did you fill this pool?” she asks, dropping her feet into the cold water. “It’s… ahhh.” She collapses against the back of the chair in a wanton way that makes his pulse quicken.
“There’s a spigot. I filled it up most of the way and dragged it over here. Then I topped it up using the cooler as a bucket.” He opens the cooler and hands her a spoon.
She squeals in delight. “I love ice cream. Nobody ever buys me ice cream.”
“Well, someone should,” he says, pulling a single-serving Ben & Jerry’s carton for each of them out of the cooler. “Cherry Garcia or Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough? I like both.”
She makes him choose, and he gives her the cherry, because he thinks it’s the one she really wants. They eat it slowly, and the way Zoe licks the spoon makes him a little crazy.
When the ice cream is long gone, they sit facing each other, feet in the pool between them. They’re playing Battleship on pen and paper. Chase is losing badly, and he couldn’t care less. “C7,” he says.
“Miss!” Zoe says gleefully, noting the play on her notepad. “F5.”
“Damn it!”
She cracks up, and the sound of her laughter is so engrossing that he almost misses the sound of one of the rooftop doors banging open.
But suddenly Sister Walsh is standing over them, a frosty look on her face. And his heart is beating out a new rhythm, which sounds like oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Because the lady looks pissed.
“Mom?” Zoe yelps. “What are you doing up here?”
“That’s my line,” the coach sniffs. “Are you always this disdainful of the rules?”
His heart plummets. But that’s ridiculous, right? It was ice cream, not cocaine. And only their feet were touching.
But that must be enough, because Sister Walsh looks like a pressure cooker that’s blown its gasket, and Zoe is clearly panicking. She’s pulled her feet out of the pool, and her face is turning bright red.
It’s been an unspoken rule between them—her mother can’t know about the two of them. But now here she is, murder in her eyes. “Zoe, come with me.”
“We’re in the middle of a game.”
“You’re breaking curfew.”
“I’m not! I’m here on the premises, and the curfew is for campers, anyway. Do you turn your lights out at ten?”
Her mother glares at her for making this obvious point. “You will come with me now.”
He waits for Zoe to say, Like hell. And it’s weird that she doesn’t. She grabs her shoes and socks and follows her mother toward the door, as if that were the only choice.
It isn’t! he wants to scream. Tell her to fuck right off.
But Sister Walsh holds the door open for Zoe and then follows her through it.
He’s stewing over this a moment later when he hears their voices. Apparently Sister Walsh has paused in the privacy of the stairwell to rip her daughter a new one.
He creeps closer to the metal door and presses an ear against it.
“I’m not stupid, and you’re not fooling anyone! I’m sure you have some grandiose idea that you’re in love. But that boy doesn’t care about you. Not even a little. He’s a college hockey player, Zoe. His dorm room has a revolving door on it. You’re just the flavor of the month.”
His fists are suddenly clenched. You evil bitch.
“He’s just playing around with you because he can. Because you’re an easy mark. Whatever he’s telling you to try to get you into bed? It’s not true.”
There’s a deep silence coming from Zoe’s end of the conversation. As if she’s actually listening to this bullshit. The thought makes him sag against the door.
Her mother keeps yammering on about how Chase is just a passing phase and Zoe can’t lose sight of what’s really important. The fall competition season is only eight weeks away. And how is Zoe going to be ready if her head is on all the wrong things?
“He’s leaving for good in the middle of August,” Sister Walsh says. “You do know that, right? And he won’t be invited back next year.”
Shit.
Zoe is finally alone a half hour later. She’s sitting on the bed in her room, heart thumping, wondering how mad Chase is.
Their nights on the roof are over now. There’s no way her mother won’t check up there tomorrow night, and the night after that.
Hell, she’ll probably bar the door unless it’s against the fire regulations.
“Why did you come up to the roof?” Zoe asked twice without receiving an answer. Which means somebody snitched. Somebody ruined the best thing that had ever happened to her, and they did it on purpose.
She starts several texts to Chase before deleting them, because she doesn’t know what to say. After much deliberation, she goes with OMG I’m sorry. She’s so terrible. I’m SO SORRY.
Chase replies immediately. Hey, not your fault. Are you okay?
Her heart cracks a little at the question. Because no, she’s not okay. But he’s the only one in her life who ever seems to ask that question.
Zoe: I’m just mad. At her for being such a bitch, and at whoever ratted us out. The bunheads are always pulling this crap. She also has access to my email, and she checks it a lot. It’s supposed to be for business reasons. As if. Actually now I wonder if she monitors my texts.
Chase: Well that’s dark. HEY COACH PAT! If you’re reading this, I hope you know that it’s a terrible invasion of privacy!
Zoe actually smiles. Then she taps his avatar and calls him.
“Hey.” His deep voice is like a warm hug. “Hang in there, okay?”
“Yeah.” She sighs. “Except she ruined our fun. You know I can’t go back up there again, right?”
“Then I think it’s important to state for the record that our game of Battleship was officially a draw. You never actually sank my battleship.”
“Fine, loser,” she whispers. “It’s a draw. But I sure wish I could finish you off.”
He sighs. “The jokes I could make right now.”
“Oh, Hotshot. Don’t ever change.” Her eyes are stinging as she says it.
“Zoe… This just isn’t right. We weren’t hurting anyone.”
“I know. But I got the usual lecture anyway. Champions make sacrifices. Blah-blah-blah.”
“But did she say, ‘Boys only want one thing’?”
Zoe snorts. “Probably. I tuned her out.” A silence descends upon them, and it’s just sad. They always know what to say to each other. Always. “You know what we need?” she blurts. “A mini getaway.”
“Can I get an amen?”
“No, really.” Her heart thumps with newfound daring. “We could go away for a night. Just sneak out after curfew. Who’s really going to know?”
“That sounds risky,” he says, but his voice is intrigued.
“We wouldn’t go tomorrow, because she’ll check on me for sure. But maybe this weekend? Are you ever not on call?”
It takes him a second to answer. “Well, no. I’m the only male counselor. But nobody ever needs me. And I’d bring my phone. Are you serious about this plan?”
“Dead serious. But don’t say yes if you don’t want to.”
His laugh is low and husky. “Oh, I want to. You have no idea.”
“Then you’d better find us somewhere to stay,” she says sweetly. “Do you think you could do that?”
“For you? Anything,” he says. “Anything at all.”