“Ha. Ha.” I roll my eyes. Jack warned me that some celebrity gossip sites had run with a story about us being engaged before he left. I shrugged it off, like anyone would believe him to be that smitten with me. But for whatever reason, the town is living for the rumor. Moulton’s Farm, for example, started an “Apple of the Eye, Jack and Aulie Dating Package.” I’d be tempted to ask them not to use my name, but since one of their sheep is still on the…lam, I’m scared to ask anything of them. “But seriously, he’s just getting back into the swing of things. He’s still Jack. Still the best in the league. Even when he’s not his best.”
I sit back, confident that Jack will overcome this slump soon. But when the game starts and the puck drops, it’s hard for me to remain biased enough in his talents.
Jack’s not just in a slump—he’s in something more profound than that. And if he doesn’t figure it out soon, he will either get benched or die.
During his third shift, Jack gets slammed against the boards with an extra force. I cringe and cover my eyes, desperately wishing to block out the scene. When I crack them open again, the broadcast is replaying him skating back to the bench in slow motion. With slumped shoulders and a defeated expression, he’s carrying himself like a man who’s lost all hope.
“It’s like his heart is somewhere else,” I say. My chest constricts, almost as if it were stuck in my throat.
“It is, pumpkin,” Emy says quietly. “It’s still here.”
Emy’s words fall like ice water in my veins. I know Jack cares about me, but hockey has always been the most important thing in his life. He may have given me a fraction of his heart this past month, but if he keeps playing like this, it won’t be long before he asks for it back.
ChapterThirty-Six
Jack Parker
Play:Faithfully by Journey
Another bad game for Jack Parker. Tidwell needs to move him off the first line.
Screw the first line, I want him off the damn team. He’s not the guy, Mike. He’s done—and I don’t know if it’s for the season or for good, but I’d rather another team figure that out. Trade his ass or ship him back up to New Hampshire so he can run around with those weird pants.
God, New Hampshire, can you imagine wanting to go there?
Good fireworks and cheap liquor, though.
True. Maybe they can light one under his ass.
“Okay.That’s enough radio for today.” With a nervous chuckle, Grady shuts off the stereo in my car. My knuckles tighten on the steering wheel as we approach the practice arena. I weave in and out of traffic as tourists, and regular Massholes make a mess of the road in front of us.
“God, there’s so much traffic today,” I grunt.
“Seems normal to me.” Grady shrugs. “Chawton Falls made you—”
“Don’t. Say. It.” My jaw clenches. Maybe I was too happy my first few games back, but now, with my shoulders tense and annoyance clinging to my muscles like a second skin, the fierce grump is back—it’s only a matter of time before I shake the rust off and get back into the zone.
Parking the car, Grady is quick to get out. We’re notParker Late.But we’re not exactlyGrady Early,either. Not when I’ve been playing like shit, and his anxiety is taking a hit.
It’s not fair that my performance affects him, but it does, and I owe him to get my shit together on the ice.
I grab my phone, opening a string of texts from Aulie as I walk into the building.
A picture of Willoughby laying on a crocheted couch sits in my messages.
Kitten
Best idea ever.
Jack
He’s going to hump the hell out of that.
Kitten
Hey, whatever keeps Quackers safe.
Oh. Oh dear god, I should probably leave him and the couch alone now.
