Chapter Seven Surprise
JULIAN
Two weeks after I visit Chicago, I wake up before my alarm, eyes snapping open into the dark as if something pulled me out of sleep.
I stare at the ceiling for a second, disoriented, then reach for my phone on instinct.
Fuck. I let out a long groan. Closing my eyes, I will myself to go back to sleep, but my mind is immediately filled with thoughts of the season starting, my practice schedule, Chicago, and Mrs. Clay.
We’ve talked since my visit. I keep asking her if she’s okay.
She just sounds tired to me. She insists she’s fine, but I don’t believe her.
I just can’t shake the feeling that she’s not as healthy as she wants me to believe.
Well, I don’t know what it was that woke me up, but as I lay in bed with my racing thoughts, I quickly realize I’m not getting back to sleep.
God damn it.
Sitting up, I swipe my phone’s screen and decide to give Mrs. Clay a call. I know she’ll be awake by now. She’s such a morning person; I can’t help but want to check on her. I hesitate for half a second, wondering if maybe I’m being paranoid.
I shake the thought away and hit the call button.
It rings twice before she answers, her voice soft and a little scratchy. She’s probably just sitting down to her morning cup of coffee.
“Julian? You okay? You know what time it is?”
“Yeah,” I murmur, sitting up and dragging a hand over my face. “Didn’t wake you, did I?”
“I’m up,” she says, but it sounds like she just got there. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I murmur. “Just checking in.”
“Mmhmm,” she hums. “You don’t call before six in the morning for nothing. And aren’t you an hour earlier, too? Julian…”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“That doesn’t mean something’s wrong with me,” she points out.
“I know.” I exhale. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”
That earns me a soft chuckle.
“I’m okay,” she assures me. “Still kicking.”
“Yeah?” I ask. I already know what she’s going to say.
“Yeah,” she repeats, firmer now. “You worry too much.”
“Maybe you don’t worry enough,” I mutter.
She clicks her tongue. “You’ve got practice today?”
“Yeah.”
“Then go back to sleep.”
I glance at the clock again, then swing my legs over the side of the bed, running a hand across my bare chest as I let out a yawn. “Not happening.”
I’m a light sleeper…have been since I was a kid. Being on edge and always worrying about when your drunk father’s going to want a punching bag will do that to you. When I’m awake, I’m awake. Might as well be productive.
“Stubborn.” I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Learned from the best.”
She snorts. “Don’t you blame your stubborn streak on me. I’m as patient as a saint.”
A laugh bursts from my chest. “You sure you’re feeling alright? You’re sounding crazy.”
“You are mouthy for nearly 5 AM,” she teases. “If you’re not going back to sleep, you might as well do something useful with yourself.”
Chuckling, I nod. “Yes, ma’am. That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
“Then get to it,” she orders. “Leave me to my morning coffee in peace.”
Pushing to my feet, I reply, “All right, all right. You have a good day. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Talk to you later, dear.”
I hang up the call and scratch the back of my head, feeling annoyingly wide awake.
Well, I guess I better do as I’m told. Since I’m up, no use in wasting the day.
I head out of my room and go to the kitchen to start my coffee maker, grabbing my favorite mug—a Friendsmas gift from Sutton— from the cupboard.
I grin, thinking back to that weekend and how fun it was…
despite how I had to basically take over the dinner so the other guys didn’t fuck it up.
A bit of caffeine to get me going. Then I’ll head to the stadium to really get my blood pumping.
I grit my teeth as I grip the pull-up bar and drag my body up for my twentieth rep. My shoulders burn, lats tightening, but I squeeze out one more rep anyway before dropping back to the mat.
Sweat drips down the back of my neck, and my shirt is sticking to my skin. The weight room is empty except for me, which isn’t surprising given how early it is. I’ve been going at it for nearly an hour now, pushing my body hard.
I finish with sprints across the length of the room, back and forth, pushing my legs to move faster than they want to. By the time I stop, my lungs are burning, and my heartbeat is pounding hard in my ears.
I brace my hands on my knees, dragging in a slow breath, sweat dripping onto the mat beneath me.
That helped, but I’m still feeling restless, so I head to the rink, stopping in the locker room to grab my skates.
As I step through the doors leading to the ice, I’m adjusting my gloves when I look up and freeze.
There’s someone else skating here.
For a second, my brain doesn’t register any details as I gaze at the figure gliding across the smooth surface, cutting clean lines through fresh ice. I realize it’s a girl and I stare at her, confused.
I move closer to the boards and rest my forearms against the railing. She’s a tiny thing, but she moves with a confident, controlled precision that makes it look effortless.
It’s different than what I’m used to. Hockey is about speed, impact, and reaction. Pure power slamming across the ice.
This is delicate and graceful. Kind of enchanting, and I can’t look away. She spins, lands clean, and transitions without hesitation. Her shoulder-length, wavy brown hair shifts with the motion, catching the overhead lights. When she turns her head, I catch a full glimpse of her face.
Recognition clicks in an instant, and my stomach twists with shock.
No fucking way. I’d recognize that pretty heart-shaped face anywhere.
Hadley.