“I’m not sulking.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not doing anything productive, either.”
I chew on my cheek until I’ve drawn blood, but I barely notice the coppery flavor that fills my mouth. I’ve been treating this upcoming year like a death sentence, but maybe Garrett’s right. Maybe I need to start viewing it as an opportunity. One more year to enjoy my freedom. To play the game I love. To hang out with friends I’m lucky to have and probably don’t deserve.
Freedom, hockey, and friends. Yup, all those things make the list.
But the number one slot? That’s a no-brainer.
I need to make things right with Grace.
18
Logan
August
There’s one more week before the new semester starts, and I’m finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Though if I’m being honest, the tail end of the summer wasn’t all that shitty. I spent a week in Boston visiting my mom, didn’t have any major run-ins with my dad, and I even ended up calling Bernie and playing a few games with the Miners. Turns out the players are actually pretty decent. Most of them are in their thirties, a few are in their forties, and I, being the only twenty-one-year-old, schooled each and every one of them on the ice. But it felt good to be part of a team again.
The one dark spot on an otherwise mostly-painless summer record is that Grace hadn’t called. After my talk with Garrett, I left her a long voice mail apologizing again and asking for another chance. No response.
Still, she can’t avoid me forever. I’m bound to run into her on campus, or…I can always speed up the process by flirting with the hot grad student in the housing office to find out which dorm Grace will be in. My last resort would be calling her “friend” Ramona, but I refuse to do that unless I absolutely have to.
But all that can wait. I have the afternoon off today, and my spirits are high as I drive to Hastings. My strength and conditioning program requires increased weight training now, but since I have the worst selection of weights at home, Jeff agreed to cover for me twice a week so I can use the state-of-the-art weight room in our team facilities on campus.
Dean has been tagging along with me, and when I pull up in front of our townhouse, he’s waiting for me in the driveway. Mr. GQ is shirtless, wearing low-riding Adidas tear away pants and jogging in place like a moron.
Grinning, I hop out of the truck and walk over to him.
“Hey. Change of plans,” he says. “Wellsy got off work early, so we’re going running instead.”
I wrinkle my nose. “You and me?”
“You, me and Wellsy,” he clarifies. “She and I have been running every night. Sometimes G comes if he’s not too beat. But she has plans with her folks tonight.”
“Nice. Her parents are in town?” I know Hannah doesn’t get to see them as often as she’d like, so I imagine she must be thrilled. I also know that the reason she doesn’t see them is…her own damn business. Even though she told Garrett it was okay to confide in me about the sexual assault in her past, it feels inappropriate to bring it up. If she wanted to talk about it with me, she would.
“They’re staying at the inn on Main,” Dean answers. “Anyway, this is the only time she can run today.”
As if on cue, Hannah appears on the front stoop, decked out in a baggy T-shirt and spandex pants that go to her knees. Her ponytail flops around as she hurries over to give me a hug. “Logan! I feel like I haven’t seen you in months!”
“That’s because you haven’t.” I tweak the end of her ponytail. “How’s your summer going?”
“Good. You?”
I shrug. “All right, I guess.”
“So you’re coming running with us?”
“Apparently I don’t have a choice in the matter.” I’m already wearing sneakers, track pants and an old T-shirt, so I don’t need to change, but I pop into the house to stash my wallet and keys before joining them outside again. Just in time to hear Hannah scolding Dean about his running attire.
“Seriously, dude, put on a shirt.”
“Hey, you know what they say,” Dean drawls. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it.”
“No, I’m pretty sure they say put on a shirt when you go for a run, you cocky narcissist.”
His jaw drops. “Narcissist? More like realist. Look at these abs, Wellsy. Actually, touch them. Seriously. It will change your life.”
She snorts.
“What, you’re too intimidated by all this masculine beauty?” He slaps a hand over his tight six-pack.