Shut Out (Bayard Hockey #1)(57)

I don’t have to go, because I’m not a freshman, and I’m not in poor academic standing—yet—but I like to go when I can. I find it motivating to be around others who are working hard. In the weight room, there’s a little competitive edge between me and the other guys that pushes me to try harder. On the ice, same thing. And I’m finding when I’m studying with a bunch of other elite athletes—one guy here is an Olympic swimmer—it makes me want to do better.

So I find a spot and open my laptop to go over some lecture notes from earlier. I let out a sigh. Sitting in classes all morning is difficult. Going to practice when I have all that pent-up energy feels good. Now coming here, somewhere so quiet and still, and trying to focus again on schoolwork at the end of the day when I’m tired, is f*cking hard. It’d be so easy to just say f*ck it and go home and veg in front of the TV with a video game or a movie. But I have to push through this.

My phone buzzes with a text message a while later. Quite a while later. I’m impressed to see I’ve been focused on schoolwork for nearly two hours. Go me.

It’s Skylar.

Hey, where are you?

I text her back with my location. Where are you?

Just getting off work. Hungry?

Starving.

Be there in ten.

I smile and set my phone down. I heave a sigh and rub the back of my neck. This week has been crazy. It feels like every minute of my day is scheduled with something—early classes, practices, meetings, studying, and squeezing in time to solicit donations for the pizza fundraiser. I know there are perks to this gig, like the awesome training facility, the coaching staff I’m learning so much from, the strength and conditioning coach who’s making me so much fitter, the trainer who gives me massages…but it’s not exactly easy.

Skylar arrives with a big paper sack from Taste of Heaven Diner in her hands and waves at me. I pack up my stuff and join her in the lounge area, where she hands me a Styrofoam take-out container holding a burger and fries. It smells fantastic.

“Thank you.” I pick up the burger and take a huge bite.

She opens her own container of a salad with some kind of spicy chicken slices on top.

I eye it. “That looks good.”

Her lips quirk. “Want to try some?”

“You can have some fries.”

She grins and hands me her fork to spear some chicken and salad, then helps herself to a couple fries. “You need ketchup.”

“I don’t like ketchup.”

“What?” She stares at me as if I just told her I like to kick puppies with my skates on.

I shrug. “I’m a salt and vinegar kind of guy. But you can hardly ever get vinegar down here. So I just go with salt.”

“Huh.”

She passes me a container of chocolate milk and I take a long pull. The fact that she knows I love chocolate milk makes something inside my chest go soft. “Thanks. This is great.”

“Long day?”

“Yeah.”

We talk about our days as we eat. She laughs at my story about the dance-off after practice, then we pack things up and throw our trash out before walking outside to our respective vehicles. I walk with Skylar to her car and we pause before she gets in. She tugs her scarf up around her chin in the chilly night air.

“Won’t see you until next week. We leave tomorrow for Boston. Our first road trip.”

“Right.” She nods. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” I find I don’t want to say good night to her. I don’t want to leave her. I’ve hardly seen her this week and now we’re going on a road trip and I won’t see her until next week.

Jesus. She keeps reminding me this isn’t a real relationship and it’s starting to bug me. I mean, I know it’s not real. Except why do I feel like something’s squeezing my chest at the idea of leaving her?

We’ll chat on Facebook probably, when I have time.

I need to get a grip here, so I give her a quick kiss good night. She flashes a smile before climbing into her car.

I watch her drive away and then I jog across the parking lot to my truck. Our three and a half hour flight to Boston leaves at six a.m. and I need sleep.

—

A road trip is a bonding experience for a team. We’re forced into close proximity for three whole days. We’re on the plane together, hanging in the airport together, going for dinner together. It forces us to get to know each other better—especially the guys like me who are new to the team.

And then there’s the game, our first in an opponent’s rink. My first game wearing the white away jersey instead of the black home jersey. I know our rink is hard for other teams to play in, but there’s an intimidation factor playing here at Harvard. Friday night, we lose, which blows. But it definitely makes us come together as a team, and that’s good. We learn more about each other and what we can do when we’re faced with adversity.

Saturday night, we manage to pull out a win, two-one. We almost had a shutout for Alfie, but somehow the Crimson tipped one in with only a minute on the clock. But Alfie’s a good sport about it, saying how happy he is for the win and how well we played in front of him. Coach’s tight defensive play is paying off for us.

I try to get some studying done on the plane on the way home. We’re heading into the last few weeks of classes before exams and then Christmas. Somehow I pulled off a couple A’s, a B+, and some B’s on my midterms, so I don’t feel quite as much pressure. I think I have to thank Skylar and all our study dates for those marks. I only wish she felt better about her own classes. She was so bummed when she got a C on her physics midterm. I’ve helped her as much as I can, and as much as she’ll let me. She’s pretty stubborn and determined to do this, but man, it’s just not her thing. I wish she’d stand up to her parents and do what she really wants to. I think she’d be a lot happier.