Chapter 38 Falling Deeper
Falling Deeper
Cole
I'm sitting in the campus coffee shop waiting for Harper to finish her class when Sirus drops into the chair across from me with his usual lack of subtlety.
"So," he says, grinning like he knows something I don't. "You bringing Harper to game night?"
I look up from my phone. "Was planning on it. Why?"
"Just making sure you're not going to bail on us now that you're all domesticated." He's teasing, but there's genuine curiosity underneath. "Marcus was wondering if you'd forgotten how to hang out with anyone who isn't your girlfriend."
"Tell Marcus he can survive one more week without my sparkling personality." I take a sip of my coffee, checking the time. Harper should be out in ten minutes. "But yeah, she'll be there. That okay?"
"More than okay. Maddie's been dying to see you two together in a group setting. Says she needs to verify you're actually good for Harper and not just putting on a show."
I raise an eyebrow. "Pretty sure Maddie was the one who set us up in the first place."
"Yeah, well, now she's gone full protective mode. You know how she is." Sirus leans back, studying me with that look he gets when he's trying to read my mood. "You're different lately. Happy different."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"Nah, man. It's good. Just weird seeing you this..." He gestures vaguely at my face. "Relaxed. You're usually wound tighter than Coach before playoffs."
He's not wrong. For years, my life has been hockey, school, planning for the future—everything compartmentalized and controlled. Harper disrupts that in the best possible way. She makes me want to be spontaneous, to care about something beyond my next game or assignment.
"She's good for me," I say simply.
"Yeah, I can tell." Sirus grins. "Just don't forget about your teammates when you're off being disgustingly in love."
The word hangs between us—"love"—and I don't correct him. Because he's right, even if I haven't said it out loud to Harper yet.
“Like you have room to talk,” I tease. “You and Maddie? Hmm?”
Sirus waves me off.
Game night at my place has become a tradition over the past year.
Every other Wednesday, the core group shows up: Sirus, Marcus, Tommy, and usually a rotating cast of whoever else is free.
We play cards, argue about sports, eat too much pizza, and generally act like the college guys we are.
Liam never shows up. It’s not his style to play board games.
Bringing Harper into the weekly game night feels natural. She was right when she said we are good friends. I’ve always heard that’s the best recipe for a long-term relationship.
She arrives with Maddie around seven, carrying a bag of chips and wearing one of my hoodies that's way too big on her. The sight does something to my chest.
"I come bearing snacks," Harper announces, holding up the bag like a trophy.
"She tried to bring homemade cookies," Maddie adds, hanging up her coat. "I had to physically stop her from turning on the oven."
"They would have been fine," Harper protests.
"You literally forgot cookies were in the oven two weeks ago until the smoke alarm went off."
"That was one time!"
I pull Harper close and kiss her temple. "For the record, I appreciate the thought."
"You're supposed to be on my side," she says, but she's smiling.
"I am on your side."
Maddie glares at us. “Get a room.”
The night unfolds easily. Harper gives Marcus shit about his terrible poker face, teams up with Maddie to absolutely destroy us at charades, and somehow gets Tommy to open up about his girlfriend troubles in a way the rest of us never could.
Watching her laugh at one of Sirus's stupid jokes, completely at ease in my living room surrounded by my friends, I feel something settle in my chest. This is what I want. Not just Harper in my bed or on my arm at parties, but Harper integrated into my life. Part of my world.
The following Tuesday, I have a home game—our first conference matchup of the season. Harper mentioned wanting to come, but I didn't realize what that would feel like until I skate out for warm-ups and see her in the stands.
She's sitting with Maddie and a few other girlfriends, wearing my spare jersey with my number on the back.
The sight hits me harder than I expect. This is different from her showing up the last time.
This is her claiming her place, visible and proud, telling everyone in this arena that she's mine and I'm hers.
I catch her eye during warm-ups, and she waves, grinning wide. I tap my stick against the ice in acknowledgment, feeling like an idiot for how much that simple gesture means to me.
"Someone's got a fan club," Liam says, skating past.
I follow his gaze and realize he's looking at Harper too. There's something in his expression I can't quite read. We haven't talked much since everything went down, maintaining a professional distance that works for the ice but feels hollow everywhere else.
"Yeah," I say carefully.
"She looks happy." He says it flat, like he's forcing the words out.
"She is."
Liam nods once, then skates away toward the other end of the ice. The interaction is brief but loaded with everything we're not saying. He's keeping his promise to stay away, but I can see the cost of it in the tight set of his shoulders.
The game is brutal—they're a physical team that plays dirty, and by the second period I've taken more hits than I care to count. But every time I glance toward the stands and see Harper on her feet cheering, it's like finding an extra gear I didn't know I had.
We win 3-2, and I score the game-winner with four minutes left. The arena erupts, my teammates pile on me, and through it all I'm searching the crowd for Harper's face.
After the game, she's waiting outside the locker room with Maddie. The other guys file past with knowing grins, but I don't care. I pull Harper into a hug that lifts her off her feet.
"You were amazing," she says against my neck.
"You're my good luck charm."
"Is that so?"
"Definitely." I set her down but keep my arms around her waist. "You planning on coming to all my games now?"
"If you want me there."
"I want you everywhere," I say, and I mean it more than she probably realizes.
The next few weeks blur together in the best way. Harper and I develop routines—coffee on Tuesday mornings between her classes, film study sessions where she pretends to understand hockey strategy while mostly just distracting me, lazy Sunday mornings in bed with Rex sprawled across our legs.
I show up to one of her presentations, sitting in the back of the lecture hall while she delivers her marketing pitch with the same confidence she brings to everything else.
Watching her command a room, seeing the way her mind works through complex problems, I'm reminded that she's not just beautiful—she's brilliant.
"You didn't have to come," she says afterward, but her smile tells me she's glad I did.
"I wanted to. You killed it up there."
"I stumbled over the Q3 projections."
"No one noticed."
"You noticed."
"Barely. You did great."
She loops her arm through mine as we walk across campus. "Thank you for being here. It means a lot."
"Where else would I be?"
It's moments like this—small, quiet, unremarkable to anyone else—that make me realize how deep I'm in. Harper has become the person I want to share everything with. Good news, bad news, boring details about my day. All of it.
Game night happens again, this time at Sirus and Marcus's place. It's a bigger crowd than usual—more teammates, more girlfriends, the energy chaotic and loud. Harper navigates it all like she's been part of this group for years instead of weeks.
I'm in the kitchen grabbing beers when I look back into the living room and see something that makes my chest tighten. Liam has just arrived, and Harper is standing near the door with Maddie. For a split second, their eyes meet across the room.
I watch it happen in slow motion. The way Harper's smile falters, just barely. The way Liam's expression shifts from carefully neutral to something rawer. There's recognition there, history, a connection that existed before I came into the picture.
Then Harper deliberately looks away, turning her attention to Maddie and saying something that makes her cousin laugh. Liam stands there for another second before heading toward the opposite side of the room, putting as much distance between them as possible.
The interaction lasts maybe five seconds, but it leaves me unsettled.
"Hey." Sirus grips my shoulder. "Don't let old ghosts mess with your head."
He's right. I know he's right. But there's a difference between knowing something intellectually and feeling it in your gut.
I head back into the living room and find Harper. She lights up when she sees me, reaching for my hand and pulling me down beside her on the couch. "There you are. I thought you got lost."
"Just grabbing drinks. You good?"
"Perfect," she says, and the way she looks at me leaves no room for doubt.
Across the room, Liam is talking to Tommy, deliberately not looking our way. His jaw is tight, shoulders tense, and I recognize the signs of someone holding themselves together through sheer force of will.
Harper leans into my side, her hand resting on my thigh, and I force myself to focus on her instead of analyzing every micro-expression on Liam's face.
"Want to get out of here early?" she murmurs near my ear. "We could go back to your place, just us."
"Rex would be thrilled."
"Rex is always invited."
I kiss her forehead. "Let's finish this game, then we'll head out."
"Deal."
A week before Thanksgiving, we're back at my place after a particularly exhausting day. I had early practice, then classes, then another practice because Coach is riding us hard about our upcoming tournament. Harper had back-to-back presentations and looks about as drained as I feel.