Bitter Sweet Heart (Lies, Hearts & Truths #2)(87)

“I’m always honest with you.”

“You are, but this is a tough question, and you’re going to want to knee-jerk respond. Which is why I need you to take a minute to sort out your thoughts before you answer.”

“Okay.” I lace my fingers with hers. This is what I need, a real conversation with someone whose input I value, and whose focus isn’t on the glamour of an NHL career.

“How much of an impact does our current relationship have on you not wanting to sign a contract?”

I sigh. And I force myself to wait a beat before I open my mouth. “I’ve thought about this a lot, and I’ve tried to logic out my feelings, but I can’t. I don’t know what’s going to happen with us, but I do know that I’ve been a better version of myself in a lot of ways this semester.” I meet her eyes. “Even if you weren’t part of my life, I would still feel the way I do about my future as a hockey player.”

“And if you weren’t a hockey player, what would you want to do? Work in sports rehab?”

“I don’t know. My whole life has been focused on this one goal, and the closer I get to it, the less appealing it looks. I don’t want to spend the next decade floundering in a career I don’t love.” I wrap my arms around her. “And I don’t want to walk away from you. Can you have a midlife crisis at twenty-one?”

“There’s a lot happening in your life, and I’m an added layer of complication.”

“You’re the best thing that’s happened to me, not a complication.” I press a soft kiss to her lips. “I know it’s a big ask, but would you come to my game tomorrow? It would be good to have you there.”

She settles her hand on my cheek, expression pensive. For a moment I think she’s going to say no, but a small smile forms on her perfect lips. “I can be there. I want to be there for you.”





Thirty





Everything Was Good Until It Wasn’t





Maverick





Kody elbows me in the arm. “Isn’t your professor from last semester sitting over there?” He tips his chin toward the seats across from our bench.

The arena is packed tonight, since we’re playing one of our biggest rivals for the top spot in the league. I need to keep my head in the game and not let Russo get under my skin. I was stressed out about the game last night and had restless sleep, which Clover experienced right along with me.

So far, we’re winning, but our opposition is keeping us on our toes. I’ve managed an assist and haven’t missed any stupid shots. But I’d love a goal, because it’s been a few games since I’ve had one. Plus, with Clover being here, there’s real incentive to do well.

I glance in the direction Kody pointed and shrug. “Might be. Why?”

“She keeps looking at you.”

“She’s probably keeping an eye on the action.” I nod toward the ice.

“I don’t know, man. Every time I look over there, her eyes are over here.”

“Maybe because you’re staring at her? Or maybe she recognizes me because I was in her class and I was a giant asshole for ninety percent of the semester.” In my peripheral vision, two girls stop in front of Clover. Probably students of hers.

I can feel Kody looking at me and then back at her.

This time I’m the one who elbows him in the arm. “Would you stop looking over there? You’re about as inconspicuous as a fully dressed person in a nudist colony.”

His brow furrows, like he’s trying to make sense of what I said, but the buzzer goes off, so we get back on the ice. Instead of stressing about messing up plays or being the one who scored the goal instead of an assist, I just play the game. Kody gets control of the puck right away, so I get into position, making sure the path is clear to the net. When I get close to the end zone, I switch directions and edge my way between defense for the opposition and the goalie.

Kody must realize what I’m doing, because he sets it up, passing me the puck, giving me the opportunity to circle behind the net and take a shot. Defense knocks it away as it kisses the goal line, but Kody is right there to steal it and tap it in.

He skates over to me, gives me a rough hug, and tells me that was one of my best plays this season. The back pats and praise keep coming from my teammates. It should make me feel good, but for whatever reason, it has the opposite effect. Instead of feeling awesome about the goal I set up, it creates a pit in my stomach—the one that’s been growing all year and getting bigger the closer we get to the end of the season.

We win the game by three goals. It’s the best we’ve ever played against Russo and his pals, and for sure they’re going home sore. In the last period, they ended up with two penalties for chippy playing, and Russo kept on with the digs, but for once, I didn’t react. In part because I didn’t want to end up in the penalty box while Clover was watching.

I get what my dad has been saying about settling down and finding someone who balances me out. He’s always talked about how he became a better player when he found my mom. She made him want to do better, be better—play with integrity and not testosterone. And I see what he means now.

I glance across the rink to where Clover’s gathering her things, looking more like a student than a woman who works at the university with her pom-pom beanie and school-colors scarf.