Redefining the Rules (The Grand Mountain)

Prologue

Jacks

“You're wrong. The best rom-com of all time is You've Got Mail,” I say to my teammate, roommate, and best friend as we lace up our skates before practice.

“This is ridiculous. You’re telling me that two booksellers who initially hate each other but spark an online romance unknowingly and have to reconcile their feelings isn't one of the best plots of a movie ever?” I pause before talking again.

“Oh right, I forgot about your intense dislike of books. That must be why you hate the greatest rom-com of all time.”

“I have nothing against books. You know I prefer movies because books make me sleepy. Also, not all of us grew up with two parents madly in love, or with your mom, who used to read you romance novels before bedtime.” Grant Carter is the only guy who seems allergic to books and anything romance.

My best friend has it easy with the ladies, since he’s over six feet tall, has brown hair, and a charisma that makes most people melt.

Damn. I regret telling him about that. “I’m not ashamed. That little tidbit of information helps with girls anyway,” I say as I stand up from the bench I was sitting on.

“Jacks, don't even make me say it.” He pats my back as he walks past me. Yeah, maybe it helps me speak and understand women better than most, but that doesn't mean it has helped me. I’ve never had a girlfriend.

Like ever.

Sure, people have been interested in me before, and I’ve even been on a few dates since coming to college, but nothing has stuck.

Nothing has ever stuck. I keep waiting for the butterflies and jittery feelings that are supposed to happen when you feel yourself falling, but I’ve never felt those.

At this point, I don't know if I ever will.

I think at this point, I’ve accepted that the love my parents have is once in a lifetime, and I might not be destined for the same future. Even if I want that someday, it’s not guaranteed.

Maybe I’m the problem? Nope. I’m not going there today.

I have to focus, not fall down one of those spirals where I think I’m not good enough to have love.

Plus, we have practice today, and I need to be on my game.

Grant said that since the two senior defensemen are graduating at the end of this year, we have a chance to be starters next year as sophomores.

With a lot of hard work and practice, it could actually be true.

Thankfully Grant and I work well on the ice.

We tried out together, and ever since then we’ve been attached at the hip.

We live together, play the same sport, and just fell into our friendship.

He may annoy the shit out of me sometimes, but he’s one of the greatest guys I know.

And at Grand Mountain, those can be hard to come by. We’re a small liberal arts college and a big sports school. That means that a lot of jock assholes go to this school, but Grant’s one of the good ones, and I like having him around.

I grab all my shit and head to the rink entrance from the locker room. As I step onto the ice, it all comes rushing at me. Grant told me once that he loves the escape that hockey provides him, along with the adrenaline.

I like hockey because it was the very first thing I fell in love with.

My parents signed me up for junior hockey when I was six, and I was a natural.

But nothing beats the feeling of scoring your first goal, and when I did, I knew I was in the right place—on the ice.

Hockey has been a constant in my life since I was little, and no matter what, I know it’ll always be there for me.

Coach starts talking like he usually does, and I don't really listen to what he’s saying. I just want to start practicing. Practice always makes me feel all giddy, and I can't wait another second before he dismisses us to start doing drills.

Fifteen minutes later, Coach splits us all off into groups, and practice begins. Grant and I are with the defensemen and we’re working on blue line shuffles. Grant and I are paired off as usual, and before we start the drill, I notice a weird look on his face.

“What?” I ask him.

“Nothing. I just think it’s weird having all these cameras here,” he says as he looks around the rink.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask him, and sure enough, when I peer around, a bunch of photographers are in the stands and behind the nets on both sides. What’s going on?

“I knew you were zoned out while Coach was talking. He told us that since the team won our division last year, the school is doing a profile for the paper.” Grant smacks my shoulder as he gets ready for the drill we’re doing.

He lines the pucks up on the blue line, and when he’s done, he shoots me a puck that we can use.

As we start passing it between us and doing the drill, I hear the snap of the cameras.

Usually nothing bothers me while I’m on the ice, but someone’s using flash, which isn't allowed.

As I lift my head up to politely tell them to turn their flash off, my legs freeze and my skate catches on something on the ice, causing me to fall.

Fuck, that hurt. Grant skates over to me and offers me his hand to help me up.

I take it and look back to where the flash came from.

Where did she go? The person behind that camera was a girl I’ve never seen before, and one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen.

Fuck, she was gorgeous. Maybe I can find her after practice is over.

An hour and a half later, I shuffle out of the locker room, hoping to find this mystery girl that has my stomach in knots. I sweep my gaze over the stands, and just when I think she left already, a flash of blonde hair catches my eye.

Fuck. What do I say to her? And why am I nervous right now?

This girl has a bunch of cute freckles all over her face, blue eyes, and an aura that I find myself drawn too for some reason.

I’m too busy in my thoughts to notice that she’s heading my way.

Fuck. What should I do? Do I introduce myself?

Do I act casual? Fuck, this seems so much easier in the movies.

“Number 86, right?” she asks me, and I look around, thinking she’s not talking to me. “The one who fell on the ice earlier?”

“Fuck. Yes, that was me. Sorry.” I’m making a gigantic fool of myself right now. This is the worst thing to ever happen to me.

“I was in charge of photographing the defenseman for the article, but I got a few good pictures that I thought you might want. You know, for social media and stuff.” She throws a smile at me, and my knees feel weak again.

Is this it? Is this the feeling?

“Yeah, sure. I always love a good action shot.” Why did I say that?

“What’s your name so I can email them to you?”

“Jacks. Jacks Moore. Two O’s. My email is my first and last name, separated by an underscore.” Ask what her name is, asshole. “And your name is…?”

“Claire Canes.” She smiles at me as she closes the little notebook she was writing in. God, that smile was perfect. How do I get her to do it again?

“So tell me, Claire Canes, how long have you been photographing sports?”

“Since this semester, when the athletic director allowed it,” she says to me when I notice a presence beside me.

“Jacks, who might this be?” Grant asks as he saddles up next to me. I knew he was going to do this. When I was rushing in the locker room, he kept asking me questions, but I ignored them all so I wouldn't miss this girl. Now he’s going to ruin it.

She holds her hand out to him. “Claire Canes. I took a few photos of you guys practicing, and I figured you might want them.”

“Oh, I hope you have a few pictures of this guy falling.” Grant elbows me, and I smile, trying to hide the fact that I want to hit him back. “I’d love to have that to make fun of him with.”

“I do, but out of respect, I’m declining to give you them,” she chuckles and then takes her notebook back out. “I did take some good ones of you, Grant. I’ll email those to you later.”

“How’d you know my name?” he asks her, and I’d like to know the same thing.

“Everyone around school knows you, Carter. You’re a golden retriever on skates.” I can't say that it doesn't sting that she knows him and not me. Whatever. “Keep an eye out for my email, boys. I have to edit them first, but you should have them by the end of the week.”

“Thanks, Claire. Appreciate it!” Grant waves to her as she leaves, and I’m stuck standing here looking like an idiot. Grant turns to face me before I grab my bag and split. “Are we going to talk about it?”

“About what?” I coyly say to him.

“You busting your ass on the ice when you first looked at her. I’ve never seen you look so starstruck before. I’m not sure if I should be concerned or excited.”

“You should be nothing.”

“Yeah, right. I can see it in your eyes. You like that girl.” He smiles at that.

“She’s pretty, yes. And from my short conversation with her, I wouldn't be opposed to speaking to her again.”

“Maybe you can email back and forth and fall in love that way. That sounds like a rom-com screenplay waiting to happen,” Grant jokes with me. Dammit. He’s never going to let me hear the end of this, and I might be too much of a wuss to do anything about it.

“G, that is literally You’ve Got Mail!” I yell at him as we exit the rink. I don't know if anything will happen with Claire and me, but damn, I hope something does. I’ve surely never just looked at someone and had the feeling I did.

Maybe it’s fate, or destiny, that I saw her here today. But as Annie Reed once said, “Destiny is something we’ve invented because we can’t stand the fact that everything that happens is accidental.”