Chapter 49 Chapter 49

Chapter 49 Chapter 49
HAYDEN

Coach’s whistle was particularly shrill that morning. We opened with laps, then dove into a gauntlet of passing drills that demanded quick touches and quicker decisions. My legs felt good.

My brain was clear in a way it hadn’t been in months, which made zero sense after a late night, but that was the truth. I was over the moon.

We moved to a breakout drill, and I called the play before anyone else could, snapping the puck up the boards, cutting through the neutral zone, slashing back to receive a saucer pass, then threading it across the slot for Logan to hammer home.

The play was a beauty to behold, and the fact that we successfully pulled that off was a testament to how in sync we were as a team.

“Again,” Coach barked, but there was the ghost of a smile in his voice.

See? Even Coach was impressed with us, even though he was trying so hard not to make it obvious.

We ran it three more times, tighter each run. When we shifted to special teams, I took point at the half wall. The power-play rhythm clicked like a lock turning, board battle, quick kick out, return pass, seam open, fake the shot, slip it down low, crash the net.

The puck kissed twine, and I bit back a grin when Logan whooped like he’d never scored before.

“Who are you and what did you do with Michaels?” Ryan asked as we circled back to center.

“Nothing,” I said, breath frosting out around my visor. “Just slept great, I guess.”

He snorted. “You slept like a man in love.”

“I’m going to slash you.”

“Threats of violence confirm the allegation,” he said primly.

Coach blew the whistle and waved me over as the others reset.

I skated to the boards. “Yeah?”

He studied me for a second, eyes narrowed in that measuring way he had. “You’re moving well.”

“Thanks.”

“Keep your eyes up through the seam on the second progression. You got it to Logan, but you had Malik backdoor if the lane closes. Trust the second option,” he said, then, in a softer voice, he added, “And whatever you did last night? Bottle it.”

I couldn’t help the grin. “I’ll work on the bottling.”

He nodded, a permission slip to enjoy the moment, then pointed with his whistle. “Back in. Let’s go.”

We scrimmaged for the last fifteen minutes. I chased a loose puck into the corner, won the battle with a shoulder, spun off, and found Ryan in the slot. He whiffed his shot and immediately declared his stick “cursed,” but I barely heard him.

I was too busy hearing my own heartbeat and, absurdly, remembering the way Coleen had looked up at the sky as our breath turned to clouds.

I tried to put my game brain back on, and I hauled myself back into it.
By the final whistle, my lungs burned in the clean way that said work done right. We tapped gloves, chirped at each other, and trundled off the ice like a herd of armored penguins.

In the tunnel, Logan leaned in. “So… second date?”

I was done pretending. “Yeah. Soon.”

He bumped his shoulder against mine. “Happy for you, man.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I showered fast and changed, pulling on jeans and a hoodie. Jason rolled his eyes when he saw my outfit, then I ran my hands through my damp hair until it looked somewhat presentable.

By the time I shoved open the arena doors, the sunlight that met my gaze was enough to blind anyone.

Jason left the locker room before I did and texted me to meet him at the campus café. I walked the short distance to the place.

He was already there when I pushed in. Sitting in a corner table with two coffees, and a muffin he’d clearly bought for me but pretended I knew was going to pass off as his. He took one look at my face and just grinned like a raccoon.

“Morning, Lover Boy,” he said.

I groaned. “You have to stop that.”

“I probably won’t. Tell me how your legs feel.”

“Not so bad,” I said, dropping into the chair. “Practice was good.”

“You skated like a man who has found his purpose.”

“And what would that be?”

“Assists and affection,” he said without missing a beat.

I laughed into my coffee. “You’re unbearable.”

“Yeah, but I’m right.” He pointed at me with his stir stick. “Okay, strategy meeting. What’s your plan for date two?”

“I was thinking minimal pressure,” I said, surprising myself with how fast the idea formed. “Something… quiet. Not fancy. Maybe the bookstore downtown? There’s that weird little-used section in the back she’d like. We could grab cocoa after.”

Jason blinked. “You? Bookstore?”

“I can read,” I said.

For some reason, all my friends seem to forget that I was the Salutatorian in high school.

“Barely,” he muttered, but he was smiling. “That’s perfect. It shows that you pay attention, so do that. And keep doing the gentleman stuff because it’s working for you.”

“It’s not a tactic,” I said.

“I know,” he said, suddenly earnest. “That’s why it works.”

We ate the muffin like two people who’d never seen food. Hockey's appetite was undefeated. When we finished, we sat in comfortable silence while the espresso machine hissed and some student debated the ethics of something at the next table in a what they assumed was a low whisper, but it was loud enough that we could hear them.

I tipped my chair back, stared at the ceiling tiles, and let the word girlfriend skim my brain without landing. Too soon. That was fine. I didn’t need labels to know what my chest was doing every time I thought about her.

“Hey,” Jason said quietly, drawing my eyes back. “Jokes aside, you look… lighter.”

“I feel lighter,” I said, surprising myself a second time. “It’s not that anything big happened. It’s just… she met me where I am. And I’m trying to meet her where she is.”

He nodded like that made obvious sense. “Good. Keep it there. Don’t try to rush anything. Maybe start with a slow jog before transitioning to a sprint.”

I smirked. “You did not just turn my sport into a relationship metaphor.”

“I absolutely did,” he said, then checked his watch and stood. “I’ve got class. Text me if you need help picking an outfit for the date. I’ve got a couple of ties that’ll suit you.”

“I’m not wearing a tie to a bookstore,” I called as he left.

“We’ll talk!” he yelled over his shoulder.