Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
T he next week went by quickly, but not uneventfully. Every day a new smashed-up car waited for me somewhere. It became a habit to shove them in my pocket or into the dumpster quickly. I tried to not let it unnerve me, but the feeling that this was more than some cruel college students refused to dissipate.
I hadn’t shared about the cars, nor did I want to. Hunter would freak out and Jackson wouldn’t care. We still weren’t talking, which makes this officially the longest we have ever gone without contact. I’m pissed at him for not taking my side at Hockey House, especially after he groveled for my forgiveness over slapping me.
On top of everything else, I failed my art midterm. It was the first time I didn’t turn in a painting. I couldn’t bring myself to bring in the self-portrait I had created. Normally, I would quickly produce something my professors would like and call it a day. This time, I couldn’t do it. Showing up empty-handed and seeing the disappointment in the one professor’s eyes that gave a damn nearly destroyed me. I have been sulking ever since, avoiding text messages from Kennedy. Not to mention anytime Hunter makes an appearance, I dodged him. He keeps popping up in the same places as me. It was odd because in the last three years, there’s only been a handful of times we’ve crossed paths on campus.
Not to mention, he’s been haunting my dreams. Ever since we sat quietly together in the rink, my dreams were a haunting loop of the sensation of his arm brushing against. I admitted more to him that night than I had to anyone before—including the university therapist that I had to see since the accident. It felt nice to have someone to confide in, small as it was. There was no room to think about Hunter in that capacity. Thinking of him as anything other than my brother’s best friend was dangerous. Yet, here I am, wondering what it would be like for those large hands to caress my face, my hips, and my clit. It was a risky game I was playing, and I wanted to play it with Hunter St. James.
Kennedy flopped down next to me in the dining center, pushing me from my daydream. I stopped absently pushing the mashed potatoes around my plate.
“You are the hardest person on campus to track down. I swear, I need a tracker on you or something—answer your damn phone, woman,” she huffed, pointing at me with her fork.
Next to Hunter, Kennedy was the best thing to happen to me this semester. I oddly had Hunter to thank for this, but I would never tell him. It would inflate his already too-large ego. She didn’t realize it, but she was slowly wiggling her way into my life in the best way possible. Even though I had ignored her all week, I was happy she sought me out. I needed a friend like her—relentless and willing to call me out on my bullshit. It’s not the same when Kennedy points out that I am avoiding her compared to Jackson. Jackson focuses solely on the negative—the drinking, the pills—versus me, the person. Kennedy doesn’t do that, even though I am pretty sure she doesn’t know the extent of my vices .
“I am a terrible human. You should probably reconsider this friendship,” I said half-heartedly.
Kennedy made a ‘pfft’ noise and shoveled chicken nuggets into her mouth, “You’re cooler than ninety percent of the campus population—” she pointed her fork at me again, “but don’t let that get to your head.”
I put my hands up in defense and laughed when she threw a French fry at me.
“Want to go to Pub Wednesday tonight?” Her voice was excited, and I tried to hold in my apprehension.
Hunter had made it pretty clear that I needed to stay sober or else he would turn me into the university’s ethics committee. I looked into his minor threat, trying to surmise the trouble my night in jail could cause, and his words held. On the other hand, I loved going out with Kennedy. It made me feel like who I used to be before the accident. The fun, carefree Maci, who was a talented skater, had friends and didn’t depend on substances to get through the night. Longing to be that girl again filled my chest like a lead weight.
This was an impasse. The choice to be better loomed over my head, because ultimately, it all boiled down to choices. It was up to me to decide how the future came to fruition. Thoughts of the last two practices I ran with Hunter flitted through my mind. How I’ve become comfortable on my skates and found joy in working with the kids. Remembering how simple hockey could be—just the stick, the ice, and the puck. It was cathartic in a way that I needed more than alcohol and pills. The decision was obvious.
“Let’s do it,” I conceded. I could still go socialize and not drink, plus the hockey team was out of town at an away game. What Hunter didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.