by Cindi Madsen
At the beginning of junior year, when I couldn’t stop thinking about kissing her, I decided to just do it, and we crossed over from friends to boyfriend and girlfriend. Hudson jokingly referred to her as my ball and chain—not that she’d found it particularly funny—but I’d never felt that being with her was a burden. We were each other’s firsts, we went to prom together, and she spent so many nights at our dinner table that my mom automatically set a plate for her.
When I told Jazmine I was considering applying to colleges with the hopes of getting a hockey scholarship, she told me to go for it. She sat in my bedroom, rewarding me by losing a piece of her clothing with every page of the application I filled out.
I had a few offers, but Boston was the best, and she said that meant I had to go there. But she made me promise that we’d make it work, and I did, because I couldn’t imagine anything could tear us apart.
Long distance was hell, and we barely survived the first year, but by the end of the summer, things were good again. For the most part. Her friends were worse than they were when I left, and arguing about them caused some friction. By the time the summer came to a close, I felt guilty about how excited I was to escape the crap that went down in our neighborhood and get back to Boston, especially when she cried and made me promise again that we’d make it work, and that we’d schedule more visits.
My sophomore year of college was different. Instead of watching the game from the sidelines with little game time, I played as much as I sat the bench. Partway through the season, Jazmine’s mom was struck by a car on her walk home from work.
Jaz begged me to come home, but I’d committed to hockey, and I could sense I was a few great games away from being bumped to a starter. So I told her I’d be there as soon as I could.
After a few days in the hospital, her mom died. And I couldn’t make it back to the Bronx until spring break, three whole weeks after her mom passed away. Well, I told myself I couldn’t have made it sooner, but I’d stayed because of hockey.
When I got home, she was a mess. Instead of being happy I finally made it, she was angry, not to mention completely wasted every waking minute. I thought it’d pass in time—that it was the grief.
I couldn’t even try to fix it, because I had to go back to school. Back to hockey. When I called to check in, we had that last ugly fight, and I couldn’t believe we’d gone from two people in love to two people who shouted at each other.
And as her sobs had been tearing me up inside, her voice so raw with pain that it echoed deep in my chest, she delivered those last parting lines that ended us for good. “You promised we’d work, no matter what, but when I really needed you, you weren’t there for me. You broke my heart, Dane. You broke me.”
That next summer, I saw how true that was. She was so strung out all the time that she didn’t even seem like the same person. Love had been replaced with hate, and she’d spiraled, hard.
“Are you getting out of the car?” Hudson asked.
I jerked myself out of the past, but the self-loathing burning its way through me remained. And it only made me more determined to keep from making all the same mistakes with Megan. Because if I hurt her the way I’d hurt Jazmine, I’d never forgive myself.
Chapter Fifteen
Dane
I stared at the text from Megan as the rest of the guys moved around the locker room, packing up after another hard practice that left my legs and arms feeling like noodles—Coach hit us extra hard today before giving the team tomorrow off to prepare for Sunday’s big game.
Suddenly I had this image of me standing up on one of the benches, clearing my throat and asking, “How many days does it take to forget how amazing it feels to have a sexy girl straddling you first thing in the morning? Asking for a friend…”
Yeah, that’d go over well, especially with sexy girl’s brother a few lockers away.
Thanks to my class load threatening to bury me this week, I had to cancel our Monday plans and settle for having Ox help me study in the weight room. He was ruthless, too, not stepping up to spot me until I gave him the right answer. I’d nearly dropped the barbell on my chest.
My insomnia was back with a vengeance, like the fact that I actually slept the night Megan stayed over pissed it off, and I missed the hell out of my study buddy. I wanted the explore-Boston-together buddy, too. I was trying not to think about adding kissing into the mix—putting our outing off for five days was at least supposed to help that desire fade.
It hadn’t.
Tapping on the screen of my phone illuminated her text.
Megan: I was in a comic book shop today and waved because I thought I saw you.
At first I was confused, but then I saw the picture of the Thor comic right above her words. The hammer-wielding God was about to be devoured by some giant green snake thing.
How could I not want to kiss her when she sent me messages like that? Maybe if I actually was a superhero, I could resist her.
I typed a reply, thinking it was innocent enough since we were just friends and all. Ah, denial. Always there when I was about to make an iffy decision.
Me: I look like I’m in trouble.
Megan: The Midgard serpent’s coils can crush the earth, it even says so. So good luck with that.
I laughed.
Me: Not scared. I always win in the end.
While I was shoveling myself a hole, I figured I’d dig it nice and deep.
Me: So, I was thinking I’d make up for being lame all week by taking you to your #1 Boston spot tomorrow. Pick you up at noon?
Megan: Ok, but just so you know, I’ve decided you owe me food for making me wait so long.
Most of the girls I’d dated since Jaz—okay, calling the mostly shallow hookups “dating” was generous, but referring to them as booty calls only deepened the guilt. Anyway, those girls always bent over backward to do whatever I wanted to, from music to movies, and they certainly wouldn’t call me out on acting like a jerk. Well, until the crying incident with Taylor…
Don’t think about that.
The point I’d been trying to make was that for some odd reason, I liked Megan more for not putting up with my shit. That’s how far gone I was. On our friendship.
Sure. Just keep telling yourself that.
Me: You got it. Just pick a place.
Hudson nudged me and I frowned at him, quickly pocketing my phone when I saw Beck had approached.
“Hey, since Coach was busy with the conditioning fun, we didn’t talk plays much,” Beck said. “That first game against Colorado College made it clear that without you, Kowalski, our usual offensive plays go to shit. We need you.”
The compliment might make me a little prouder if my phone with Megan’s texts wasn’t practically burning a hole in my pocket.
Ox joined us as we talked strategies for the upcoming game. “You’ve seen footage of their center?” Beck asked him. “How he does that fake out move all the time and shakes his defenders?”
Ox nodded. “I’ve seen it. He’s not getting by me.”
“Good. It’ll be a tough game, but as long as we’re all focusing on making our plays count and stopping them from scoring, we’ll win. Don’t forget they play dirty, too. They’ll egg us on and try to get us to take a swing and rack up penalties, I guarantee it.” As the team captain, this wasn’t an unusual strategy session, but this one hit me harder.
In other words, no distractions. No getting into stupid fights. Usually those comments were aimed more at Hudson, but I had a feeling they were aimed more at me this time.
“I’m not going to risk getting benched this game,” I said. “I’m on it.”
“Cool. See you boys on the ice.” Beck clapped me on the back, and then bumped fists with Hudson and Ox. Lately I hadn’t been feeling that strong team bond as much, but it rose now, bringing a ton of guilt along with it.
All week I managed to avoid thinking about everything Megan had told me about her family. But with the guy standing right in front of
me, I couldn’t help wondering how he managed to hold it together so well while he was going through everything last year. I knew firsthand how crushing overwhelming responsibility could be, that feeling that people were now depending on you and you couldn’t screw it up—it was what drove me to change my major, to call my ex and let her yell at me. It must’ve been hard for Beck, balancing the pressure of what to do about his father’s company, going from brother to the only family member in his sister’s life, as well as hockey and school.
I completely understood his urge to protect his sister at all costs. I’d always admired the guy, and now I respected him even more. And I’d stood there and told him I understood when he said his sister was off-limits.
Great. Like I didn’t already have enough working against me when it came to my complicated relationship with Megan.
For someone who decided to avoid drama this semester, I’ve sure landed myself waist deep in it.
Chapter Sixteen
Dane
When Megan opened her door wearing a little dress with tiny straps, her hair pulled up in a half-braid, half-messy bun, all-sexy whatever-it-was, friendship was the last thing on my mind. I wanted to run my hands up those smooth legs and kiss those bright pink lips before taking a detour to suck on her exposed neck.
If you don’t stop with those kind of thoughts, we’re going to have another rather-obvious situation, like the one we had in bed the other morning.
I cleared my throat. “You ready?”
“Almost. It’s not quite warm enough for this dress, so I’m going to throw on my boots and grab a sweater.”
It was a shame, covering up all that creamy skin, but there was also something sexy about watching her put on her boots, the slow pull of the zipper on the side completely mesmerizing.
She glanced up—and I had no doubt she’d caught me staring, but she simply smiled and then stuck in her earrings, these dangling, interconnected black and pink butterflies.
“Are those made out of…soda cans?”
She beamed at me. “Yeah. They’re from a recycled Rockstar Energy drink. I got them on Etsy. Cool, huh?”
The door swung open again, and a girl with tawny skin and curly, black hair stepped into the room. She glanced from me to Megan. “All the late nights are starting to make sense.”
A thread of jealousy rose—was Megan hanging out with some other guy late at night? I hadn’t been out with her in almost a week, and thinking about her chatting and laughing with someone else turned the thread into a toxic churning ball in my gut.
Megan’s cheeks flared pink. “Dane and I hang out sometimes, yes. Both of us are night owls,” she said, and the jealousy faded. She meant our late nights. “Vanessa, this is my friend, Dane. Dane, my roommate, Vanessa.”
She flashed me a wide smile as she assessed me. “Hi, Megan’s friend.” There was something about her that reminded me of Jazmine, more than their similar hairstyles. Or maybe I was so desperately looking for ways to hold on to my resolve that I was seeing things. Either way, it was a good reminder that the last time I crossed the friends line the relationship had crashed and burned and destroyed a friendship in the process.
Also that it’d happened during hockey season, when I’d tried to balance both and found that it was next to impossible.
Megan hooked her hand in the crook of my elbow. “Let’s go.”
We walked to my car, and I helped Megan inside and bit back a groan when her skirt drifted up on her thighs, and quickly closed the car door. I exhaled every ounce of air from my lungs, wishing the conflicting feelings about what I should do versus what I wanted to do would escape with it.
Once I was inside, she gave me directions, glancing at her phone every few minutes to make sure we were on track.
When a commercial came on the radio, she reached up and tuned the knob to the station that played bubblegum pop. Sure enough, an obnoxious song heavy on the dance beat and synthesizers blared through my speakers.
“You know I think you’re cool as hell, and I thought it was awesome that you sent me that picture while you were in the comic book shop,” I said, and she smiled. “But I have to say, you have super shitty taste in music.”
I pushed the button on the steering wheel, changing the channel to the alt-rock station.
“Hey.” She gave my shoulder a shove, and I laughed. “Rude. This angry yell”—she made air quotes—“music doesn’t do it for me, either. Why listen to screaming lyrics when you could listen to happy ones?”
“I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree. And the driver picks the music.”
“Next time, I’m driving, then.”
I decided to go ahead and let her think that, and in more proof that this girl made me mentally unstable, I actually looked forward to the fight we’d have over it.
“Okay, this is it,” Megan said. “Park right here.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, glancing at the tiny, nondescript building with its grocery-filled windows. “I thought this was the number one spot on your list, and this looks like a New York bodega, where we might also get mugged.”
“Is getting mugged not on your list of things to do in Boston?” she asked. At the scrunched-up look I flashed her, she laughed. “Just trust me.”
A bored-looking employee stood behind the counter, and a few not-suitable-for-children pictures hung on walls that had their fair share of graffiti.
“Oh good.” I took a step toward one of the shelves. “Laundry detergent. I need some.”
Megan smacked my hand when I reached for it. “We’re not here for laundry detergent. Ooh, there’s the Snapple machine.” She clamped onto my arm and dragged me over to it.
“They still make Snapple?” And she sounded so excited about it, too. The machine also had a “No pictures” sign.
“I’m about to blow your mind, so watch.” Megan linked her fingers and then pushed them out, cracking her knuckles, and I wondered what she was up to.
She studied the floor, and then she stepped forward and tapped one of the tiles. The machine slid to the side and Megan squealed and stepped through the square hole it’d revealed. The room behind the machine had pale wooden floors and cherry wood shelves lined with shoes and clothes.
“That’s some James Bond shit,” I said. “Are you a secret agent?”
Megan wrapped her hand around my arm and leaned in, her curves pressing into my side and giving me flashbacks of waking up with her next to me in bed. “Shhh. I’m a very dangerous person, and if my cover gets blown now, it’ll be very bad for us both.”
She tugged me farther through the store, oohing and ahhing at the clothes. “Looks like it’s more geared toward guys.” She grabbed a shirt from the rack and held it up to me, the top of the hanger almost jabbing me in the eye.
I jerked back, placing a hand between my eye and the metal hook. “Woman, I swear, if I survive our friendship with my eye intact, it’s going to be a miracle.”
“Sorry,” she said with a laugh.
“Yeah, the laughter is making me doubt the sincerity.”
That only made her laugh harder. “Well, I did warn you that I was dangerous.”
The girl was dangerous as far as a lot of things in my life were concerned—Beck would want more than an eye if he found out what kind of thoughts I was having about his little sister on a daily basis.
She bit her lip and fiddled with her earring.
Make that a minute-to-minute basis.
She spun to the shoe rack. “What size are you?”
“I don’t need new shoes. You should find a pair you like.”
“I can’t even fit another pair of shoes in my closet. If I buy a new pair, I’d have to kick out one of my favorites to go live with Beckett—he’s letting me use a closet at his place for now.”
Another reminder of her brother. Just what I need.
We wandered the rest of the store, and Megan hugged a pair of shoes that were apparently a steal at ninety-five dollars—she said the b
rand like it meant something, but it didn’t click with me.
“If I were going to buy a pair of sneakers for that much,” I said. “I’d have to steal them.”
Her face paled and she loosened her grip on the shoes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She definitely had to work for the smile she gave me.
“I’m not actually going to steal them.”
The worker in the corner’s head perked up, like he’d heard us say the word “steal” although I was sure he hadn’t from way over there.
“I didn’t think…” She grabbed for the nearest coat, folding the hanger down before extending it to me. “Try this on.” Since she seemed distraught for reasons I didn’t understand, I did, even though the price tag almost made me choke.
“Looks hot on you,” she said, nodding her approval.
And suddenly I was thinking of buying a $400 coat I didn’t even need, or even like that much. Just the fact that Megan didn’t seem to freak at the prices, made me worry that I’d never be enough for a girl like this if we did cross into more. Judging by the story she told me about her parents and the company her family owned, she obviously came from money.
I hung the coat back up. “You mentioned that you’d always have a job at your dad’s company. But if you decide that’s not really what you want, will your aunt help you out? You said she’s not very supportive in general.”
“Once I turned eighteen, I got my trust fund. She has no say over where my money goes anymore, so at least there’s that. My parents also planned for college, so luckily I have a lot of time to decide which field I want to go into. I’m lucky because I own several shares of D&T Pharmaceuticals, and it was set up so that the board could run it if needed—which is what they’re doing now. So if I decide to work there, it’ll be because that’s what I want, not because I’ve been pressured into it.”