“Oof. Caught in the friend zone, huh? That’s tough.” I swear the smirk was permanently etched onto Mason’s face.
“At least Violet considers me a friend. I doubt you can say the same.” Carlos was more perceptive than I thought.
Carlos’s cutting words leave Mason speechless and clenching his jaw. The movement is so subtle I doubt Carlos even noticed it. But I did. I knew all of Mason’s tells, including those that signaled he was losing an internal battle and was about to go off. And from the tension in his jaw and the way his hands were balled into fists, I gathered it was time to close the curtain on my entertainment and head to this meeting.
I push my seat back from the table and stand drawing their attention. “As fun as this has been, Mason and I do need to head to a meeting.” Mason looks up at me, the little storm clouds in his eyes settling as he registers the seriousness on my face. He gets up and puts some distance between us as I pack up all my things. Turning to Carlos, I feel a flood of guilt wash over me at the look of hurt on his face. “We’ll catch up more later C, I promise.”
“Maybe over dinner soon?”
We’d never really hung out much outside of the Beanery, but I sort of relished in the bold offer directly in front of Mason. I gave him a soft smile. “Sure, sounds nice. Talk to you later?”
“Definitely.”
With that I throw my bag over my shoulder and exit the café, Mason right beside me. Neither of us say anything as we begin our walk to the hockey arena, his silence only fueling my irritation. We are almost at the rink when I can’t contain myself anymore. “Care to explain what the hell that was back there?”
“Not sure what you mean Vi.”
“Seriously? Did I just hallucinate the dick-measuring contest?” I give him a pointed look so he knows I’m clued into his little games.
“Don’t be so dramatic.” He rolls his eyes as he holds the door to the arena open gesturing for me to walk in first. “I was just getting to know your friend.”
“No, you were actively trying to provoke him.”
“Oh, was I?”
“Yes. Your infamous‘I’m Mason Hayes. I’m so much better than everyone. I wonder how long I can keep pushing before this guy snaps, and I can feel better about myself’ face was in full force.”
“Wow. You got all of that from looking at me? Who knew you were so perceptive.”
I feel myself regressing back to when we were teenagers. “You can be such a dick sometimes.”
“Yea, I’m a real asshole. Makes sense why you cut me out of your life.”
I nearly trip over my own feet at his words. He halts abruptly and turns back to look at me. “Oh, nothing you want to say now.”
It was a statement more than it was a question. Or really, an accusation. One that I didn’t feel the need to address.
“I didn’t think so.” He mutters more to himself than me as he continues to stalk down the hall, where we see Jake propped up against the door.
The tall blonde hockey player steps aside as Mason unlocks the door and huffs inside. Jake raises his eyebrows at his coach’s clear irritation, and shoots me a look that says,‘What’s his problem?’. When he realizes I’m equally upset and unwilling to talk, he rolls his eyes and lets out an exasperated sigh before entering the office. “This should be fun.”
thirteen
. . .
Mason
There weremany parts of the nearby streets surrounding Westchester’s campus that were unrecognizable to me now. Nearly every old restaurant or bar I had spent my nights in as a student here had been torn down and replaced by either a trendy brewery that only served IPAs or fusion restaurants most students couldn’t afford. The one staple that remained was Cornwhall’s, an old family-owned pub established in the late sixties, beloved by students and most locals. Walking into the pub and over to the bar I’m immediately met with the familiar scent of burgers and beer. The wall farthest back in the room is still covered in a shrine of newspaper articles detailing massive championship wins from Boston’s professional and college teams.
It takes me a few seconds to spot the photo of me, Mikey, and Bradon propping up the Bean Pot trophy. Of course, that would be the picture they decide to hang up. Not the one of our NCAA win, or even the night we became Hockey East champions. Instead, they memorialized a moment from a tournament based solely on bragging rights and school pride. Every year TD Garden, home of the Boston Bruins, would open its arena for two weeks to some of the biggest college hockey teams in the area. Tickets to the games would sell out months in advance as old alumni flew in from across the U.S. to attend. We’d won the whole thing my sophomore year after nearly a decade of losses and the entire arena exploded. The first place we brought that trophy was Cornwhall’s.
“I wonder whatever happened to those kids.”
The comment snaps me out of a daze, and I turn around to see Mikey standing behind me, a huge grin on his face. Damn, I didn’t realize how much I missed him until now. “Thanks for taking the train down.” Our hometown is only an hour away and I know driving into Boston could be a nightmare.
“You know I love this place.” He claps one of his massive hands on my back and slides into the bar stool right next to mine. “Glad to see you finally remembered how to use your phone, Hayesy.”
The nickname from the days we played hockey together takes me back. “I don’t even remember the last time someone’s called me that.”
