The kids’ laughter was contagious, and we looked at each other while we joined in. It was too easy.
“How long have you been friends?” a redheaded girl asked.
“Since college,” I said.
Her eyes widened. “Wow. You guys areold.”
At the end of the session, we signed notebooks, homework, and even a few sneakers. When the kids left, the quiet pressed in. We packed up the equipment and carried it to the car, then climbed into the back seat.
Nico looked over at me. “Not bad for a truce.” His voice was lighter than I’d heard it in years.
“Yeah,” I said. “Almost forgot what it was like when we weren’t at each other’s throats.”
He was quiet for a moment, staring out the window. Finally, he turned to me and said, “We used to be good at this. Being a team.”
For a moment, it was college again. Just the two of us, on the same side of everything.
“Guess we’re still pretty good at it,” he said.
I smiled. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late.”
We rode across town in silence as I tried to sort out what had happened. My pulse was still buzzing from playing one-on-one with him again. We’d fallen into an easy rhythm without even trying.
Damn it, I missed that. And as much as I hated to admit it, I missedhim.
7/
nico
Pack didn’t lookat me. We’d been in the car for ten minutes without a word. He stared out the window, shoulders tense, like he was waiting for me to throw something at him.
We’d spent a long time mastering the art of not talking except to throw insults during games. But after this morning, the silence was different. Memories of the few times we’d seen each other through the years, and the horrible things we’d said on the ice, came racing back. I was crushed by the weight of the hatred we’d shown.
I wanted to say something. Crack a joke, maybe, or acknowledge what had happened at the school. But what would I say?Hey, that was fun. Remember when we used to be friends?
Instead, I looked out the window on my side of the back seat, trying to ignore the tightness in my chest. This morning had been dangerous. For a few hours, I’d forgotten why I hated him.
The one-on-one at the school was the best hockey I’d played in months. I’d forgotten how we always brought out the best in each other back in college. Hell, we still did, which was why neither of us ever won a fight. Pack could read my movements before I made them, and the way we’d fallen into sync without a word was so easy it scared me.
Still, whatever had happened at the school, the Packy from Michigan was long gone. He’d been replaced by this smug asshole who made my blood boil every time the Condors played the Warriors.
I had to remember that. Because if I forgot, I’d start wanting the old version of him back. All the shit that drove us apart was so real it still hurt. The fight, the betrayal, and the years of hostility that had calcified into something hard enough to keep me safe. I couldn’t let it go because he never would.
The car crept along in traffic, and I glanced over, planning to say something about Atlanta drivers. Pack’s expression stopped me cold. He looked tired, and if I hadn’t known better, I’d have wondered if he was as sick of all the animosity as I was.
“You good?” I asked before I could stop myself.
He blinked, then shrugged. “Yeah. Fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“Well, I am.” The shields had slammed back into place.
I looked away and swallowed my disappointment. The warmth from this morning was gone, so apparently friendliness was only a show we put on for fans. We’d make it through this, smiling for the cameras and doing our jobs. After Houston, we’d go home and forget each other until the next time. It would be all right because it had to be.
We still hadn’t said a word when we were pulling up at our next appearance, so I glared at him. “You always this chatty on road trips, or am I special?”
