“I like pink. It makes me happy. Why does everything have to hinge on what other people think? Yucking someone else’s yum is shitty.”
“Damn, girl. I was kidding. I meant that your brother and his friends might not want a bunch of pink stuff taking over the house.”
“I sincerely doubt they care.” Turning away, I set the box on the counter and take a deep breath, counting to five. Bailey and Siobhan invited me to watch the guys’ game with them on TV at their place, and their offer is looking better by the minute. So is staying home alone and eating pizza by myself. Or a million other things that don’t involve being trapped in a sweaty nightclub while Abby drags me around trying to get her attention fix.
“You know what?” I whirl around to face her. “I feel a headache coming on.”
She arches a brow, studying me skeptically. “A headache, huh? Seems awfully sudden.”
“Must be PMS. Could even turn into a migraine. I’d better nip it in the bud before it does.”
“You know, you’ve been super flaky lately.”
My body tenses like a steel trap, and it takes a significant restraint to keep my tone level. “You haven’t been so great yourself. I’m going through a lot right now, and it doesn’t seem like you even care.”
“Everyone has problems, Sera.”
Of course they do. Does that make mine less valid?
Tears spring to my eyes, and I grit my teeth to hold them back. “I think you should go.”
Abby storms out in a huff, and the aftermath of our confrontation leaves me spinning.
Our friendship is more on the rocks than ever. Does it even count as a friendship at this point? Do I care?
Once she’s gone, I unpack the coffee maker before putting the candy and coffee in the cupboard. Standing in the kitchen, I look at Tyler’s gift again, and some of the turmoil in me eases. My life feels like it’s going in ten drastically different directions. Some things are going better than I could’ve ever imagined, and others are going down in flames.
I grab my phone to send him a message, knowing he’ll be getting on the ice soon.
Tinker Bell: I got your present. Thank you. That was really sweet.
Hades: Any time, Tink. Now Ward can’t fuck up your decaf again.
Hades: Question 30: If you had a time machine, would you go back to the past or ahead to the future?
A heavy ache settles into the pit of my stomach because I’d give anything to see my dad again.
Tinker Bell: The past. You?
Hades: Neither. Too afraid of the butterfly effect.
Tinker Bell: Question 31: What’s something everyone else loves, but you find overrated?
Hades: This one might sound weird, but in the spirit of the game, I’ll be honest.
Tinker Bell: Well, now you have to spill.
Hades: Until I tried your Haagen Dazs, I would’ve said ice cream. Now I’m addicted, and that shit is expensive.
Tinker Bell: Worth it though.
Tinker Bell: Kissing is overrated. Except with you, I mean.
He reads my message immediately, eliminating any chance I have of unsending it. Did I really just write that? What am I doing? Granted, it’s true. A lot of other guys try to eat your face, and it’s not a good time. Or there’s an aggressive amount of tongue.
With Tyler, it’s another story. Maybe because it feels like he’s kissing me instead of kissing me. It’s a subtle, but important, distinction. In the former scenario, it’s an unspoken form of communication; an act of giving and taking. He knows when to deepen the kiss and when to pull back. It always feels like he’s fully in the moment, responding to me as things unfold.
In the latter instance, it’s someone jamming their tongue down your throat.
I’m still not sure I should’ve told him that. Every so often, I let something TMI like this slip around him. Now I’m staring at our text thread trying not to cringe.
Tinker Bell: Now I’m the one who sounds weird, but I stand by what I said.
Hades: Glad to be the lone exception on that. I’m with you. As a concept, overrated. With you, I’d gladly do it all day.
Hades: I’d kiss you right now if I could. We can make up for lost time when I’m back.
I think my heart just exploded.
CHAPTER 21
PUCK DROP
TYLER
The only thing more stressful than games are the moments directly leading up to them.
Around the dressing room, my teammates joke and laugh while I sit off to the side, tuning them out. Everyone knows the deal by now. Once we get to the arena, no one talks to me until we’re on the ice.
Closing my eyes, I visualize the entire game from puck drop to the buzzer. All the plays and each possible scenario that could result. Passes, takeaways, giveaways. Every shot and how I’ll make that save. I picture every single detail: the weight of my gear, the ice beneath my skates, the bright LED lights shining down, and the roar of the crowd after each blocked shot.
Did Seraphina text me back yet?
Fuck, Tyler. Get your shit together.
“How do you feel about facing your old team?” Dallas asks, clearly talking to Reid.
Since I’ve already been derailed, I allow myself to sneak a peek to see his reaction.
“Not fucking great,” he grumbles, dragging the toe of his skate along the gray-speckled rubber flooring. “I’m worried about Grady. He knows my moves, and their D will be all over me.”
Steve Grady—Head Coach of the Woodbine Rams—was a hockey legend in the making until an injury forced him into early retirement at twenty-six, and he became one of the youngest coaches at the college level. He also used to be Reid’s mentor, and my working theory is that Grady has something to do with why he left.
“If they are, that’ll leave me and Ward wide open. Either way, we’ll fuck them up nicely; don’t worry.” Chase tips back his head, squirting his water bottle into his mouth.
“I’m sure we will, but I like scoring too,” Reid says dryly.
“That’s what she said!” one of the guys yells. Raucous laughter breaks out, and the room gets ten times rowdier, filled with whoops and hollers, dirty jokes and excessively detailed blowjob stories.
Irritation seizes me when I realize I’m more off track than ever, and I clamp down on the urge to tell them all to shut the fuck up. Not only would they not listen, breaking my no-talking rule would set a bad precedent.
On a normal day, I wouldn’t be able to hear any of this. I’d be completely in the zone and utterly oblivious to the circus around me. Right now, I can’t concentrate for shit. All I can think about is the texts Seraphina and I exchanged back and forth all day. The first thing I’m going to do when I get off the ice is check my phone for the next.
I look down at the floor and try to focus on counting my breaths, but it doesn’t work. I’ll be standing in front of the net in a matter of minutes, and for the first time in my life, I’m rattled over something that has nothing to do with hockey.
Halfway into the second, we’re tied. If I needed something to force my head into the game, I got it. Woodbine’s offense has been fucking hammering me for twenty-nine minutes. After facing over forty shots on net, I’ve only let in two goals. Both were bad bounces, one of which was completely out of my control. Puck luck hasn’t been on our side tonight and rebounds are our defense’s weakness.