Page 88 of Breakaway Hearts

“Perfect,” he says finally, with a quick kiss on his handiwork.

He opens the door for me, then I watch him go while I get back to work, trying not to think of how good he felt inside me.

Before I leave, I check the program on the school’s website, relieved when I don’t recognize any names. Which should be progress. You’d think I’d be happy to see someone I know, as it would mean I get a night off without having to feel guilty about it. But I’ve always loved hockey.

My jersey has Hargraves and #1 on it, and I cheer the loudest when a shot on net is blocked by my bestie, but Owen’s game is something to watch, and as much as I roll my eyes every time he scores and winks at me, it also sends stupid flutters to my stomach.

I tell myself everyone assumes it’s for Tab, who is usually sitting beside me, and I appreciate that he doesn’t raise his stick and make it obvious, like the first time…but it also has me imagining what my college experience could have been like if I wasn’t broken.

“Popcorn or pizza?” Tab asks me at second intermission, getting up and stretching. We’re up 3-0, and it feels like the stands are filled with tension.

“I haven’t had dinner yet.”

“Pizza it is,” she says, then breaks out into a story about a guy from one of her classes who offered to get pizza for their study group and somehow ordered one that was just sauce, onions, and olives.

“He insists it was a system glitch, but I’m pretty sure it’s his regular order. Do you think he’s a psychopath?” she finishes as we get in line behind a sea of crimson. Home games usually have an abundance of Wolf fans and very few visiting jerseys, but Harvard is well-represented tonight.

“He might be,” I humor her. “I can’t trust anyone who loves onions.”

“Or olives.” She shivers. “What are your favorite toppings?”

She often asks me random questions, to spark conversations or speed up our knowing everything about each other, which I’m hoping is a joke, but we’re also getting close. For surface stuff, at least.

“Onions and olives. Preferably without cheese,” I say, because I’m hilarious, but I miss her response when I notice Angela’s in front of us, and catch a part of her conversation.

“Jason is so sexy. I’ve missed watching him do that split warmup, but my God, when he took off his helmet to drink…I literally drooled. That face should not be hidden behind a mask.”

“Wait, Hargraves is the goalie you wanted to climb like a tree?” Angela asks her friend, who is dressed all in red.

“You’ve seen him, so you can’t judge me. He’s even gotten hotter…or maybe that’s just because his lap dog doesn’t hang off him on the ice.”

“His what?”

“Madison Finch? I’m sure she followed him here.”

I freeze, very much regretting my eavesdropping, but it’s too late to stop now, and Tab hasn’t asked me any more questions, so she’s probably listening too.

“Girl was such a puck bunny in high school. Always hanging around the hockey team.” I turn to explain to Tab that I was on the team through junior high, so they were friends and teammates, not potential conquests, but the girl continues, “I heard she slept with the entire team. Or at least tried to.”

“Really?” In her defense, Angela genuinely looks shocked and offended for me. Which would be comforting if she didn’t add, “I would call her more of a reverse jersey chaser. Girl is not picky, but she turned down every single athlete who looked her way.”

“That’s not the same Maddie.”

I wasn’t unpopular in high school. I was a scholarship kid, which has never helped anyone be cool, nor did my mom working in the cafeteria for part of it, but being friends with Jay and the other guys on the team meant I was saved from most of the bullying. There was a small group of girls who hated me, mostly for those friendships. They referred to themselves as future WAGs (both because most weren’t dating players yet, and the others believed you only got the title when the player went pro) and saw me as an obstacle to that. I didn’t recognize her at first, but I’m pretty sure she was in that group, maybe with a different hair color.

I was never interested in anyone but Trevor, which was enough of a transgression in their eyes, because other than Jay, he was most likely to go pro. And I often got invited along for team activities, including cabin ski trips, which pissed a lot of the girls off.

“This line is taking forever. Why don’t we eat after the game?” Tab suggests, bringing me back from memory lane. “Savannah said she had cookies.”

I so appreciate what she’s trying to do, but they’ve moved on to other hot guys they knew in high school, how Trevor has been crushing it at Berwick, and it all becomes too much for me. My chest is tight, and I can’t get enough air.

“I’m so sorry, but I completely forgot to send in my article for the paper. Mickey is going to kill me.” She wouldn’t, even if I really had forgotten it. She’s very ‘I’ll work with whatever I have by the deadline’, but I make it a point to not be the one giving her more work.

“Are you sure?” Tab asks. “We can go to the library and⁠—”

“No, it’s fine. I promised my mom I’d call her anyways.” I pile on more lies Tabytha can definitely see through, but I need to get out of here, so I grab my bag and flee the second she nods, trying to remind myself I shouldn’t run if I don’t want her to know, but I can’t help it.

I gulp the air as soon as I’m through the doors, as if I’ve been underwater and finally clawed my way to the surface, but it almost feels like I landed on a different planet, and this oxygen ratio doesn’t work on my lungs.