Page 14

I loved hockey. It was the only thing I was good at. But doctors, and nurses, and teachers? Those people were legitimate fucking heroes. And he could have been one of them.

“I dunno. Maybe.” He glanced away, his ears turning red. “I took all the pre-med requirements just in case.”

Just in case.

I didn’t know a lot about a lot of things, but I knew enough from watching movies and T.V. shows that being pre-med at Harvard wouldn’t have been a walk in the park. Cally would have had to work for it—and that was on top of the insane load he was already carrying by playing hockey.

No one willingly took on even more “just in case.” Not unless you were looking for an out.

Holy fuck.

My eyes snapped to his. “Nobody knows you thought about quitting, do they?”

“You can’t tell anybody,” he whispered urgently, his head spinning left and then right to make sure no one was around to overhear us.

“I won’t. I promise.” And even if I did, who would believe me? “Does this mean you’re like, a fucking genius or something?”

“No one really uses that term,” he mumbled, clamping his hand to the back of his very pink neck.

Proving that I was not a genius, it took me a couple of beats to realize he’d all but admitted it.

“Holy fuck. No way.”

“Please don’t make a big deal out of it,” he pleaded, his eyes begging me to drop it.

Fat chance of that happening. “It’s a big fucking deal, Cal.”

I tossed my damp, sweaty towel at him, but he sidestepped it, then stalked off, climbing onto a stationary bike, his lips moving like he was having a full conversation with himself

Fuck. Cally was a genius, and he was devoting all of that big brain energy to me.

I was definitely going to have to do something to pay him back. I just didn’t know what.

Three days later, we swapped the squat rack for the cardio room where a row of treadmills faced a long window that looked out over the dark parking lot. It was empty except for a lone SUV parked near the entrance.

I stepped onto the second machine from the end and bumped the speed up to a jog while Cally programmed his next to mine. He started out faster, which was fine. Whatever. We weren’t in the same place yet. I was working on it. We were working on it.

We ran side by side for a couple of minutes, the thump, thump, thump of our feet on the belts and the low whir of the machines filling the silence. I focused on the breathing technique Cally had been drilling into me.

“Your wind’s good,” he said after a while, his voice completely even. He wasn’t breathing hard. “You’re holding pace longer, too, before your form breaks down. Your stamina’s definitely better than it was."

“Never had a complaint about my stamina before,” I teased reflexively, my brain and mouth working on autopilot.

Cally’s head whipped toward me, and he nearly stumbled. And there it was again—the quick climb of red up the back of his neck and into his ears.

“Seriously, Cal? At least make me work for it,” I teased. “You’re almost too easy.”

His head snapped back toward the window, his breathing finally picking up.

“I’ll show you easy,” he bit out, bumping up his speed by several notches.

I huffed out a laugh and increased mine to match.

The first thirty seconds or so were iffy, but I managed to settle into it. Back when we’d first started these sessions, I’d have been hanging off the side rails if I’d done something as stupid as trying to keep up with him.

Now my feet landed when and where they were supposed to. My lungs were working hard, but I wasn’t sucking wind like I used to.

I was actually holding the line.