19. CHAPTER NINETEEN
ROWAN
“How’s your girlfriend?” Stanley starts before I’ve finished making coffee.
I keep my back to him while I open the cabinet and take down a mug. “Fine.”
“Did you sleep well knowing you have a girlfriend now?”
“Yes.”
“Have you texted your girlfriend this morning?”
“No.”
“Interesting.”
I turn around.
He’s sitting at the island eating cereal out of a mixing bowl because every normal bowl in this house is apparently dirty again.
His hair is sticking up in the back, one ankle is hooked over the opposite knee, and he looks entirely too thrilled for somebody who has been awake for maybe twelve minutes.
Stanley points his spoon at me. “I’m adjusting.”
“To what?”
“The new household structure.”
I shrug. “Nothing changed.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
Blue walks into the kitchen behind him wearing sweats. He looks half asleep, opens the refrigerator, then pauses long enough to glance between us.
“What changed?” Blue asks.
Stanley twists around in his seat. “Laurens has a girlfriend.”
Blue stares at him for a second. “We were all there.”
“I’m still processing.”
“Process quieter.”
Stanley ignores him and looks back at me. “So how long have you known Gianna?”
“Two years.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “How long have you known Gianna?”
I stare at him.
His smile gets wider.
I reach around him for the eggs. “Move.”
He shifts just enough to let me past, still watching me like he’s waiting for something. “Did she stay over?”
“No.”
“Would she stay over?”
“Her brother lives here.”
“That was not the question.”
Blue shuts the refrigerator and looks over at him. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t. I’m interested in the logistics.”
“You’re interested in being annoying.”
“That too.”
I crack the eggs into the pan and turn the heat down. Stanley goes quiet after that, which is usually the first sign that underneath all of this he actually wants an answer.
“You like her?” he asks.
I look over my shoulder. The joke is mostly gone from his face now. “Yeah.”
“No, I mean actually.”
That stops me for half a second, not because I don’t know the answer, but because I know exactly what he’s asking.
I set the eggshell down and look at him properly.
“Yeah,” I say. “Actually.”
Stanley nods once. No joke. No follow-up. He takes another bite of cereal, chews, and says, “Cool. I need a ride to the rink.”
Blue laughs from the other side of the kitchen.
I shake my head. “Ten minutes.”
“Perfect.”
My phone buzzes on the counter before I finish cooking.
Gianna: Good morning, boyfriend.
I look at the screen.
Stanley immediately leans sideways trying to read it.
I turn the phone over. “Absolutely not.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing.”
“Was it about me?”
“No.”
I wait until he looks away, then pick the phone back up.
Me: Morning, G.
Her answer comes immediately.
Gianna: Does G stand for girlfriend?
I smile despite myself.
Me: Yeah.
There’s a pause.
Gianna: Wuss.
Gianna: Say it.
Me: Morning, girlfriend.
Gianna: There.
I’m still looking at the screen when Stanley catches the expression on my face.
He points his spoon at me again. “Disgusting.”
I throw the dish towel at him.
Monday is the first day I realize being official mostly means Gianna stops pretending. Not in private. She was never especially good at pretending there. It’s everywhere else.
I’m walking out after practice with Mackey and Marsh when she comes around the corner from equipment carrying a clipboard against her chest. She sees me, changes direction without hesitation, and walks straight over.
There’s no glance toward either end of the hallway first. No check for who might be around. She doesn’t lower her voice or stop three feet away like we’re about to have a conversation about work.
She grabs the front of my hoodie, pulls me down, and kisses me. Two seconds. Maybe three. Then she lets go.
“Hi.”
I’m still looking at her face. “Hi.”
Gianna turns toward Mackey and Marsh like nothing happened.
“Hi, guys.”
Mackey blinks. “Hi.”
Marsh watches her for another second. “What’s up?”
She smiles at both of them and continues down the hallway toward laundry with the clipboard tucked back against her chest.
I watch her disappear through the equipment-room door.
Mackey looks at me.
Marsh looks after Gianna and makes a small noise. “Huh.”
I pick my bag back up. “What?”
“Nothing.”
We keep walking.
I like that way more than I expected. Not the part where everybody sees us. I don’t care about that. It’s the fact that nothing has to be managed anymore.
Tuesday night, she comes to Hawthorne with Lucy and sits beside me on the couch instead of across from me. Her laptop is open on her thighs for maybe twenty minutes before she gives up pretending to work and slides both feet underneath my leg.
At some point, she eats half of what is on my plate without asking.
Benson notices. His eyes go to her feet tucked against me, then to my face. Then he goes back to his laptop.
On Wednesday, Gianna comes by the rink after work and kisses me in front of Donovan. Donovan waits until she’s gone before looking over from the sharpening machine.
And by Thursday, everybody has stopped reacting at all. Something we spent weeks hiding becomes normal in about four days.
Gianna is my girlfriend.
I catch myself thinking the word sometimes just because it still feels new.
Then Michigan arrives.
Friday’s game has been sold out for almost two weeks, and the student section is already loud while we’re still in warmups. Michigan always does that to this place. It doesn’t matter what either team is ranked or what happened the weekend before. Nobody wants to lose this one. Especially now.
We’re sitting close enough to the tournament line that every result matters. Michigan is exactly the kind of win that helps, and everybody in the room knows it without Coach having to stand there and explain rankings again.
Before we go out, he writes one thing on the board.
Play our game.
Stanley looks at it. “That’s expected.”
Coach turns toward him. “Want me to write something else?”
Stanley immediately shakes his head. “No, sir.”
The room laughs.
Michigan scores first, but Benson ties it late in the first. Stanley gets the next one in the second, then another five minutes later from inside the dots because apparently Aspen has spent the last two months successfully retraining his entire offensive brain.
3-1.
Michigan gets one back before intermission and another early in the third.
3-3.
The building tenses after that. Every hit gets a reaction. Every clear gets cheered. Every puck that comes within ten feet of Percy feels dangerous. Percy makes two saves through traffic with under five minutes left that keep us alive.
Then Marsh gets the winner.
There’s nothing pretty about it. The puck goes behind the net, gets kicked loose along the wall, bounces into the slot, and Marsh puts it through before their goalie can reset.
4-3.
We spend the last four minutes defending it. I get two assists. When the horn goes, the reaction is bigger than most Friday wins because tomorrow has been sitting behind the whole weekend.
Senior Night.
I’ve known the date all season. It still doesn’t feel real until I get back to Hawthorne and find my parents in the kitchen.
My mom turns around the second the front door opens. “Rowan!”
I stop in the entryway and smile. “You were supposed to come tomorrow.”
“We changed it.”
My dad gets up from the table and hugs me first. My mom gives him maybe three seconds before she steps in too and holds on longer than she normally does.
When she finally pulls back, she puts both hands on my face. “You look tired.”
“Good to see you too.”
“You do.”
“I played a hockey game.”
“You must be exhausted.”
Stanley comes through behind me carrying his bag.
“Mrs. Laurens, did you see Rowan’s elite offensive performance?”
My mom lights up immediately. “I did.”
“I created that.”
“You did not.”
He points at himself. “Locker-room culture.”
My dad laughs.
That’s when I notice Gianna sitting at the island beside Lucy. She’s watching all of this with a smile on her face. The second my mom follows my line of sight, I know what is about to happen. Her eyes go from Gianna to me. Then back to Gianna.
“Mom.”
“What?”
I grin. “I have a girlfriend.”
Gianna starts laughing. She blushes.
“Gianna, right?” my mom says.
I nod and look at G. “You told her?”
Gianna shakes her head. My mom says, “No. I just could tell in the lobby.”
“Lobby,” I scoff, shaking my head. “She’s been my girlfriend for four days now.”
Gianna raises her eyebrows, bumping Lucy. “He’s counting the days.”
My mom laughs, and I look at G. She smiles at me.
Stanley, from somewhere behind us, says, “This is beautiful.”
I ignore him.
Later, after everybody settles, my mom ends up on the couch beside Gianna looking through clinic pictures on her phone. I watch them together. My girlfriend has met my mom and dad.
They’re laughing at whatever G said, and my dad is drinking a beer at the island with Benson.
Stanley is still trying to convince everybody he had something to do with my goal. It all fits together too easily. It looks normal. I sit down on Gianna’s other side.
She glances over. “I was just telling your mom about my clinic.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
She looks at my mom. “Your son is funny.”
“He is,” my mom replies.
I look at them both. “Boy,” I whisper.
My mom and G look at each other and laugh like they have an inside joke already.
Saturday morning is worse. Senior Night is not until night, which gives the entire day too much time to exist.
Breakfast at Hawthorne is louder than usual because parents are everywhere.
Benson’s parents are here. Stanley’s arrive late and bring enough food to feed the entire house.
Tate’s family stops by. Faulkner’s mom apparently knows mine from youth hockey, which starts a conversation about a tournament in Wisconsin I barely remember.
Everybody keeps saying the same things.
Last one.
Last home game.
Can’t believe it.
I stop responding after a while because the reality is crazy.