“What do you mean, none?” He’s quick to reply, quicker to question “You quit the game?”
I purse my lips to the side, neither confirming nor denying. It’s a sore spot. I hate talking about it. “Yeah, I didn’t get recruited, so I didn’t really quit. I guess hockey quit me.”
He gives me a sharp look. “Do you still want to play?”
I blow out a breath and turn my attention back to my car, where Koren waits patiently in the passenger seat. I don’t need to tell this guy my life story. I need to call the cops and get this over with. “Look, I’ve got things to do, and my friend is in the car. I’d feel better if someone took a look at us both.” I pull out my phone and start dialing. “I’m just going to call—”
He puts his hand over mine, stopping me. Now he’s staring at me, nostrils flaring. A cold chill springs in my gut, giving me whole-body shivers.
“Dude, why are you looking at me with demonic intent?” I jerk my phone back and step away.
“That’s not demonic,” he says hastily, a chuckle slipping through his lips. “I sometimes get a bit of a lazy eye, and slamming my head back on the headrest when I hit your car just triggered it.”
Tilting my head, I study him. He’s classically unhinged. The sooner I get away, the better. I slide my foot back, putting my phone to my ear. “Look bro, I’m going to wait in the car until the cops get here. Don’t try to go anywhere because I already got your name.”
“Tell you what.” He lunges forward, stepping between me and my car. Now I spike an alarmed eyebrow. “I’ll make you a deal. You get a walk-on spot on my team next season if you don’t make that call.”
My head jolts back. More goosebumps spiral up my spine as his lazy eye—or whatever it is—zeroes in on me like a beam. “What did you just say?”
“I said, I don’t want the cops involved. You get a spot in my roster, but nobody finds out about this.” He’s speaking slower now, as if he knows he’s hit my let’s-make-a-deal nerve.
I narrow my eyes. “You already have your roster.”
He stares at me expressionlessly, sending another spiral of goosebumps up my spine. I’ve heard of Bill Baker so many times. He’s not a guy people want to get tangled up with. But the dude owns a hockey team right here in Mapleton. It’s my dream to play.
A knot swells in my throat. Nothing about this feels like a good idea … but I love hockey. It’s been my entire personality since I was four years old. The hurt and the depression I’ve been living through these last few months, facing the loss of that dream, have almost driven me off the edge.
Swallowing down the knot, I squeak, “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you backed into a pole. You take that car to any body shop you want and pay with the cash that I give you. You sign with us and start next season.”
I clamp my teeth on my bottom lip, trying to stop my mouth from hanging open. This can’t be for real. He sure doesn’t want to get the cops involved. Pressure fills my head, making it hard for me to think straight. At that moment, I visualize myself in the starting lineup next year …
The announcer calls my name.
I skate out on the ice, and the crowd goes wild. Just like in all my dreams.
I scan the audience. There’s Koren, beaming back at me. She sure looks gorgeous in Granite Ice blue … and wait, she’s wearing my name on her jersey. My heart inflates so big, it’s about to explode. My parents are next to her, smiling. Proud. They’re never proud lately. All I am to them is a giant disappointment with no future.
I could make them proud again.
I could impress Koren.
We could finally be together.
My gaze floats to the side. Before I can stop myself, I give the kind of slow nod I’ve only seen in movies. “Deal.”
Bill looks at me again, with his lazy eye narrowing to a slit like some sort of omen. Suddenly my throat goes dry. I swallow right as he slides his hand forward, offering me a handshake.
“Deal.”
two
Koren Roberts
One thing about my graduation class: We don’t ever do anything small. The bonfire is huge. Someone must’ve doused it in gasoline before we all got here. The flames spiral upward from the center like they’re celebrating with us.
It doesn’t matter what day it is—whenever we have one of these beach parties, someone’s subwoofer is always playing Sam Hunt. It just puts me in a mood. Like, even though I couldn’t be more excited to be done with school, I’m scared to let go of the past. Tonight feels like the last night of something and the first night of something else, and I can’t decide if I’m excited or terrified. I’m scared to step forward, but the heartsick ache in my chest keeps pulling my gaze to Elijah.
