Page 57 of Breakaway Hearts

“Your best friend?”

We’ve watched enough games together, with enough idle chitchat, that I know a lot about Tabytha who is studying fashion, her roommate who she promises will come to a game eventually, and the high school reputations of Owen, his best friend Mike, and Colt, who is in my program, a year ahead of me, and gives zero impressions of wanting anything to do with law…not even after a potential NHL career. Tab says he’s not that bad deep down, he just comes off as a douche, but I’m not buying it. He’s entitled. Hopefully not like someone else I had the misfortune of knowing. We’re at the stage where I should also be sharing with her…but I’m not holding up my end of the conversation. I explain the hockey she’s unclear on, the team rivalries and Wynchester history…but I’m not sure who I am anymore, so I don’t know what to show her.

“Best friends since we were kids. And my roommate,” I share.

“I don’t get a romantic vibe, but⁠—”

“Are you interested?” I ask, equal parts thrilled because I like her and want Jay’s happiness more than my own, and fucking apprehensive, because she’s Owen’s sister, and the more time I spend with that asshole, the harder it is to convince myself that he is, in fact, an asshole. Or someone untrustworthy I should stay away from. Which is bad. Plus, if they did fall in love, that would bring Owen from a temporary teammate of Jay’s, to practically my brother-in-law. Where I’d either watch him prove me right at some point…or spend decades waiting for something that never happens. I don’t think I’d ever have to worry about Jay covering for him or not believing a victim, but…it just feels messy and complicated.

“Not even a little bit,” she assures me, almost like she knows. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong or he isn’t absolutely…I just don’t have any interest in dating any of his teammates.”

“Am I sensing a story there?”

She hesitates, looking down to where her brother, Colt, and Mike are getting off the ice. She lets out a breath, almost like a sigh. “Owen’s actually pretty cool. He’d never let something like that keep me from dating someone I liked that he thought was a good guy…” She pauses, but I don’t think it’s because she’s into bad boys. “It’s a personal rule,” she decides. “I don’t want someone who thinks my brother should decide who I can date.”

There’s definitely more, but I’m not asking.

“How did we get into this?” she asks.

“You’re not interested in Jason?”

“And neither are you.” There’s the hint of a question to her statement.

“I would platonically marry him and live happily ever after if I could, but he actually wants the whole love, marriage, and kids thing. Very old fashioned. In the most progressive and feminist way,” I add.

“Are you not?”

“I learnt how to knit just to make those hats,” I defend myself. Jay still wears his sometimes, and it’s hilarious to see his gigantic frame accentuated by a pink nipple hat. It’s like catnip for women, so he doesn’t do it too often.

“Oh, I figured,” she assures me. “I meant the married with kids part.”

It feels like someone is squeezing my chest, stealing all the air as I try to stay neutral. Jay would tease me when we were younger because I was such a tomboy, checking the opposite team more than most of the guys, yet I would still force him to watch romcoms with me –before I found out he secretly enjoys them too. I couldn’t wait to fall in love and get married and do all the cool things my parents did with me. While Jay wrote ‘play in the NHL’ on his frame, I wrote ‘be a mom’ on mine.

But I can’t imagine trusting someone enough to have a child with them. And I wouldn’t want to punish a kid with a messed-up mom like me.

“I’m focusing on my career,” I tell her, because it’s easier, and she nods like she thinks I’ll get knocked up the second I have my degree. Which was probably my plan when I was young and naïve.

“You sound like my brother. No offense.”

I’m torn between wanting to know more and making sure Owen never gets the wrongful impression that I care.

Because I don’t.

I couldn’t care less about his hopes and dreams for the future.

“None taken,” I say instead.

“He’s convinced he needs to wait until he’s settled in the NHL to find love, which is the worst way to go about it, because he’ll never know why she’s with him.”

“He wants to sow his wild oats?” I ask, because it’s what my mom asked Jason last time he said he wasn’t looking for a girlfriend, but I regret it instantly.

Tab bursts out laughing, then vehemently shakes her head. “Gross, that’s my brother,” she warns before the guys start coming out. Tab knows everyone on the team, so I make an excuse to use the washroom while they invite her to yet another party at Ivy.

The girls in the stalls beside me are debating if they can just show up or if they need to know someone to get into the hockey house. They sound like high school students on a tour, and I want to tell them all the guys have syphilis or something, but I might have to settle for a noise complaint that brings all the cops to the yard.

I’m not really that petty, or paranoid, I hope, but I don’t know how else to not hate myself in the morning if anything happens. I almost told them I could get them in if they gave me their numbers, which I would then use to check in on them, but that felt creepy and stalkerish.

“Mads, always a pleasure,” Owen says pretty much as soon as I step out.