Chapter Twenty-Three
Seeing Yellow - Wyatt
This is it. I get out of my Jeep and walk across the parking lot to the arena. Tonight is the night. I’m about to find out if I’m going to scrimmage on the first line.
My stomach feels like it’s turning somersaults. This scrimmage is mega for me. I have to get on that line with Antoine. He is going to be a superstar in the league, and I want the challenge of playing up to his level.
I want to show the scouts I’m worthy of playing alongside him. Antoine sees the ice in a way I’ve never seen before. If I can play with him and get open? He’ll put it right on my tape. He’s a phenomenal passer.
And I can score.
My phone rings as I walk up to the building. I glance down at the screen. Seeing it’s my dad fills me with dread.
I answer it. “Hello?”
“Are you yellow?”
Hello to you, too, I think wryly. “I don’t know yet. I’m on my way into the arena,” I say, adjusting the grip on my hockey bag.
“Oh. Okay. Well, text me and let me know. All the work you put in this summer has to pay off. If you get to play with Antoine, it can open that door to the league.”
What happens if it doesn’t? I think, annoyance rising within me.
“We’ll celebrate in person on opening night,” Dad continues.
I blink and stop dead in my tracks. “What?”
“Opening night. You didn’t forget, did you? Of course I’m going to be there. Mom, too. We’re going to fly into LAX and pick up Rachel at USC and bring her with us. It will be a real family weekend.”
Shit, shit, shit. I never put together this part of opening night with the fake-dating scheme. What am I going to do about Grace? This is the one thing Dad preached to me over and over, starting when I was in high school. Girls are for fun, but even with that, he stressed it should be on occasion.
Not for keeps.
If I explained this to Grace, that we had to end our arrangement a week early, she’d be the first to understand.
I know she would never want me to play the part this far, where it bleeds over into my family life.
Besides, Rob has been put in his place. And he’s terrified of me—he won’t ever bother Grace, or any other girl, again. The bet never even got off the ground.
But then I picture Asher Ryan, and my stomach tightens. If Grace and I “break up” right now, he’ll pounce on her.
I grip the strap on my hockey bag tighter. I don’t like the idea of Grace with him. I do—
“Wyatt? Are you listening to me?” My dad’s voice breaks through my thoughts.
“Sorry, you cut out,” I lie. “Go on.”
My mind immediately goes back to picturing Asher and Grace. No, I can’t break up with Grace now. I’m not going to leave her to fend Asher off by herself. No fucking way.
Wait a minute. I might be able to use this fake relationship to make a statement to my dad.
That I’m living my life here at OCU, and while I’m dedicated to hockey, I’m going to be more than Xs and Os and ice time.
I’ve spent my whole life living this sport.
I know he’s trying to do right by me, to make my NHL dreams come true, but when I’ve seen how my teammates’ parents are?
I swallow. How my dad is treating me isn’t normal. My friends have supportive parents, but they don’t demand they just live for the game.
Mom is just a passive bystander to Dad. She’ll text me and say, “Oh, you know how your dad is. Don’t take it personal, Wyatt.”
I hate that. She could have pushed back for me when I was younger.
Or point out how I need a life now. But Mom just wants everything to be happy and nonconfrontational, like how we look in our holiday pictures every year.
Dressed in a color-coordinated theme, smiling in a picturesque setting with the Arizona mountains behind us, with everything looking perfect.
And I put up with all of this. Year after fucking year. Not rocking the boat. Taking Dad’s advice and following it through.
But now? When I see Gracie pursuing her dreams of writing for the OCU fashion magazine despite knowing what her mom will think? It makes me want the same thing.
Telling him I’m dating Grace would set new lines. Boundaries. Prove to him I can do hockey and school and date if I want to.
And continuing our fake dating will give Asher enough time to set his sights on someone else.
I clear my throat and focus back on the phone. I haven’t heard anything Dad’s been saying. “Yeah, Dad, I’m almost at the facility. I’ll let you know if I’m yellow, okay?”
“You have to be yellow. Your journey to the NHL starts here. Everything counts on this scrimmage.”
The pressure he’s applying is coming down on me full force. My shoulders feel tight and tense. With Dad, everything revolves around getting drafted. Everything. It’s almost like I don’t matter outside of being on the ice.
“Gotta go,” I say. I get off the phone and sigh heavily.
As I pull open the door to the arena, my phone buzzes again.
I inwardly groan. It’s probably Dad, wanting to give me one last piece of advice before I head into the dressing room.
But it’s done now. I did everything I could to get that yellow jersey. It’s out of my hands for tonight.
I glance down. My pulse quickens when I see Grace has sent me a snap.
First, the video for the song “Yellow” by Coldplay comes up, and I smile.
Then she’s sent me a video from her car, her hair slicked back into a bun.
The dramatic style shows off all her delicate features, and she’s so damn beautiful.
I can practically smell that familiar scent of vanilla and chlorine that lingers on her skin just by studying her face.
Then I think about how I actually kissed her. How her lips were so damn soft and how badly I wanted to taste her. Touch her. Those kisses have created a physical ache deep within me, something I’ve never felt before.
Something I don’t know how to ignore.
I shift that longing aside and play her message.
“Hey, Wy, I’m about to go into swim practice but I wanted to let you know I’m thinking of you and manifesting a yellow jersey waiting for you in the dressing room.
But even if it’s not? I’m still so proud of how much work you put into this.
No matter what jersey you wear, you are playing for a major college team, and you should be proud of that alone.
You’re an incredible player. But more importantly, you’re an incredible person.
So …” Grace pauses, drawing her lower lip between her teeth, suddenly looking shy or unsure of what to say next.
“Um … just remember that. And we’ll celebrate either way, okay? Um … I’ve got to go. Okay. Bye.”
To my surprise, my throat thickens. Grace said everything I’d wish my dad would have said. Grace, who barely knows anything about me.
Yet she already knows me.
I continue my walk down the hallway, running into other players. I reach the doors to the luxurious dressing room and stand outside for a moment, nerves attacking my stomach. Not because I’ll disappoint my father if that yellow jersey isn’t there. Because I’ll disappoint myself.
This isn’t about what he needs or wants. It’s about me. My jersey. And I want so badly for it to be yellow.
I open the door, and none of the usual rap music comes spilling out like normal. It’s dead silent, except for the sounds of guys talking quietly and getting dressed. Coach is all business about this scrimmage. The butterflies in my stomach multiply. Everyone is taking tonight seriously.
My eyes drift past the elaborate dressing room décor, my roommates, my teammates. I find myself holding my breath as my gaze shifts to my stall, to see what jersey is hanging there.
It’s yellow.
It’s fucking yellow.
I can’t contain the excitement bubbling up inside of me.
I did it. I have my chance. I acknowledge the guys as I make my way to my spot, touching the jersey with my fingertips.
I glance down the row at Antoine, who is putting on his pads.
If we can get chemistry together in this scrimmage, I know I’ll be put on the line with him.
I have to score tonight. And prove to the coach that I deserve to play alongside Antoine.
I’m buzzing. I can’t wait to get this yellow jersey on and hit the ice. But there’s one thing I have to do first, before anything else. Yeah, I’ll shoot a quick text to my dad, but he can wait. Because there’s someone else who has to know about the jersey first.
And that’s Grace.