The week was well underway and I hadn't heard from Bailey yet. I was starting to wonder if I ever would.

"You saw her again, didn't you?" Tyler asked, pulling on his black undershirt. We'd hardly seen each other since the game on Saturday. He had been practically living on campus, working overtime on a group project for one of his accounting classes. Unlike me, his dedication to high performance on the ice also extended to his grades.

"Who?" I fought a yawn. Breakfast skates were brutal. 6 AM was too early to be awake, let alone on the ice.

"The girl from XS. James's sister."

"How do you know that?"

"I saw you go up to her after the game, dumbass. Is that why you bailed on our place? And on meeting us at O'Malley's?"

Avoiding his probing gaze, I grabbed my stick from the rack. It was trashed from the game on Saturday. I scraped it across the black rubber flooring near the doorway, removing any leftover tape residue from the bottom edge of the blade.

"Kind of." I secured the black cloth tape to the heel of the blade and began to methodically wind it around, working over to the toe end of the blade. "It's a long story."

It really wasn't. By the time I dropped Bailey off at home, it wasn't even 10 o'clock. But for some reason, I wasn't in the mood to get shit-faced at a pub while yelling to be heard over loud music. Maybe I was just too sober for that to seem appealing. I got halfway to the pub and made a detour for home instead, which marked the first time I'd stayed in on a Saturday in my entire college career. It wasn't that bad, actually. And for once, I was in great shape for Sunday's dryland training.

He smirked. "I bet."

"Nah, not like that." I ripped the tape off from the roll, rubbing the end down with my thumb so it laid flat against the blade.

"Why not, couldn't close?"

I shook my head, carefully smoothing the tape. "That wasn't the point. We were hanging out as friends."

"You. Friends with a chick." He laughed, sliding a foot into one of his skates. "Right."

"Why not?"

"Do you want the reasons in alphabetical or chronological order?"

"Hilarious." I placed my stick back on the rack by the door. Sitting down on the bench, I grabbed my skates from my equipment bag and loosened the laces. "How was O'Malley's, anyway?"

"Fine. Same old." He reached over, attaching his skates to his red-and-white leg pads. "But speaking of female 'friends,' Kristen was pissed you didn't come."

I tightened my skates, glancing back up at him. "Why? I didn't have plans with her."

"She seemed to think otherwise."

"I haven't even talked to her since spring." It had been well over four months, almost five. We weren't a thing. We never were a thing. This was why repeat hookups were a bad idea.

And after what Kristen did, she'd guaranteed there wouldn't be any more repeats, anyway.

He shrugged. "I never said chicks made sense. Just letting you know."

Mental note to avoid her. Or to continue to, anyway.

"On another note..." He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Word has it, there will a couple scouts at the game on Saturday."

I glanced around to see if anyone else was listening. They were too engrossed in some story that Justin, a sophomore defenseman, was telling. It involved a raw steak and male nudity. I wasn't sure I wanted to know much more than that.

"How do you know?"

"I have eyes and ears everywhere." It was true, Ty was freakishly in tune with the goings-on of NCAA hockey; injuries, scouts, who was signing with who. "Just giving you a heads-up in case the intel is correct. I'm not telling everyone though, so keep it between us and Ward."

"Roger that." We were playing New England U this weekend. They were having a hot start to the season so far, but maybe that was a positive; I generally played better when there was stronger competition.

"Make sure you don't choke."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I said, standing up. "You're a peach."

"Any time."

*

After my classes ended, I headed to a Starbucks downtown to meet my mom for coffee. She'd been called into the city last-minute on a work emergency. Funny how she managed to come in for that, but rarely ever to see me.

"Hey, Mom."

She stood up, wrapping me in a big embrace. "How are you, honey?" She held me out at arm's length, inspecting me for a moment before releasing me.

"Good. How about you?" I pulled out the small metal chair, sitting down. My knees pressed up against the underside of the tabletop. The whole set was about two sizes too small for me, made for average-sized people at most.

"Oh, keeping busy," she said. "Work has been hectic, and Rick just got a big promotion."

"That's great." I tried, and failed, to sound like I meant it. My stepfather Rick and I weren't exactly poker buddies. We had never gotten along, and I'm sure he would have greatly preferred if I didn't exist. But he made my mom happy—mostly, at least—which was what ultimately mattered to me.

"How's school?"

I avoided her eyes. "It's going."

"How's hockey?"

"Good." She would know more if she ever came to one of my games. They lived less than three hours away, which was more than manageable as the occasional day trip for an afternoon game. I wasn't asking for every weekend, but once or twice a season would be nice. Sometimes, our away games were even closer—still, nothing.

Maybe it reminded her too much of my father.

"You know, it'll be ten years next spring," she said.

"I know." Well aware that my dad has been dead for a decade, Mom. Did she think I'd forget?

There was a weighty pause.

"Would you like to do something to commemorate the date? I could fly Sera down for the weekend..." she trailed off.

Would I? Honestly, not really. Did that make me a bad person? I wasn't sure.

Of course, I always remembered April 21st—I just did it in my own way, which usually started with getting obliterated the night before. The timing worked out well because exams were usually just wrapping up and everyone else was looking for an excuse to party anyway. It was a win-win: numb the pain for the evening and feel too sick the following day to function, let alone have feelings.

My coping skills were top notch.

"Maybe we could go plant a tree in his memory," she added.

This tree suggestion was incredibly out of left field. On the one hand, it seemed like she was trying to make an effort, which was a nice change of pace. But we weren't a touchy-feely family by any stretch; we barely celebrated birthdays. Maybe she was back in counseling—the idea had "therapist" written all over it.

"I'm good with whatever you two decide. It would be nice to see Sera if she can get away." Though I strongly doubted my sister would want to fly in from Arizona to stick a twig in the dirt.

She reached across the table, patting my hand. "It's important to talk about him and remember him, you know."

I stiffened and my knuckles clenching the mug turned while. Drawing in a breath, I tried to quell the irritation brewing in my gut.

"I know. I do." I remembered him just fine, thanks.

I remembered that he taught me how to skate; I remembered that he taught me how to shoot, how to deke, how to lift the puck; I remembered putting on his jersey and sprawling out on my parents' bed, watching him play on TV.

And I remembered that the only reason he was on that fucking Cessna in the first place was because he was trying to make it home for my hockey tournament.

*

When I arrived home just after five, Shiv was in the kitchen, stirring something in a gigantic stainless pot on the stove. I wasn't sure we even owned a pot that big, but maybe she'd brought it over.

She glanced over as I came in the door. "Hey, stranger."

"I miss one Saturday night and you're all acting like I defected to the other side in a war." I opened the fridge, grabbing an apple out of the produce drawer. Whatever she was making smelled delicious, like garlic and Italian spices mixed with heaven.

"Where's Ward?"

"He's out washing my car."

Weird chore for him to take on, but sure. They'd been dating—or doing whatever they did—since May, and I stopped trying to make sense of their dynamic not long after. Shiv fed us a lot and was cool in general, so I couldn't really complain.

"I'm making spaghetti," she said. "It'll be done in half an hour or so."

"Nice." I tossed the apple in my hand, catching it, as I lingered in the doorway to the kitchen. "Maybe you could give me some advice."

"You're right." She stirred the pot of sauce then glanced back over me. "That shirt and those pants don't work."

"Not that," I said, glancing down at my jeans and black tee. "But ouch. And good to know."

"I was kidding. You live in jeans and tees, Carter, you're safe from the fashion police. What was it?"

I hesitated, suddenly regretting that I'd brought it up. Definitely should have kept my mouth shut, as per usual.

"Wait." She set down the wooden spoon, narrowing her dark blue eyes. "Is this about that girl you've been talking to?"

Oh my god. How did everyone know?

"You know what?" I shook my head. "Never mind. I don't even know what I'm asking, anyway."

I honestly didn't. How to make someone text you? That was literally impossible. All I could do was wait, like I had been, while slowly going crazy...like I had been.

Not that I was into her as more than a friend.

A really hot friend.

Dammit.

"I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"You didn't," I grumbled.

She tilted her head, studying me. "You know, this is a good look on you. It's pretty adorable. "

"What?"

"You're smitten," she said. "Don't worry, I won't tell the guys."

"No, I'm not."

"Whatever you say."

*

After eating with Dallas and Shiv, taking another shower, and wasting more time than I should have looking up sports stats, I reluctantly decided to start working on my history paper. It wasn't due for a month, which would normally mean I wouldn't be starting on it for 29 more days. But maybe scrambling at the last minute wasn't an optimal strategy as far as my grades were concerned.

As soon as I opened Word, my phone lit up beside me. Lightning quick, I grabbed it. I knew I should have ignored it, but maybe it was important.

Bailey: Hey, it's Bailey.

Bailey: I just realized that I never thanked you for taking care of me that night. You didn't have to do that.

Chase: Well, I kind of did. But I didn't mind.

Bailey: I'm sure you were happy to see that we lost again tonight.

Chase: Didn't know, but ouch. The streak continues.

Bailey: You're crushing us in the standings. Gonna need you to throw a couple games at this rate.

Chase: Sure, I have a price. It's probably not even that high.

Bailey: I'm afraid to even ask.

Chase: How are things? Any more weirdness?

Bailey: Eh, they're so-so.

Chase: Well, you know who to call.

Bailey: Ghostbusters?

Chase: Or me. But maybe an exorcism would help break your losing streak.

Bailey: You'd better hope the tables don't turn, chippy.

Chase: Don't worry, they won't.

I stared at my phone. Maybe Shiv was right. But I had no idea what to do about it.

This chapter made me feel really sad for Chase. Maybe this year will be different.

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