Page 124 of With the Assist

Haley perks up immediately. “Oh my god, yes. Please confirm.”

I shake my head, laughing despite myself as we reset at midfield. “I’m not talking about this.”

“That’s a yes,” Avery says smugly.

“Oh, captain. My captain!” Becca teases, in a breathy fake moan.

Avery snorts, and my cheeks go molten.

Luckily, Coach blows her whistle, saving me from more embarrassment. We transition into shooting drills. I line up at the top of the box, take a touch, and strike. The ball snaps into the right corner of the net.

We rotate through another round. Pass, move, shoot. The repetitive motion should clear my head. Usually it does. But today, my thoughts keep drifting, circling the same truth I’ve been carefully avoiding.

The way his hands have learned my body in such a short amount of time. His confidence when we’re together grounds me, even when my anxiety threatens to pull me under.

Sure, we don’t talk about the future, and we don’t pretend this is anything more than what it is. But my body doesn’t care about rules, and my heart is starting to forget them entirely.

“So,” Becca says lightly, as if we’re discussing practice instead of my impending emotional demise. “You guys are coming tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, after dinner.”

Coach calls time, and we jog toward the sideline, breath fogging in the air.

Avery bumps her shoulder into mine, so I hang back with her. “You look happy,” she says, softer now.

She’s seen every version of me that exists on and off the field. The ruthless one. The locked in one. The one who plays through pain and refuses help. She is one of the few people who also recognizes the difference between focused and hiding, and lately, I suspect she knows I have been doing a little of both.

“I’m good.” I don’t let myself smile.

“I know I was the one who suggested you go for it.” She bites her lip nervously. “But be careful getting invested, Wesley. Hockey players, especially ones that get his kind of attention. They don’t settle down.”

“I’m not attached.” Even as I say it, I know I’m lying.

I’m really fucking attached. But that doesn’t mean I won’t end it. I’m nothing if not exceptional at cutting my feelings off when I need to and ignoring the pain.

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” Avery leans over, giving me a side hug that doesn’t draw too much attention.

“You know me,” I tease. “Poster child for self-control.”

She smiles, then walks away, leaving me standing, wondering whether it’s even possible to avoid getting hurt when Nathan’s already carved himself into me so deeply.

I grab my water bottle and take a long drink, eyes drifting to my phone on the bench, already knowing there will be a message waiting from him. There always is.

Tomorrow, we’ll count down together. We’ll laugh. We’ll ignore the expiration date. We’ll do what we do best. Fake it. I’m just not faking the same things anymore.

Coach catches me as I’m shoving my shin guards into my bag, the cold finally settling into my fingers now that the adrenaline is fading.

“Wesley,” she says, hand light on my arm. “Got a minute?”

My pulse drums in my ears. It always does, no matter how old I get, no matter how many seasons I’ve played under her. I nod, following her a few steps away from the rest of the team, toward the far sideline where the noise thins out, and the field feels wider.

She crosses her arms, studying me.

“I wanted to talk to you before we break until the party,” she says. “It’s about the Future’s Camp at the end of January.”

My heart stutters. “The camp for the National Team?”

She smiles. “Yes, that’s the one.”