Chapter 29 UNAVOIDABLE CONVERSATIONS

Chapter 29 UNAVOIDABLE CONVERSATIONS
SEAN

I didn't think one girl could mess with my head this much. Not in a bad way—more like she's rewired something I didn't realize was broken.
McKenna barging into the locker room after the game last night is burned into me. The place was chaos—sweat, blood, the coach tore into us even after a win.
I had given a short interviews. Few words really to the BU journalist, and regret was already taking over me.
I screwed up big time.
With the game, my uncontrolled rage and the damn interview.
Nothing Julie taught me was able to be recollected when the girl from the uni news asked about the 'unacceptable behaviour for an elite squad'. Unacceptable my ass, was what I thought.
BC didn't get to bring Rae and Ryan into this. They were all friends for fucks sake.
I was still sulking at my unpreparedness for this damn interview and how it would reflect on the Bruins rookie development team when she appeared, hobbling through like she owned the place, ignoring the mess, straight to me.
Badass doesn't even cover it.
Reckless, stubborn, impossible—yeah, that's Ryan Scarlett McKenna. And exactly the kind of person I've always thought I'd want in my corner.
I used to picture it sometimes, though I'd never admit it to the guys. Someone waiting after the game, someone who got it. Someone who'd understand that I don't just walk off the ice and switch it off. The adrenaline lingers, the hits echo, the wins and losses cling to you. And I always thought: yeah, maybe one day, if the timing's right.
But with Ryan, it didn't feel like timing or chance. It felt...natural. She didn't come in there for attention. She didn't flinch at the noise. She came for me. The person, not the player. And she looked at me like the busted lip and bruises weren't what mattered—that I was what mattered.
That's the part that got me.
Which makes this next part unavoidable.
Julie and I—whatever that was—it can't keep dragging on. Not when my head and heart are already somewhere else. Not when every second I spend in her orbit feels dishonest, like I'm skating on thin ice that's bound to crack. We weren't official, never said the word girlfriend, but lines were blurred enough that walking away without a word would be cowardly.
And I don't want Ryan thinking I'm a coward.
The right thing is to end it clean. Not because I'm suddenly some noble guy, but because I can't stomach the idea of Ryan finding out from anyone else that Julie and I were still...whatever we were. If this thing with McKenna is going to mean what I think it could, I have to start with the truth.
The problem is, I already have enough on my plate. Frozen Four finals against Yale coming up. Pressure from Bruins rookie camp, from coach, from every teammate counting on me not to screw this up. My head's already stacked high with plays, lines, drills. The last thing I need is relationship drama bleeding into the rink.
So it has to be now. Quick, clean, done.
Ryan's got class, then PT. That buys me a window. I shove down the nerves crawling up my throat and grab my phone. Scroll, scroll, until her name appears. Julie.
My thumb hovers over the screen. I can already hear her voice in my head—half-sweet, half-sharp, always with that little edge like she's calculating her next move. We've never really been on the same page, just orbiting each other out of convenience, attraction, and boredom. Whatever it was, it wasn't what I felt last night when McKenna touched my face like it was something worth protecting.
I hit call before I can talk myself out of it.
Julie answers on the third ring, her tone bright, rehearsed. "Sean! Where the hell have you been?"
"Hey," I say, rubbing a hand over my jaw. "Yeah, about that...can we meet up? Somewhere close. I've got training later, but I think we should talk."
There's a pause, sharp and telling. "Talk," she repeats, her voice clipped, like she already knows.
"Yeah. Sunset Cantina? Half an hour?"
Another pause. Then: "Yeah, fine."
The line goes dead.
I slide the phone into my pocket and exhale. Public place, neutral ground. Rip the bandage off. Keep it clean. That's the plan.

〰️〰️〰️

I push through the door of Sunset Cantina and the place hits me all at once—voices bouncing off the walls, plates clattering, the smell of fried tortillas and grilled meat thick in the air. It's only mid-afternoon but the place is buzzing, like it never really takes a break.
Colorful paper flags hang from the ceiling, neon beer signs glow against walls plastered with bottle caps and vintage trays, and TVs over the booths loop highlights from last night's games. Groups of BU kids sprawl across the leather benches, cramming tacos and nachos in between laughs that spill over the music. Normally, I'd like this noise. Normally, it feels like home after practice.
Not today.
I run a hand through my hair, trying to shake the knot in my chest. My eyes sweep the room and then I see Julie.
Back booth, against the wall lit up by a string of old neon signs. She's got her phone in one hand, straw tracing slow circles through melting ice in her soda. Her nearly black hair catches the glow from the low-hanging lamp above her. She looks calm, like this is just another casual meet-up.
Meanwhile, I feel like my ribs are caving in.
I start toward her, weaving between tables stacked with half-eaten plates and pitchers of margaritas. Every step feels heavier than the last. I pass a group of guys in BU hoodies cheering at the TV, a waiter balancing three trays of tacos like it's nothing. The Cantina is alive, buzzing, carrying on. And here I am, about to carve something apart in the middle of it.
This place is where we come to celebrate wins, where we scarf down wings after a late practice, where everything feels light. But this isn't a celebration. This is me doing the one thing I've put off too long.
I slide into the booth across from her, forcing a smile that doesn't quite land. The fake warmth of the Cantina presses around me, but none of it makes this feel easier.
"Sean," she says, gaze stuck on mine. "This feels serious."
"It is," I admit, fingers drumming once against the table before I lock them together. "I wanted to be fair. And honest."
Her smile falters, just slightly. "Honest?" She leans back, crossing her arms. "So this is the part where you tell me you've moved on."
I meet her eyes, steady. "Yeah. It is."
Julie tilts her head, studying me. "Let me guess—McKenna."
The way she says her name is almost a sneer.
I don't look away. "It's not about names. It's about the fact that this—" I gesture between us, "—wasn't ever really going anywhere. And you know it."
Her laugh is sharp, cutting through the hum of the café. "So you dump me in a coffee shop slash pub before finals week...Classic Callahan."
I swallow, resisting the urge to defend myself. "It's not really a breakup, Julie." I exhale, frustrated. "We were never official...I just didn't want to keep pretending."
Julie leans forward now, eyes narrowed. "And you think she's going to handle you—your games, your mood swings, the pressure—better than I did?"
The words sting, but not in the way she wants them to. If anything, it only solidifies what I already know. Ryan doesn't try to handle me. She just...shows up. Bruises, chaos, my mood and all.
"She kinda already does," I say quietly.
Julie flinches like I slapped her, then recovers with a tight smile. "Well. Guess you've made your choice."
"Yeah, I have."
Silence stretches between us, thick with things neither of us wants to say. "Good luck with Yale, Captain. You'll need it." Finally, she stands, smoothing her jacket. "And that interview? It was total crap." She doesn't look back as she walks out, heels clicking against the tile.
A breath I didn't realize I'd been holding escapes me, and my body casually leans back in the chair. The knot in my chest loosens, just a little. It wasn't pretty, but it's done. Clean enough.
I pull out my phone, thumb hovering over Ryan's name this time. Not to call, not yet. Just to look at it. A reminder of why I did this.
Because McKenna barged into the locker room and made me feel like I wasn't carrying all of this alone. And that? That feels like something worth fighting for.
I don't sit there long. No point. The knot's untied, at least enough for me to breathe. I push back from the table, sling my backpack over my shoulder, and step out into the cold air. The city noise feels sharper than the muted café, but cleaner somehow, like I've just walked out of a fog.
On the sidewalk, I pull out my phone again, this time for real. My thumb hovers over Ryan's name, then I type before I can overthink it.
SEAN: Just talked to Julie.
SEAN: Weirdly went better than I expected.
The bubbles pop up almost instantly, then vanish. A pause, then her reply comes through.
RYAN: Already??
SEAN: Had the time. Figured clean break was best.
Another pause. Then:
RYAN: Good. I haven't talked to Matthews. Not yet.
I stare at the screen, the words hitting harder than they should. Not yet. Two little words, but they stir something in my stomach I don't love. Jealousy? Maybe. Or just the reminder that Matthews still lingers in her orbit, that he thinks he's got some kind of claim on her.
I rake a hand through my hair, exhaling slow. I can trust her. Ryan doesn't half-do things—when she says she'll handle it, she will. She's not the kind of person to dodge forever.
Still, the thought gnaws at me. Matthews is unpredictable, and the way he looks at her—like she's already his—makes my fists itch.
I start typing, Want me there when you do?, then delete it before hitting send. Too much. Too soon.
Instead, I pocket the phone and let the silence stretch. She'll do it when she's ready. And I have to trust that.
For now, I've got enough to carry: practice, finals, and the fact that Ryan McKenna is in my corner.
And that's more than enough.