Him (Him #1)(30)

The rain is coming down in sheets, so I start to run for it. I don’t even know he’s followed me until he slides into the passenger seat opposite me and slams the door.

In less than thirty seconds I’ve got the engine cranked. We’re cruising back up 73 toward Lake Placid before a whole minute has passed. There’s a terrible silence in the car. If it weren’t raining I’d probably double the speed limit trying to get Jamie back to town.

He still hasn’t said a word.

“I’m sorry,” I croak. “Didn’t mean to let that happen.”

He makes an irritated noise. I’m dying to know what it means, but too chicken-shit to ask. We are never speaking of this night again. Never. Even if we’re wasted the night before Jamie’s wedding. Even if we’re trapped in a mineshaft with thirty minutes of oxygen. Not even then.

Earlier, I told him he’d acted like a douchecanoe. But that’s crap. I’m the one who’s in love with my best friend and pretending I’m not.

The rain lets up. A few minutes later (even though it feels like hours) I pull up in front of the dormitory building and step on the brakes. Jamie doesn’t move.

“I’m going to find a parking spot, and then take a walk,” I tell him. There is no way I can go back to our room right now. We need a time-out. I hope he understands.

Later, when he’s asleep, it might be possible to breathe the same air as Jamie Canning again.

He doesn’t move.

Please, I beg him inwardly. Please go up to bed. It’s hard enough to look at his face each day and not feel heartbreak. I can’t be close to him right now. I’m afraid I’ll give in and kiss him again. The way his hard body had aligned so perfectly with mine is burned in my consciousness. I’ll be trying not to remember that for weeks.

I wait, and I ache.

Finally the door clicks open. I hear him exit the car. When the door slams shut, I feel it like a sledgehammer to the heart. Don’t look, I coach myself.

But my self-control isn’t infinite. His fair hair glints under the streetlight as his long legs eat up the walkway in just a few paces. Seeing him walk away from me splinters something inside me.





15





Jamie





I pound up the steps of the building, my heart thumping, my skin wet from the rain and sweat and nerves.

“Jamie.”

Shit, I’d almost made it inside. But Pat is sitting in stealthy darkness in one of the rocking chairs on the front porch. He’s probably on stakeout, watching for teenagers sneaking out. Instead he’s caught me sneaking in. And at the sound of his voice I feel at least as much terror as an escaping kid.

Stumbling, I stop before reaching the door. “Hey,” I say, trying to sound normal. At least it’s dark. I don’t trust my face right now.

“Got a minute?”

Do I? What I need is to be alone for several hours to bang my head against a wall. To try to figure out what on God’s green earth just happened. But Pat is like a second father to me, and being rude to him isn’t something I can do.

I don’t answer, but I do take the rocking chair right next to his. My hands are shaking so I curve them around the chair’s arms. A couple of very slow breaths help me calm down.

Across the road, the lake is a dark void. Lights from the Lake Placid restaurants twinkle in the misty night air. Everything looks so calm and ordinary. The world would make more sense to me if the buildings were falling into the lake, or the fudge shops were on fire. But the only thing quaking is me.

“You okay, son?”

“Yeah,” I grind out, my voice like a chainsaw. “Got caught in the rain.”

“I can see that.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I just wanted to ask you how Wesley is holding up. Did the first week treat him okay, you think?”

Just the sound of his name makes my gut clench.

Well, Pat, I just threw myself at him. We made out like porn stars up against the side of a bar. Then he gave me the brush-off. And I don’t have any idea what any of it means.

“He’s, uh, okay,” I stammer. I don’t really even remember the question he’d asked.

“If he’s struggling out there, I hope you’ll tell me. I won’t fire him—I’ll just get him some backup.”

I pull myself together and try to focus on the conversation. “Coaching takes practice.”

Pat smiles. “That’s very diplomatic of you. Coaching takes practice, yes, but not everyone is a natural at it the way you are.”

“Thank you.” The compliment is unexpected.

“And I think the kids will get a lot out of their time with Wes—I wouldn’t have hired him if I wasn’t sure of that.” Pat’s chair squeaks as he rocks it gently. “It surprised me, though, getting that call from him. It was a few hours after the Frozen Four victory. I’d watched the game—it makes my year anytime I get to watch you boys on my television. But it’s funny—when I saw who was calling, I had this moment where I thought he was going to say, ‘I owe it all to you.’” He chuckles to himself. “That’s not Wes’s style, so I don’t know why I expected to hear that. But yeah, when he said, ‘I’m calling to take that job you offer me every year,’ I really was surprised.”