Chapter 40 Summer Interlude #2
The first week of classes is the usual chaos—syllabus review, reconnecting with friends, settling back into routines. I see Liam at open skate on Tuesday, and it's as awkward as I expected. We nod at each other, maintain our distance, act like everything is fine for the sake of the team.
But I notice things. The way he's quieter than usual. How he leaves immediately after practice instead of hanging around to talk. The careful way he avoids looking at me or Harper when we're all in the same space.
"He seems different," I mention to Sirus after practice one day.
"Who, Liam?"
"Yeah."
Tommy says, "He's been different all summer. Went kind of crazy with the dating apps, but nothing stuck. I think he's just trying to figure his shit out."
"Think it’s because of Harper?"
Sirus gives me a long look. "Does it matter?"
Tommy shrugs and walks off.
"Just curious what’s going on with him."
"You're worried." He shoves my shoulder. "Stop. Harper's with you. She lives with you. She spent the entire summer with you. Liam is ancient history."
He's right. I know he's right. But it's hard to shake the feeling that something is brewing beneath the surface, some unresolved tension that's going to blow up eventually.
Harper starts her classes with the same intensity she brings to everything.
She's taking on a heavy course load plus an internship with a local marketing firm, dropping all of her criminal justice classes for this semester.
She wants to focus on marketing now. I barely see her some days—she's at class or work or the library, burning herself out in pursuit of the perfect GPA.
"You need to slow down," I tell her one Thursday night when she comes home at ten looking exhausted.
"I can't. I have a presentation tomorrow and a paper due Monday and the internship wants me to shadow their senior strategist all next week."
"Harper, you're going to burn out."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You fell asleep in your dinner last night."
"That was one time."
"It was literally yesterday."
She sighs, dropping her bag and sinking onto the couch. "I just want everything to be perfect. Senior year, my grades, my portfolio for job applications. I can't afford to slack off now."
I sit beside her and pull her feet into my lap, starting to massage them. "You're allowed to rest. You're allowed to not be perfect all the time."
"Says the guy who has every aspect of his life perfectly plotted out."
"That's different."
"How?"
"Because I do it to reduce stress, not create it."
She's quiet for a moment, then says, "I'm just nervous."
"Of what?"
"The future. What comes after graduation. What if I can't find a job? What if we end up in different cities? What if—"
"Harper." I lean forward, making her look at me. "We'll figure it out. Plus we have an entire year ahead of us. We don’t have to have it all planned right this second."
"You're always so certain about everything."
"Not everything. But I'm always certain about you."
She crawls into my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck. "What did I do to deserve you?"
"Probably something terrible in a past life. This is karma balancing out."
She laughs, and I feel the tension drain from her body. "I love you."
"I love you too. Now go take a shower and get some sleep. Your presentation can wait until tomorrow."
"Bossy."
"You like it."
"Unfortunately, I do as long as you pull my hair while you’re at it."
September slides into October, and hockey season kicks into full gear. We're good this year—really good. The team has chemistry, Coach is pushing us hard but fairly, and our record reflects it. We're five and oh to start the season.
Harper comes to every home game, wearing my jersey and cheering louder than anyone else in the stands. After wins, she waits for me outside the locker room with that smile that makes everything worth it. After losses, she just holds me and doesn't try to fix it with words.
"Best season yet," Sirus says after we win our sixth straight game.
"Don't jinx it."
"I'm not jinxing anything. We're legitimately good."
He's right. But there's something else happening too. Liam is playing out of his mind—scoring goals, making plays, carrying the team on his back in ways I've never seen before. It's like he's channeling everything into hockey, using it as an outlet for whatever he's dealing with.
"He's going to get drafted if he keeps this up," I mention to Coach after one particularly impressive game.
"There’s potential for a few guys," Coach says. "Scouts have been asking about you and a few others."
The thought should excite me. Professional hockey has always been the dream. But all I can think about is Harper, and how going pro would complicate everything.
Mid-October, Harper and I are lying in bed on a Sunday morning, lazy and content. Her head is on my chest, my fingers tracing patterns on her arm.
"What are you thinking about?" she asks.
"The draft. What happens if I get picked."
"Cole, you're one of the best players in the conference. Scouts are watching you. You're going to get picked."
"And if I do?"
She props herself up to look at me. "Then you'll go play professional hockey and live your dream."
"What about you?"
"I'll figure it out. Maybe I'll move wherever you end up. Maybe we'll do long distance for a while. We'll make it work."
"You'd really move for me?"
"In a heartbeat." She says it so simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I love you. I want to be where you are."
"What about your career?"
"Marketing jobs exist everywhere. Hockey careers don't." She kisses me softly. "Besides, I'm pretty good at adapting."
"I don't want you to give up your dreams for mine."
"I'm not. I'm choosing our dream. The one where we're together."
I pull her closer, overwhelmed by how much I love this woman. "You're too good for me."
"And you’re good for me."
I smile.
We stay in bed for another hour, making plans and promises, building a future that feels real and attainable. When we finally get up, Harper makes coffee while I start breakfast—a routine we've perfected over the summer.
This is what I want. Not just the hockey or the degree or the successful career. This. Harper in my kitchen, a dog at our feet, a life we've built together.
By the time November rolls around, senior year has settled into a rhythm. Classes, practice, games, time with Harper. It's busy but manageable, stressful but good. I'm exactly where I want to be.
Liam keeps his distance, which is both a relief and a source of guilt. We used to be close—best friends, brothers in everything but blood. Now we're just teammates.
I see him sometimes, at parties or team events, always with a different girl. They never last more than a week or two. He's going through the motions, but I can see it's not real. Not the way what Harper and I have is real.
"You should talk to him," Harper says one night after she notices me watching Liam leave a party alone.
"And say what?"
"I don't know. That you miss him. That you want to fix things."
"Some things can't be fixed."
"Cole, he's your best friend."
"Was my best friend."
She's quiet for a moment. "It's my fault."
"It's not your fault. It's just complicated."
"Maybe it doesn't have to be."
But it does. Because no matter how much time passes or how happy Harper and I are, there's always going to be this history. This knowledge that she could have chosen him, that maybe part of her wanted to.
I push the thought away and focus on what's in front of me. Harper, here, now, choosing me every single day.
That's what matters.
That's all that matters.