The Mistake (Off-Campus #2)(44)

“You never had any intention of calling that agent.”

“No,” I confess.

His jaw tightens. Then he lets out a heavy breath that has him sagging forward. He rakes one hand over his scalp. “I wish you told me all this before. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have harassed you about the pros all year.”

“Tell you that my future is as bleak as a prison sentence? No, that it pretty much is a prison sentence? I don’t even like to think about it, G.”

I stare straight ahead at nothing in particular. The sun has already set, but there’s still some light in the sky, giving me a perfect view of the property. The outdated bungalow and dandelion-riddled lawn.

The backdrop to the life I’m going to lead after I graduate.

“Is this why you’ve been partying like there’s no tomorrow?” Garrett demands. “Because you believe there literally isn’t a tomorrow?”

“Look around, man.” I gesture to the sun-browned grass and old tires strewn on the dirt. “This is my tomorrow.”

He sighs. “So, what, you knew you weren’t going to have the NHL experience so you figured, hey, might as well take advantage of the minor celebrity college status and enjoy this constant stream of easy pussy?” Garrett looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been playing hockey since you could walk for the sole purpose of getting laid.”

I scowl at him. “Of course not. That’s just a perk.”

“A perk, huh? Then what are you doing lusting over a relationship?” He arches a brow. “Yeah, she told me.”

“What exactly are we discussing here, G? My sex life? Because I thought we were talking about my future. Which, by the way, is a fucking joke, okay? I don’t have a damn thing to look forward to. No hockey, no girls, no choices.”

“That’s not true.” He pauses. “You’ve got a year.”

A crease digs into my forehead. “What?”

“You’ve got a whole year, John. Your senior year. For one more year, you do have choices. You have hockey, and your friends, and if you want a girlfriend, you can have that too.” He snorts. “But that means keeping your dick out of party girls who have the IQ of a hockey stick.”

I bite the inside of my cheek.

“You want my advice?” Sincerity shines in his eyes. “If I knew I had one year left before I—I was about to say had to, but I maintain that you don’t have to do anything. You choose to, but whatever, you’ve made your choice. But if I knew I had to put my life on hold starting next year, I’d make the most of the time I had left. Stop doing things that make you feel empty. Have fun. Make things right with that girl, if that’s what’ll make you happy. Quit sulking and make the most of your senior year.”

“I’m not sulking.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not doing anything productive, either.”

I chew on my cheek until I’ve drawn blood, but I barely notice the coppery flavor that fills my mouth. I’ve been treating this upcoming year like a death sentence, but maybe Garrett’s right. Maybe I need to start viewing it as an opportunity. One more year to enjoy my freedom. To play the game I love. To hang out with friends I’m lucky to have and probably don’t deserve.

Freedom, hockey, and friends. Yup, all those things make the list.

But the number one slot? That’s a no-brainer.

I need to make things right with Grace.





18




Logan


August

There’s one more week before the new semester starts, and I’m finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Though if I’m being honest, the tail end of the summer wasn’t all that shitty. I spent a week in Boston visiting my mom, didn’t have any major run-ins with my dad, and I even ended up calling Bernie and playing a few games with the Miners. Turns out the players are actually pretty decent. Most of them are in their thirties, a few are in their forties, and I, being the only twenty-one-year-old, schooled each and every one of them on the ice. But it felt good to be part of a team again.

The one dark spot on an otherwise mostly-painless summer record is that Grace hadn’t called. After my talk with Garrett, I left her a long voice mail apologizing again and asking for another chance. No response.

Still, she can’t avoid me forever. I’m bound to run into her on campus, or…I can always speed up the process by flirting with the hot grad student in the housing office to find out which dorm Grace will be in. My last resort would be calling her “friend” Ramona, but I refuse to do that unless I absolutely have to.

But all that can wait. I have the afternoon off today, and my spirits are high as I drive to Hastings. My strength and conditioning program requires increased weight training now, but since I have the worst selection of weights at home, Jeff agreed to cover for me twice a week so I can use the state-of-the-art weight room in our team facilities on campus.

Dean has been tagging along with me, and when I pull up in front of our townhouse, he’s waiting for me in the driveway. Mr. GQ is shirtless, wearing low-riding Adidas tear away pants and jogging in place like a moron.

Grinning, I hop out of the truck and walk over to him.

“Hey. Change of plans,” he says. “Wellsy got off work early, so we’re going running instead.”