Page 45 of Breakaway Hearts

“I was about to crumple it up and try for that garbage can.” She nods over to a metal cylinder at least twenty feet away.

“Are you good at basketball?”

“Does water polo count?”

“Can’t say I’m familiar enough to comment.”

“I’m Tabytha,” she introduces herself. Like the dress, she’s gorgeous. Red hair that reminds me of a sunset, a color I’m sure people pay thousands of dollars to recreate, the hint of freckles, and Owen’s green eyes.

“Madison,” I share, wishing she wasn’t so warm and friendly.

“I apologize in advance for what’s about to happen.”

I tense when I hear it; the sound of players hitting the ice. It used to fill me with excitement, but there’s trepidation now. I haven’t been to a game since before…that night.

I don’t think I want to be here for whatever Tabytha is apologizing for. I should have waited to show up later, but there’s a chance I won’t stay to the end, so the sooner Jason knows I came, the better.

“Tee!” One of the players calls out with a wave. I expect it to be Owen, a big brother annoying his little sister, but I don’t even see him on the ice yet. Jason is in the crease doing his ritual. I can tell you the exact moment he’ll look up, take in the crowd, then ignore us for the next few hours. I wonder if he even knows where to look, but then he skates around the net, scours the stands, and his face lights up when his eyes land on me.

He skates a few feet away from the net, but the last thing I want is to be singled out, which he should know, so I release the breath I was holding as he nods and skates back to the crease.

“Tabby cat!” Another player shouts, skating up to us.

Tabytha blushes, which makes her even more beautiful.

“Come on, T-Dog!”

“I’m not even dating any of them.” She sighs before reluctantly waving down with the fakest smile that I would expect to be paired with a middle finger if there weren’t kids here.

“Do they know that?” I ask.

“They’re my brother’s idiot friends and roommates. They’re harmless, but I blush when I’m nervous, and they’re immature.”

“Think we’ll be seeing more of you this season, Baby Brooks?” The one who called her T-Dog asks, almost flirtatiously, but I don’t think he means it. He’s the one who hit on me at the Commons the night I met Owen, and I’m pretty sure he’s also studying law. Colton something?

“I don’t know, maybe if you guys start winning for a change.”

The Tabby cat one brings his hand to his chest as if she wounded him, but she just shakes her head.

“Go warm up, Lewis,” she tells him, but she’s smiling, and I remember when I sat with the girlfriends during high school games. I was in Jay’s seats, not Trevor’s, because his dad came to every game, either with his mom or his business partner, but all the guys would tease me, just like that. I’d played with them growing up, my dad was their assistant coach for years… “How’s my form, Finch?” was the most frequent comment I got, most of them taking whatever advice I gave on their game, but Trevor would wink, and I knew he wasn’t talking about his plays on the ice…a part of me craved that attention. Loved the way girls who were way more popular, more conventionally beautiful, girls with trust funds who got cars for their sixteenth birthday…they looked at me with envy, and I didn’t hate it.

God, I was stupid.

The guys continue their warmup, then leave for the Zamboni to do its thing, and I sink deeper into my chair, wrapping the hoodie around me tighter.

Sometimes the good memories upset me more than the bad ones.

Tabytha goes back to drawing, either because she senses my unease, or it’s just what she does, but she occasionally asks me if I think chainmail is chic or tacky, if silk is sexy or makes you think of your grandmother. Both are said with a straight face as she concentrates on her sketch, but I think she doesn’t want my opinion so much as to get me out of my head. Which works.

No one scores throughout most of the first period, though the opposing team does try, getting more and more frustrated with each shot Jason stops. They take this frustration out in the game, with hooking and slashing and minutes in the penalty box, which probably makes them angrier, but also allows two Wolves to score on power plays. Owen also scores, even-handed, and I reluctantly cheer with Tabytha, because it’s our school team, the atmosphere is intoxicating, and it was a fucking beautiful goal. But then the asshole looks over at us the whole time he’s fist bumping his teammates, and raises his hockey stick to point it right at us.

At Tabytha, I tell myself, vehemently, but I’m like 99% sure his eyes are on me. I want to look around and make sure no one saw, but I think if I pretend I don’t notice, people will assume he was looking at someone else. Like his sister. Who he should have been looking at. And I’ve been told, by him, that I have resting bitch face, so I’m pretty sure he knows.

“You would think that’s for me, being his beloved sister and all, but I promise you he has never looked at me that way, or done that before,” Tabytha lets me know she isn’t fooled.

“There’s a first time for everything,” I suggest.

Or he could just be an ass.