Chapter 22 — Carter
Carter
Carter Hayes was late to optional mandatory skate.
Not catastrophically late.
Not Coach-is-going-to-murder-me-and-use-Mason-as-a-character-witness late.
But late enough that when he pushed through the arena doors, damp hair from the lake air still ruffled beneath his cap, Logan Reeves was standing in the hallway with his arms crossed like a bouncer at the entrance to Carter’s personal consequences.
“You’re late,” Logan said.
Carter stopped. “You’re terrifying.”
“Still late.”
“I was with Lena.”
Logan’s expression did not change.
Which was Logan’s version of reacting.
“Still late,” he said again.
Carter sighed and moved past him. “You ever consider becoming emotionally flexible?”
“No.”
“Healthy.”
“Skate faster.”
“Also healthy.”
The locker room was already half-empty. Most of the guys had either suited up or were on the ice, which meant Carter got to change under the silent judgment of his own poor choices and Mason Cross, who was sitting on the bench in full gear eating a granola bar like a man who believed time was theoretical.
Mason looked up. “There he is.”
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“I was going to say you look relaxed.”
Carter opened his locker. “Suspicious.”
“You do. Like pancakes and meaningful lake walks happened.”
Carter froze with one skate in his hand.
Mason grinned slowly. “Oh my God. They did.”
“How would you even—”
“Your hoodie has outside-romance energy.”
Jonah, lacing his skates nearby, muttered, “That is not a real thing.”
“It is absolutely real,” Mason said. “He looks like he held hands near water.”
Carter stared at him.
Mason’s grin widened. “I knew it.”
“I’m changing in silence.”
“Sure you are, Emotional Support Forward.”
Carter pointed the skate at him. “Use that again and I’ll tell Lena you suggested ‘our idiot’ as a merch line.”
Mason’s face went pale.
Jonah looked over. “You did what?”
“It was a private creative thought.”
“It was a death wish,” Carter said.
Tank lumbered in from the hall, helmet tucked under one arm. “Coach is asking for you.”
Carter groaned. “Already?”
“He used your last name.”
“Bad?”
“Not full bad. More disappointed eyebrow bad.”
Mason nodded solemnly. “Told you. Eyebrows.”
Carter shoved his foot into his skate. “I was five minutes late.”
Jonah stood. “Seven.”
By the time Carter made it onto the ice, Coach Harlan stood near center with a whistle in his mouth and the expression of a man who had never once cared about romantic lake walks.
“Hayes.”
Carter skated over. “Coach.”
“You joining us today?”
“Good. Since you’re so rested, first line leads sprints.”
Mason groaned from across the ice. “Why do we all suffer for love?”
Coach’s whistle snapped toward him. “Cross, you want extra?”
“No, sir. Love is private.”
He skated until his lungs burned and his thighs screamed and every sweet, soft memory of Lena by the lake turned into fuel beneath his blades.
Maybe Mason was right.
Maybe he did have outside-romance energy.
Because even while Coach punished them, even while Logan checked him into the boards hard enough to remind him that happiness did not make him immune to physics, Carter could not stop smiling.
Lena had said he could have a new reputation.
He thought about that while he fought for a puck in the corner, shoulder against shoulder, stick down, balance steady.
He thought about it when he made the extra pass instead of forcing a flashy shot.
He thought about it when Mason chirped too loudly and Carter pulled him back before Coach could add more sprints.
At the end of skate, Coach gathered them at center ice.
“Good work,” he said, which meant only three people looked like they might throw up. “Game Tuesday against Eastmore. They’re fast. They’re dirty when they get frustrated. We stay disciplined.”
Carter nodded.
“I mean it,” Coach said. “No giving them momentum because someone runs their mouth.”
Mason raised a hand halfway. “Are we allowed to run our own mouths?”
Coach ignored him. “Hayes, Reeves, I want you two watching their second line. Decker transferred there after Briarwood’s roster shuffle.”
The guy who had chirped about Lena during the Briarwood game.
Carter felt the old heat flare in his chest, immediate and familiar.
Carter noticed.
So did Coach.
“Problem?” Coach asked.
Not a sweet kiss under dorm lights.
A guy on the ice who already knew exactly which bruise to press.
“No,” Carter said.
Carter corrected himself before Coach could.
“Not no like fine,” he said. “No like I know he’s going to try, and I’m not giving him what he wants.”
Then nodded once.
“Good answer.”
Mason whispered, “Emotional growth hat trick.”
Carter skated toward the bench, the earlier lightness dulled by the name sitting in his head.
His grip tightened on his stick.
Logan fell into stride beside him.
“You mean what you said?” Logan asked.
Carter glanced over. “About what?”
“Not giving Decker what he wants.”
Carter exhaled. “Trying to.”
Coming from Logan, that was a full inspirational speech.
Carter stepped off the ice and started down the tunnel. “You going to give me advice?”
“No.”
“Great.”
“Just don’t make her the excuse.”
Logan kept walking two steps, then turned.
His expression was flat, but his eyes were sharp.
Carter’s jaw tightened. “Meaning?”
“Meaning if you lose it because he says her name, everyone calls it romantic.” Logan shifted his stick against his shoulder. “But she already told you she doesn’t want to be the thing people use to make you react.”
The words hit harder because Logan almost never used this many at once.
Carter looked away.
“I know.”
“Then know it on Tuesday.”
Carter stood in the tunnel for another second, breathing in cold air and rubber and the ghost of his own pride.
He could protect Lena from Mason’s shirts and stupid stories and public pressure.
Carter waited until he was dressed and sitting in his SUV before texting Lena.
Carter: Skate update: survived. Coach punished my lateness with sprints. Mason blamed love. Logan was terrifying but useful.
Lena: I assume Mason used that word dramatically and irresponsibly.
Carter: Yes. Mason uses all words dramatically and irresponsibly.
Carter looked at the next thing he needed to tell her.
Say practice was fine.
Save the Decker thing for later, or never, or when it happened.
But last night at the donor dinner, she had said real, scary, still in.
Carter: Also need to tell you something, not because it’s a crisis. Just because I don’t want to pretend it doesn’t matter.
Carter: We play Eastmore Tuesday. Miles Decker is on their second line now.
He’s the guy who chirped about you during Briarwood.
Coach warned me they bait penalties. Logan basically told me not to make you the excuse if Decker says something.
He’s right. I’m telling you because I’m going to handle it. Not perfectly maybe, but intentionally.
Lena: How are you feeling about it? Your okay, not mine.
Carter: Angry that he might say anything about you. Embarrassed that people know it can get to me. Determined not to turn you into an excuse. A little afraid I’ll mess up.
Lena: I don’t need you to fight because of me.
Lena: I need you to stay yourself even if someone says my name like it’s a weapon.
Carter: That may be the hardest thing you’ve ever asked me.
Lena: Also, please tell Mason love is not an acceptable legal defense for being late to practice.
Not over text in a parking lot with practice sweat still drying on his neck and Decker’s name sitting like a bruise in his future.
Carter: Can I see you tonight? Or are you deep in studying/Paige supervision?
Lena: Paige has declared tonight “quiet room reset.” Which means she is reorganizing her side while claiming she’s not stressed. I should probably stay in.
His apartment.
It looked exactly as he had left it, which was to say like a team equipment bag had exploded in a laundry room and someone had added textbooks out of guilt.
Carter stood in the doorway and frowned.
Not a little.
Not the “throw things in a closet and pray” method.
“Hi.”
There was a pause.
“Are you breathing hard?” she asked.
Carter looked at the dustpan.
“No.”
“Carter.”
She laughed.
The sound filled his apartment in a way he liked too much.
“What are you cleaning?” she asked.
Curious.
Maybe imagining.
He leaned against the counter. “Yeah.”
“Trying to make it less like a raccoon learned to play hockey.”
“An ambitious goal.”
“I found a textbook under the couch.”
“How?”
“I don’t want to know.”
His attempt to make room.
He cleared his throat. “Maybe sometime you could come over.”
He closed his eyes.
“Not tonight,” he said quickly. “Not like pressure. Paige would murder me and I support her. I just mean… sometime. For dinner maybe. Or studying. Door open. Windows open. Public witnesses if needed.”
“Carter.”
He dragged a hand over his face. “I just want you here at some point. In my life. My space. But only when you want.”
The silence after that was softer.
“I’d like that,” Lena said.
“Yeah. Sometime.”
“Good.”
“After you finish cleaning.”
“Fair.”
“And after I inspect.”
“You’re going to inspect my apartment?”
“Possibly.”
“Should I be afraid?”
“Yes.”
He smiled. “I’ll prepare.”
The conversation eased after that. Lena told him Paige had reorganized her desk drawers and found three missing pens, then accused Lena of pen hoarding. Carter told her about Mason’s love defense and Logan’s brutal wisdom. Lena admitted Logan was intimidating but strangely perceptive.
“Logan says ten words a day and eight of them hurt,” Carter said.
“That sounds accurate.”
“He’s going to be someone’s problem someday.”
“Someone’s?”
“I feel like there’s a woman out there who will make him use full sentences, and I fear for all of us.”
Lena laughed. “Maybe.”
Probably doomed.
Carter walked into his now-clean living room and sat on the couch.
“Hey,” he said.
“Thanks for what you said earlier. About Decker.”
“Does it help?”
“Yeah.” He leaned his head back against the couch. “It makes me want to be the guy who can do it.”
“You are becoming him.”
Becoming.
“Sometimes I worry you see more than is there,” he admitted.
“I worry you see less than is there.”
His throat tightened.
“You always have an answer.”
“Not always.”
“Most of the time.”
“I’m good under pressure.”
He smiled faintly. “I know why I’m in the room, Brooks.”
“What?”
“The room. Tuesday. The rink.” He stared at the ceiling. “I’m there to help the team win. Not to prove I’m tough. Not to punish Decker for having a mouth. Not to make a romantic statement.”
“That sounds like Denise-level wisdom.”
“She’s in my head now too. It’s crowded.”
Lena’s laugh softened into quiet.
“I’m proud of you,” she said.
Not joking them away before they could land.
Just letting Lena’s pride exist inside him like something warm and undeserved, until maybe one day it started to feel deserved.
“Thank you,” he said.
Just thank you.
A soft inhale on her end told him she noticed.
“Good answer,” she whispered.
They stayed on the phone until Paige yelled from across Lena’s room that healthy sleep mattered and hockey boys were not exempt from bedtime boundaries.
Carter objected.
Paige shouted, “Adequate boys sleep.”
Carter laughed so hard he nearly dropped the phone.
Lena came back breathless with laughter. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. Paige is terrifyingly consistent.”
“She says goodnight.”
“Tell her I fear and respect her.”
“He fears and respects you,” Lena called.
Paige yelled something muffled.
Lena returned. “She says adequate.”
Carter knew he should hang up.
He did not want to.
“Goodnight, Lena.”
“Goodnight, Carter.”
Too soon.
Soon.
Finally, Lena whispered, “Still in?”
His chest tightened.
He smiled into the empty apartment, clean for once, waiting for someday.
“Still in,” he said.
Carter sat in the quiet afterward, phone in his hand, the apartment around him cleaner than it had been in months.
Campus would still talk.
His reputation would still trail him.
But tonight, he had cleaned his apartment because he wanted Lena in his life, not just the polished corners.
He had listened when she asked him not to turn her name into an excuse.
Still flawed.
Still very likely to make at least one stupid joke under pressure.
But he was becoming.
And for the first time, Carter thought maybe becoming was not about outrunning who he had been.
Maybe it was about building a life where the person he wanted to be had somewhere to stay.