“And yet,” he agreed.
Chapter 20
Away Game
Luke
Road trips usually followed a strict pattern: bus, headphones, hotel, meal, sleep.I liked the rhythm.It left no room for anything extraneous.
But this trip to Boston in mid-February was different.
We were playing Northeastern on Saturday.A huge game—scouts were confirmed, the alumni association was throwing a mixer, and Harper was vibrating with intensity.
I sat in the fourth row of the bus, headphones on but playing nothing.I wished I was driving myself.Leaving my truck sitting in the campus lot while I rode on a coach bus felt like a waste of horsepower.
The engine hummed beneath my feet, a low vibration that usually put me to sleep.Today, I was wired.
My phone buzzed in my lap.I shielded the screen with my hand, glancing around.Ryan was two rows up, arguing with Javier about fantasy football stats.
Austen:Entering Massachusetts airspace.Traffic density increasing.
I smiled, thumbing a reply.
Me:You flying the Camry or driving it?
Austen:Low altitude flight.ETA 45 minutes.
I pictured him in his beat-up sedan, NPR probably playing, his hands at ten and two.He was driving three hours to present a paper at a math symposium, but we both knew that wasn’t the only reason he was coming.
Me:We’re twenty out.Coach is in a mood.She made the freshmen carry her espresso machine.
Austen:Power move.I respect that.
I huffed a laugh, then caught myself.I looked up.Ryan had turned around in his seat and was watching me with narrow eyes.
“What’s funny, Monk?”
“Nothing,” I said, locking my phone screen.“Podcast.”
“You’re listening to a comedy podcast?”Ryan asked skeptically.“You usually listen to, like, thunder sounds.”
“It’s a new one.About… goaltending bloopers.”
Ryan stared at me for a long second.“Right.Listening to bloopers.Hilarious.”
He turned back around.I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.Ryan had said nothing, but I was suspecting that he’d figured out Austen and I had become more than roommates.We’d been secretly—or not so secretly—dating for two months.I don’t know why we hadn’t announced it publicly.Apparently, we were both out, we’d just never been out to each other before that kiss.
I looked out the window.The Boston skyline was rising in the distance, gray and steel against the winter sky.Usually, this view made my stomach tight—another city, another arena, another sixty minutes where I had to be perfect.
Today, looking at the Prudential Tower, all I could think was that Austen would be somewhere in that grid of streets.I couldn’t believe my game and his conference put us in the same city at the same time.But the distance already felt like we were millions of miles away.
We hit Matthews Arena first for a practice skate.
Matthews was old school—the oldest indoor ice arena still in use.The rafters were dark wood, the seating steep, the ice hard and fast.It smelled of eighty years of sweat, beer, and popcorn.
I loved it.
I tapped my posts, settling into the crease.Harper blew the whistle.
