Chapter 18 — Carter
Carter
Carter Hayes had been called many things in his life.
Trouble.
Flirt.
Show-off.
Golden boy, once, by a girl at a party who had been very wrong about both his personality and his ability to make responsible decisions after midnight.
Emotional Support Forward, unfortunately, by his own team.
But nothing had ever scared him quite like Paige Miller standing in the dorm hallway with a cookie in one hand and saying, “You’re adequate.”
Carter had walked back to his SUV feeling like he had passed a final exam.
Now, the next morning, he sat in the locker room staring at his phone, rereading Lena’s text like a man with absolutely no pride left to protect.
Lena: I like you being in my life too.
They were dangerous because they did not sound dramatic. They did not come with swelling music or arena lights or the adrenaline of a hospital scare.
Carter had not known a text could make him feel both ten feet tall and completely breakable.
Breakable and smiling like an idiot at eight-thirty in the morning.
Mason dropped onto the bench beside him.
“Are you smiling at your phone again?”
“No.”
“You said no like yes.”
Carter locked his screen. “Why are you watching me?”
“Because you’re emotionally radiant and it’s distracting.”
Jonah, from two lockers down, muttered, “That sentence should be illegal.”
Tank nodded solemnly. “It did feel invasive.”
Mason ignored them. “How did snack diplomacy go?”
“Fine meaning good, or fine meaning Paige now has a shovel and a plan?”
Mason leaned forward. “Did she like me by association?”
“No.”
“That was fast.”
“Paige has standards.”
“Lena likes me.”
“Lena tolerates you because she’s kind.”
Mason considered that. “Kindness is a gateway to friendship.”
“Not with you. With you, it’s a cry for help.”
Jonah shut his locker. “I think Lena’s improved him.”
Mason gasped. “He’s meaner.”
“He’s more precise,” Jonah said.
Carter smiled despite himself.
Then Coach Harlan walked in, and every player in the room instantly pretended they had been focused on hockey the entire time.
Coach looked around. “I don’t know what I interrupted, and I’m grateful.”
“Team growth,” Mason said.
Coach stared at him. “Wasn’t talking to you.”
“Understood.”
Coach turned to Carter. “Hayes. My office after practice.”
My office after practice was one of them.
Mason’s eyebrows rose.
Carter pointed at him. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You breathed dramatically.”
“It’s called concern.”
“It’s called you wanting content.”
Mason pressed a hand to his chest. “I have learned not to turn things into content.”
Jonah looked at him.
Tank looked at him.
Logan, who had been silently taping his stick, looked at him.
Mason sighed. “Recently.”
Practice was hard enough that Carter forgot to worry for almost a full hour.
Almost.
Coach pushed them through transition drills, board battles, special teams setups, and a brutal conditioning skate that had Mason lying flat on the ice afterward, whispering, “Tell my story.”
“Your story is poor endurance,” Logan said, skating past him.
Mason lifted one weak hand. “Cold. Accurate.”
Carter was bent over, hands on knees, lungs burning, sweat running down his temple, when Coach blew the final whistle.
“Hayes,” Coach said. “Office.”
Mason sat up from the ice. “Want us to alert your emotionally involved party?”
Logan caught it one-handed without looking impressed and tossed it back.
“Your aim suffers when you’re happy,” Logan said.
The entire line of players looked at him.
Carter sighed. “Fine. I’m happy. Can everyone be normal about it?”
“No,” Mason said immediately.
Carter grabbed his glove and left the ice.
Coach’s office smelled like coffee, old tape, and the vague dread of accountability. Carter sat in the chair across from the desk, still half in gear, waiting while Coach looked over something on his laptop.
Carter caught the words St. Mary’s Children’s Wing, fundraiser, and student-athlete representative.
“What is that?”
Coach leaned back. “Hospital board liked your speech.”
Carter blinked. “Okay.”
“They liked the fundraiser results too.”
“Lena did most of that.”
Carter narrowed his eyes. “Why do you look like this is about to become my problem?”
“Because they asked if you and Lena would be willing to speak at the official donor appreciation dinner next Friday.”
Carter stared.
“No.”
Coach’s mouth twitched. “Strong opening.”
“No.”
“They specifically requested both of you.”
“Then they specifically need to unrequest me.”
“Not a word.”
“It should be.”
Coach folded his arms. “Hayes.”
Pictures. Polite applause. Hospital people. Athletic department people. Maybe donors who wore expensive watches and asked questions like they had never once eaten vending machine crackers at two in the morning.
His chest tightened.
“Lena doesn’t want us to become content,” he said.
Coach’s expression shifted, seriousness taking over.
“This isn’t content. This is recognition for work you both did.”
“She did the work.”
“You both did.” Coach lifted a hand before Carter could argue. “Not equally. Fine. She coordinated the machine. You helped rally the team, delivered the speech, connected with the kids, and made a room full of donors care. That matters.”
Praise still felt like trying to swallow something too large.
Coach continued, “But before I respond, I wanted to ask you. And I want you to ask Lena. No pressure. If either of you says no, it’s no.”
Carter looked up. “You mean that?”
“Yes.”
“Because athletic departments love pressure.”
“Correct. That’s why I’m removing it.”
Show up on ordinary days.
Maybe also donor dinners.
“Can I think about it?”
Coach nodded. “That’s what I’m asking you to do.”
“And ask Lena.”
Coach gave him a look.
Carter held up a hand. “I know. Healthy communication. Consent. Boundaries. No surprise shirts.”
“You make my job strange.”
“You’re welcome.”
Coach turned the laptop back toward himself. “One more thing.”
Carter groaned. “There’s more?”
“The hospital may also want a photo for their donor newsletter.”
“No.”
“Hayes.”
“Lena is going to murder everyone.”
“That is why you ask her.”
Carter dragged both hands through his damp hair. “This is not normal life.”
“No,” Coach said. “But it is life.”
Carter waited until after he showered and changed to text Lena.
There was no way to make donor dinner sound casual.
Carter: Question with no pressure attached. Coach just told me St. Mary’s wants us to speak at a donor appreciation dinner next Friday because the fundraiser went well. They asked for both of us. Possibly photo too. You can say no and I will help you hide from all adults involved.
Lena replied after a minute.
Lena: That is a lot of words for “question.”
Carter: I was trying to lead with consent and panic.
Lena: Thank you for saying no pressure before I even had to ask.
He stopped by the coffee shop early, ordered both coffees, and claimed their table near the window. He set Lena’s cup on her side and took out his notebook, pretending he was going to work on his paper while waiting.
The way his face changed when Lena entered a room.
Lena walked in wearing dark jeans, a cream sweater, and her hair pulled half back, tote bag on one shoulder.
His chest squeezed.
He stood as she approached.
“I got your coffee.”
“I see that.”
“Correct order.”
“You’re very proud of that.”
“I am. It’s one of my strongest academic achievements.”
She set her bag down. “You wrote two pages yesterday.”
Lena pulled back, cheeks pink but chin lifted like she had decided not to apologize for it.
He blinked once.
Twice.
“Hi,” she said.
Carter slowly sat down because standing suddenly seemed ambitious.
“Hi.”
Her smile turned shy. “Too much?”
“No.” His voice came out slightly rough. “New.”
Carter picked up his coffee and took a sip just to do something with his hands.
Worth it.
Lena wrapped both hands around her cup. “Okay. Donor dinner.”
“Right.”
“Tell me everything Coach said.”
The dinner next Friday. St. Mary’s. Donors. Short remarks. Possibly a photo. Athletic department likely attending. Denise probably involved. Coach wanted them to decide separately and together.
But he was learning to do it.
Finally, she said, “Part of me wants to say no.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
Her eyes lifted. “You said that too fast.”
“You can say no.”
“I know, but I haven’t finished.”
Her mouth softened. “You’re trying so hard not to pressure me.”
“It’s sweet.”
His chest warmed.
“And a little obvious.”
His smile twitched. “I contain multitudes.”
She traced the edge of her cup with one finger.
“Part of me wants to say no,” she repeated, “because a dinner means people looking. Photo means people talking. And after yesterday…”
“But another part of me thinks saying no because I’m afraid people might see us is not the same as choosing slow.”
Carter absorbed that carefully.
“What does that mean?”
“It means…” Lena looked out the window for a second, then back at him. “I don’t want campus gossip deciding where I can stand. Or who I can stand beside.”
Carter’s throat tightened.
“You don’t have to prove anything.”
“I know.” She smiled faintly. “This isn’t about proving.”
“The fundraiser mattered. The kids mattered. St. Mary’s mattered.” Her voice steadied as she spoke, purpose clicking into place. “We did something good. If talking for three minutes helps donors keep supporting that, I can handle people looking.”
Not loud.
Brave because she was scared and still choosing the thing that mattered.
He leaned forward slightly. “You’re amazing.”
Her cheeks turned pink. “Don’t.”
She looked down, but not before he saw the way his words landed.
“I think we should do it,” she said.
His pulse kicked. “Yeah?”
“Of course you do. You’re emotionally involved in responsible oversight.”
She pulled a notebook from her tote, and Carter almost laughed because of course she had come prepared.
“Condition one,” she said. “We speak as fundraiser representatives, not as campus gossip bait.”