“Foster! Now!”
He threaded a pass through Drew’s legs—the absolute disrespect—and I redirected it on my backhand past Gordy’s outstretched pad. The puck kissed the inside of the post and crossed the line.
“Goal!” I roared, throwing my arms up.
The kids erupted. Drew swore. Foster skated over and bumped my chest with his shoulder. Even Gordy nodded from behind his mask, which from him was basically a standing ovation.
“Rematch,” Drew demanded. “That redirect was luck.”
“It was hand-eye coordination. But sure, tell yourself whatever helps you sleep at night.”
We stood there on the ice, all four of us, catching our breath, and for one perfect moment everything felt exactly right.
Drew clapped a hand on my shoulder. “We should do this more often. I’ve missed playing with you guys.”
There were nods of agreement before Gordy and Fosterskated over to the boards to get some water. Drew hung back.
He studied me, his expression shifting from playful to searching. “You good?”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he let it go. Drew could be oblivious about a lot of things—like the fact that I’d been sleeping with his sister all summer—but he wasn’t stupid. He knew something was off. He just didn’t know what.
And I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t tell any of them. Because the thing that was eating me alive wasn’t something I could explain without detonating every friendship I cared about.
But fuck, I missed her.
I’d convinced myself I wanted silence, but now the silence was deafening.
The guys changed out of their gear while the rink emptied. Drew was telling a story about Rory, and Foster was laughing while Gordy just shook his head. I listened, smiled in the right places, and tried to ignore the thing in my chest that hadn’t faded even with the rush of the game.
Gordy caught my eye as we walked into the parking lot. He didn’t say anything. Just held my gaze for a beat longer than necessary before heading to his truck.
I loaded my gear into mine and then pulled out my phone.
No new messages.
I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over Ava’s name. I could text her. Instead, I shoved my phone back in my pocket.
“You guys wanna grab some lunch?”
“Only if you’re buying,” Drew said. “You owe me after that bullshit redirect.”
“I’ll buy if it means you’ll stop crying about it.”
This was fine. This was what I needed. Guy time to get my head back on straight. I’d never been fucked-up over a woman before, and I couldn’t let myself start now.
TWENTY-EIGHT
I’d spent nine days avoiding Ava at all costs—which was no small feat given I worked for her dad and her parents loved me, inviting me to dinner every chance they got.
Nine days of grueling work with Mr. D, even coming to shifts after hockey camp days.
Nine days of falling into bed so exhausted I could barely think.
Nine days of telling myself that space was the smart play—that if I just stayed away long enough, whatever the hell was happening inside my chest would sort itself out.
It hadn’t.
