Collide: A Hockey Romance, page 5
Blackmail. “That would also mean it recorded you cheating,” I say.
She lets out an animated gasp. “Cheating? I’ve never cheated in my life.” She stops in front of me and a sudden waft of something sweet hits me. “You decided to stop, and you were one second behind me. It was a fair race.”
“Depends. If you define fair as heavily skewed in one’s favor,” I say, and she stares back unamused. “Fine. You win. I’ll do your sessions without complaint.” Honestly, even if I won I would have done anything she wanted. It was a miracle she let me on the project to begin with.
“Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor. I might have used distraction but admit it, it was fair in the end.”
I sigh. “It was fair.”
Content, she skates toward the exit, and we head to Coach’s office. He’s letting us use it as long as we don’t touch anything. Once I fill out the preliminary self-assessment, she reads over it. “You’re an English minor?”
I nod. I took the responsible path and chose Economics as my major but decided to do a minor I would actually enjoy, hence English.
“So, you like reading?”
“Yes.”
“Like real books?”
I give her a blank look. “You mean those blocks of paper? Oh no, I’ve never held one, let alone read one of those.”
She ignores my sarcastic remark and skims the paper. “You left this blank. What’s your five-year plan?”
“Don’t have one.”
Alarm strikes her face. “Three-year?”
“Nope.”
“What about hockey? Don’t you have a dream team you want to go to?”
“I’m already signed to them.”
The Toronto Thunder signed me to a three-year entry-level contract a few months back, which means I’ll be playing with them later this spring. Eli also signed with them a month after me, so we’re headed there together.
“What about personal goals?”
I have no idea what she wants from me. I’ve lived and breathed hockey since I was four, there is nothing else I ever needed to focus on. I haven’t dated anyone in college because between playing, studying, and being a full-time dad to the guys, there isn’t any extra time.
“Maybe it’ll help if I give you an example,” she suggests. “I have five, ten, and twenty-year plans.”
Holy shit, she’s insane.
She eyes my reaction. “Don’t look at me like I’m crazy. I just know exactly what I want.”
“Life is unpredictable. You can’t plan it.” I know that much from experience.
“I can. When I was younger, I was in love with psychology. Everything about it, to the point where I had a thorough life plan at the age of eight. At seventeen, I would graduate high school and move here with a full ride to Dalton. Complete the accelerated degree program and get into grad school.”
I blink. “You figured that out at eight years old?”
“Yes.”
Jesus. The only thing on my mind at eight was how long my mom would let me play hockey before dinner. “What if you don’t get in?”
She stares at me as if I threatened her. “I will. I have one shot and I won’t let anything or anyone mess it up.”
I try to cut the tension. “But you’re basically done with all that. What’s your plan now?”
“After my master’s and Ph.D., I want to work with Olympic athletes as a sports psychologist. Then I’ll probably marry an accountant and have two kids, a boy and a girl.”
“An accountant? You’re into bald dudes who would rather choke on their coffee than sit in their cubicle?” I’m not even going to touch the fact that she had the kids all figured out. She probably knew what zodiac sign they would be, too.
“They’re good with math. People who excel in STEM fields are generally better equipped to last in partnerships.”
“So, you want to marry a robot.”
“I want to marry a stable man.”
“A stable man who probably can’t make you come.” The words fly out of my mouth before I can think better of them. To my relief, she ignores them, but not before rolling her eyes.
“Anyway, that’s my example. Your turn.”
“I don’t have one. I’ll go to the NHL, play as hard as I can, and hopefully win a Cup one day.”
“What comes after that? Do you want to have a family?”
“That’s not on my mind right now.” When you live and breathe hockey there isn’t much else to care about. Everything I have is spent on making sure I don’t let anyone down—my teammates, coaches, or family.
“So your only goals are hockey and…” she pretends to check her notes, “hockey?”
“Exactly. That’s why I don’t go a day without practice.”
Surprise morphs her features. “You practice on days you don’t have practice?”
I lean back in my chair, nodding. “I gotta make sure I’m keeping up. I’m heading to the NHL in a few months.”
Her expression is incredulous. It takes her several seconds to form a sentence. “You think working out seven days a week is good for you? When do you rest?”
“I get plenty of rest after practice and I usually get eight hours of sleep.”
“That is not healthy, Aiden.”
Her concern isn’t something I need. I’ve heard it enough from everyone else around me. “It’s been working fine for me.”
“But—”
“Are we done here? I have to be up early for more volunteering,” I say, with false excitement.
A twinge of guilt hits me when her expression falls, and I have the urge to fill the tense silence. Summer gathers her stuff and exits the office so quickly, I barely have time to think. When I follow her out, she murmurs a quick bye when the heavy doors lock behind us and takes off in the opposite direction. The cold air hits my face as I slip on my jacket and eye her impractical attire. Her half-dry leggings and thin sweater were not meant for January in Connecticut.
“Where’s your car?” I call after her.
“I walked. My dorm is right there.” She points to the direction of the building closer to campus.
“I’ll give you a ride.”
“I’m good,” she says, trying to tame her long brown hair that flows in the direction of the wind.
“Let me give you a ride.”
She stares at me.
I stare back.
When it seems like she would rather stay out here and freeze under the wind chill, I let my gaze soften. “Please?” I almost don’t recognize my voice, but this girl is damn stubborn, and I don’t want her walking alone so late.
She concedes and follows me to my truck. “Is that like the standard jock-mobile?”
With the click of a button, the black F-450 lights flash. “I see you’re a fan of hockey stereotypes.”
“More like empirical evidence. All you need now is a country playlist to seal the deal.”
I open her door and try to help her up with a hand on her waist, but she swats it away to climb in herself. Sliding into my seat, I let the heat blast through the vents and turn on the seat warmer for her wet thighs. When my Bluetooth connects, the first song plays and much to my pleasure it’s a country song.
She laughs suddenly, forcing me to look at her to fully grasp the sound. I thought a laugh from Summer Preston was the last thing I’d ever get to hear. I’d made attempts at jokes with her all night and nada, not even a smile. But now that I know what it sounds like, I want to make it happen again.
She looks around my truck with a frown. “It smells good in here.”
“Are you usually in smelly cars?”
“No, I just mean your gear is probably back there.”
I shake my head. “It’s in the truck bed. Can’t have my backseat smelling bad.”
She snorts. Not quite a laugh, but close enough.
“Did you date a hockey player or something?” I find myself asking as I pull onto the road.
She stares out the window. “Or something.”
Ex-boyfriend it is. Clearly, her aversion to the sport is due to a bad experience. It can’t solely be because she dislikes me.
The rest of our car ride is silent until I pull up to her dorm. She’s out and speeding to the entrance before I get the chance to walk her in. I’m watching her head inside when my phone buzzes in the center console and I answer immediately. Missing a call from Edith Crawford is not a position anyone wants to be in. “Hi, Grandma.”
“Did you get my package? I had Eric send it through the post,” she says.
“Yes, all the guys loved them. I’ll send you pictures.”
She knit sweaters for the team and wouldn’t listen to anyone, not even her arthritic hands when she spent the last few months knitting. She said it gave her something other than their diner business to focus on.
It’s been a while since I visited home in Providence, but my grandparents understand that my schedule is so packed I barely have time to come up for air. Asking them to come down for games doesn’t feel right, especially since it’s hard for them to schedule around managing their diner.
The last time I had any family in the stands I was thirteen and both my parents had come. I remember that feeling like it was yesterday. I was full of joy and it was one of the best games I ever played. So good I got recruited to the major junior team as a bantam player. That was also the last game my parents ever attended, and though the stands are filled with screaming fans wearing my jersey it has never felt the same. I have a feeling it never will.
“Okay, I just wanted to check in. Will you be coming home for break?”
Spring break felt so far away I hadn’t thought about it. The only thing on my mind is making sure we make it to conference tournaments without anyone getting ejected, suspended, or put on probation. Which is harder than it seems when the guys are hell bent on doing stupid shit.
“Yeah, I am.”
“It would be nice if you brought a guest one of these days.”
My grandma isn’t slick with her questions, so I know what she wants to hear. She has pestered me about a girlfriend for the past two years, saying she’s getting old and I should use my looks for something other than monkeying around.
“Just me. But I’ll let you know if anything changes.”
“You know, we would like to be coherent enough to talk to a girl you bring home.”
They love playing the old age card, though they are the most energetic seventy-year-olds I know. They would be in the mountains hiking if it weren’t for my grandpa’s knee replacement.
“I’m sure you two will be as spry as ever when that day comes.” Not anytime soon, because a girlfriend hasn't been on my mind ever, and bringing one home isn’t something I’m willing to subject myself to. Casual hookups are the only thing I can sustain throughout the season, but now that seems impossible too.
“How are things with hockey?”
“Good. I’m coaching a class of mini mites tomorrow.” I omit that it isn’t of my own volition.
“You know, your dad used to volunteer for those when you were younger. Helped keep an eye on you too.”
I laugh. “Probably the reason I don’t get into nearly enough fights now.”
“Let’s keep it that way, I don’t need you losing any teeth,” she says sternly. “Well, I’ll let you go. Call me with some exciting news next time. You are boring an old woman.”
“I have plenty of exciting stories, Grandma.”
She hums. “None that you need to be telling me, I suppose. God knows what you college kids are doing these days.”
“Not me. I’m an angel.”
“I’m sure you are. Good night, bean.”
“Night, Grandma.”
7 | SUMMER
IT’S FOOLPROOF.
Those are the words I said to my therapist before she gave me a long list of reasons why my self-proclaimed foolproof formula is extremely detrimental.
One of the prerequisites for grad school is to attend a counseling session with an on-campus therapist last semester. I was all for it until we got down to the nitty-gritty and unearthed my abandonment issues. Who said therapy isn’t fun?
Sophia, my assigned counselor, had a lot to say about how I treated relationships. Apparently, my plan to abandon people before they abandoned me isn’t healthy. Go figure. She said my only friends since freshman year have been Amara and Cassie, as well as Sampson who doesn’t count since I’ve known him forever, because I don’t create attachments to people in fear I won’t be good enough for people to stick around. Thanks, Dad.
Heavy stuff, but we worked through most of it. I say most because I still haven’t talked to my dad. Sophia suggested that calling him would give me closure without having expectations. That was our last session because after I completed my credits, there really wasn’t any motivation to go back.
A splash from someone diving into the pool sends water to hit the glass of the waiting area. Sitting in the DC Aquatic Center, I watch the doors for Aiden who’s meeting me here for today’s session.
My phone buzzes with a text from my sisters. It’s a picture of the Dalton hockey team at last night’s game.
The Prestons
Serena: You go to school with these guys?
Serena: Because holy hotties.
Shreya: I knew your ‘stay away from hockey dudes’ spiel was so you could keep ‘em for yourself.
Shreya: Do any of them have brothers?
Summer: You two are fifteen. Keep it in your pants.
Summer: How did you even get that picture?
Serena: We went to the game with our school. UofT got their asses kicked by your boys.
Summer: Is Dad with you?
Serena: You don’t know? Dad’s in Boston, he’s their Interim Coach.
My heart sinks into my stomach. My dad is here. Well, a few hours away but he’s here. Has he come closer to work on our relationship? Or is he doing it for his career again? It makes sense that my sisters snuck off to a game that I’m sure they weren’t supposed to be at. However, the love for hockey runs deep in Preston blood, so I can’t fault them for it.
“How did you manage this?” Aiden’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts.
The afternoon light surrounds him like he’s some kind of deity, and I don’t know how he looks so put together after traveling for hours after his game. I offered to reschedule but he insisted we don’t waste time. Safe to say we’re both eager to get this project over with.
“You’re not the only one with connections, Crawford.”
The Aquatic Center is empty on very rare afternoons. It took me weeks of memorizing schedules to figure out the best time to sneak in. Today, the divers are gone for competitions, so the pool is pretty much empty.
We head into the respective changing rooms, and I regret my choice of bikini when I see myself in the mirror. I probably should have donned something more conservative. Though this is the only bikini I could find both pieces of. The rest are missing a bottom or strings.
Aiden’s waiting for me by a bench when I step out, and his gaze glides up my legs to fix on my face. He’s in red swim trunks and nothing else, obviously, but I’m stunned. Trying to bring my eyes to his face is challenging because the guy is shredded.
“You know, if you wanted to see me shirtless all you had to do was ask, Sunshine. You didn’t need to plan a whole swim lesson.”
“Don’t call me that.” His voice slices through the my thoughts. “Besides, there are enough shirtless pictures of you circulating Dalton’s gossip page. You’re not exactly a hidden gem.”
“Keeping up to date, eh?” He chuckles, gaze not moving a millimeter away from my face. “So what is this supposed to do?”
“It’s an alternative. Branching out into multiple sports is beneficial for student-athletes. It also eases the rigorous workout routine you put on your body.” If he won’t heed my word on rest, then I’ll give him minimal workouts to sate his hunger for working out seven days a week.
“The last time I swam in a pool, I was fifteen.”
“There’s no lifeguard. If you drown, I’m not saving you.”
He feigns offence. “I’m your research, you can’t let me die.”
“A few casualties along the way won’t hurt my application.” He throws me a dark look that pulls a smile from me. “Last one in the pool has to pay for the other’s dinner,” I say before taking off. Just as I’m about to hop off the edge and dive into the pool, Aiden’s arm hooks around my waist, and we spin into the water, his back hitting it first. I’m engulfed in chlorine-treated water and him. When we break through the surface I’m still trapped against his hard body.
“I don’t lose, Preston,” he whispers against the shell of my ear.
An involuntary shiver ghosts my skin before I disentangle myself from his arms and swim away. It’s a wonder how my skin still burns when I’m submerged in cold water. “I guess that UofT win is getting to your head.”
He swims around me. “And every win before that.”
Wiping that cocky grin off his face has become my sole purpose for the next thirty minutes. We start with slow laps until he speeds through every marker I set. I have an inkling he lied about not being a big swimmer.
When my phone rings by my towel, I pull out of the pool to reach it. If a lifeguard saw me, they’d chuck the thing in the water. Dalton has a strict no cell phones by the pool policy, after one rang during a competition and one of the swimmers actually stopped to check their notification. They hammered us with announcements about phone addictions and how our brains are rotting.
I quickly answer the phone. “Hello?”
“I hope you’re not avoiding me, Sunshine.”
His voice drops a lead weight in my stomach. “I’ve been busy, Dad.”
“Too busy for your family?”
My chest heaves as my grip on my phone tightens. “Guess I learned from the best.”
He’s silent for a minute, but he ignores the pointed jab. “I’m in Boston for a few months. I’d like to see you.”
A hot tide of resentment coasts up my spine. Aiden swims closer with questioning eyes. He must notice how rapidly I’m blinking. “Can’t. I’m not free.” I say hanging up just as Aiden approaches.
