: Chapter 38

“Holy shit!”

Dad, who’s cooking breakfast for us at the stove, turns sharply to look at me. It’s Saturday morning, and my phone screen is currently displaying the most shockingly unexpected news since that Toronto player Ryan Wesley announced to the world he was gay.

“Everything okay?” Dad barks.

“Holy shit,” I repeat as I reread the message. “Tansy got engaged.”

He blinks. “Your cousin, Tansy?”

“Yup.”

“Engaged?”

“Yup.”

“To who?”

“Lamar, that basketball player she’s constantly breaking up with. According to this, he got down on one knee at a nightclub last night and popped the question. He had a ring and everything.” I flip the phone around so Dad can see the picture she sent. The diamond on her finger isn’t enormous, but it’s much bigger than I’d expect from a college student’s budget.

Wow. I guess she wasn’t kidding when she told me they were talking about getting engaged.

“Oh boy,” Dad says. “Sheryl is going to shit a brick.”

I snort with laughter, and he responds with a loud chortle. It’s only been a few days, and our relationship is already different. It’s easier, almost entirely free of tension. Sure, we’re not going around hugging each other every other minute, but our conversations flow so much smoother, and we’re cracking more jokes. Real ones and not the sarcastic kind veiled with venom.

We’re truly starting over.

“Hold on. Let me text her back.”

ME: Hey!!! Can’t talk right now b/c I’m having breakfast with my dad but OMG!! Congratulations! This is amazing news and I’m so happy for you. You’re going to be the most beautiful bride, T!! <3 <3

Am I more or less bullshitting? I’ll be honest—yes. I still don’t believe a relationship with their track record is going to last. Lamar proposed at a club, for Pete’s sake. But Tansy is my cousin and I’ll support her no matter what, so while I’m not jumping-up-and-down ecstatic about this engagement, I am happy that she’s happy. And if by chance I’m wrong and they do end up making it down the aisle, I do believe she’ll make a beautiful bride.

She texts back immediately.

TANSY: Thanks, B!! CALL ME THE SECOND YOU’RE FREE!!

I smile at the phone and put it aside as Dad carries two plates to the table. Scrambled eggs, bacon, and cucumber slices. I thank him for breakfast and immediately dig in, talking with my mouth full.

“I can’t believe she’s engaged. This is going to be such a disaster. She’s way too young. Or rather, way too immature. I mean, jeez, I’m more equipped to get married right now.”

His expression turns wry. “Does that mean I should be expecting you and Connelly to announce your engagement any day now?”

I freeze. Then I pick up my fork and spear it into some eggs. “No. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Why’s that?”

I chew extra slowly to delay my response. “Because we broke up.”

“Why’s that?” he says again.

“Because we did.” I roll my eyes. “You and I might be semi-cool now, but that doesn’t mean we’re best friends. I’m not going to reveal all my deep, dark secrets.”

“First of all, we’re not semi-cool. We’re cool. Period. And given that you promised not to scare the shit out of me again, I don’t much like hearing this breakup might’ve been deep and dark.” There’s genuine concern in his tone.

“It’s not,” I assure him. “If you must know, Jake dumped me because he wanted to focus on hockey.”

Dad frowns.

“It’s totally fine. It wasn’t going anywhere, anyway. He’s moving to Edmonton, remember? Long-distance relationships never work.”

“Your mother and I made it work,” he says gruffly.

I glance up in surprise. “When were you and Mom in a long-distance relationship?”

“She was a year younger than me,” he reminds me. “After I graduated, she still had one more year left at Yale. That was the year that fuckhead made his move and—”

“Wait a sec. Back it up like a Tonka truck. What fuckhead?” I suddenly gasp. “Are you talking about Daryl Pedersen?”

“Yes. He was a senior like your mother. Same major, too. Broadcasting.” Dad smiles. “Like you, as well. Anyway, he waited until I graduated before making his move on Marie.”

I’m horrified. “Did Mom…?”

“Jesus. Of course not. Your mother was a sweet and proper Georgian peach. Loyal to a fault.”

“So Coach Pedersen tried to steal Mom away and she shot him down.” I’m utterly captivated by this. It’s always so jarring to remember your parents lived full, well-rounded lives long before you ever came into the world.

“Daryl played the ‘I’m going to take care of your girl when you’re gone’ card,” Dad says with a snort. “We weren’t close friends. I didn’t like him, but I tolerated him. Had to, because we were teammates. Your mother, well, she had a different opinion. She thought he was sweet, and she accused me of being paranoid for distrusting him. But I played with the fucker for three years, so I knew what kind of man he was. An arrogant prick, not above playing dirty, and damn sneaky—he was a ladies’ man, but around your mother he acted like a choirboy.”

Dad shoves a forkful of eggs in his mouth, chews, swallows, and then reaches for his coffee. “You know, it’s not even that he made a play for your mother that bothers me. He could’ve been upfront about his intentions. Could’ve said, ‘Hey, I’m attracted to Marie and I’m going to tell her.’ Admittedly, I would’ve laughed in his face, but then I would’ve said, ‘Sure, go ahead.’” My father smirks. “I never had any doubt about your mother’s feelings for me.”

Must be nice, I want to say. I hadn’t doubted Jake’s feelings, either, and he turned around and dumped me.

“But he went about it in an underhanded way. You don’t have to love all your teammates, but at least respect them. He cozied up to your mother, planned study sessions, platonic outings. And one night they went out with a group of friends, and he walked her home. Escorted her all the way upstairs and then tried to paw her outside her apartment door.”

“Please tell me he stopped when she said no.”

Dad nods. “He stopped. But not before accusing her of leading him on, using him to help her study, taking his time and affection but then denying him what I guess he believed was his right. Finished off the speech by telling her she needed a real man to satisfy her.”

“Gross.”

“When I found out, I drove all the way to New Haven from Burlington—I was a skating coach at the University of Vermont at that point. Took me four hours to get there, but it was worth it to hear the sound of bone crunching when I slammed my fist into Pedersen’s jaw.”

“Go Dad.”

“She was my girl. You don’t disrespect a man’s girl.” Dad shrugs. “He didn’t go near her again after that.”

“And that was like twenty years ago and you still hate him.”

“So?” He pops up a cucumber slice into his mouth.

“So don’t you think maybe it’s time to bury the hatchet?”

“Can I bury it in his skull?”

I snort. “I was thinking the metaphorical hatchet. Letting bygones be bygones and all that. You got Mom, had a beautiful daughter—” I wink at him. “You’re a three-time championship-winning coach. And he’s a bitter prick. Why not let it go?”

“Because I don’t like the man and that’s never gonna change. Sometimes people don’t like each other, Peaches. Get used to that, because it’s a fact of life. People are going to hate you because you hurt them, either intentionally or inadvertently. People will hate you because they don’t like your personality, or the way you talk, or whatever superficial bullshit some idiot can’t get past. There’ll be people who just hate you on sight for no good reason—those ones are strange.” He sips his coffee. “But at the end of the day, that’s the way it is. Not everyone is going to like you, and you’re not going to like everybody. I don’t like that man. I don’t need to change that.”

“Fair enough.” I gaze down at my plate as the thought of Jake once again creeps into my brain.

“I’m sorry about you and Connelly.” I guess my sad expression and the reason for it weren’t hard to decode.

“Since when? You told me to stay away from him, remember? Compared him to Eric.”

“That comparison might have been made in anger,” Dad grumbles. “Connelly has a good head on his shoulders from what I’ve heard.”

“I told you so. He’s the one who helped me rescue Eric.”

“Speaking of that, have you heard from Eric since then?”

“No, and I have a feeling I won’t.”

“Good. Is there a way to forward all his calls to you to my phone? So I can give him a piece of my mind?”

“Dad.” The murderous glint in his eyes is a tad worrisome. “You’re not allowed to give him the Liam Neeson speech. Let’s just hope his mom convinced him to go to rehab. Maybe winding up in someone’s bushes was the wakeup call he needed.”

“Maybe.” He doesn’t sound convinced.

I’m not, either. It’s been five years since high school and Eric still hasn’t even acknowledged that he has a problem.

“But I am sorry about Connelly,” Dad says, steering the subject back to Jake.

“Me too.”

He lifts a brow. “Thought you said it wouldn’t go anywhere.”

“I did. That’s what I told him, anyway. He dumped me and I pretended not to care,” I confess. “I didn’t want him to see how upset I was. But I was upset. He’s the first guy I’ve met in a long time who I could see myself being in a relationship with. He was good for me, and he was good to me. Like, when I was nervous about coming home to talk to you, he lent me his—oh my fucking God!”

“Language,” Dad scolds.

I’m already flying out of my seat. I forgot about Jake’s bracelet. I forgot to give it back to him, dammit.

After my talk with Dad the other night, I went upstairs to take a shower and I remember shoving the bracelet in my nightstand. And I spent most of Thursday and Friday at Summer’s, because even though my basement is ready, I haven’t moved back in yet because I didn’t want to be alone. I’m afraid that if I’m alone I’ll just be thinking about Jake all the time. I completely pushed him out of my head these past few days. And since he wasn’t on my mind, neither was his good-luck charm.

He’s playing Michigan today. Crap. Why hasn’t he called or texted? Hasn’t he noticed he doesn’t have his bracelet?

“I have Jake’s good-luck charm,” I blurt out. “He gave it to me before we broke up and I totally forgot to give it back, and he’s playing today in Worcester!”

Coaching hockey players for more than two decades, my father has undoubtedly encountered a crapload of superstitions, charms, and rituals. So I’m not surprised when his expression turns grave. “That’s not good.”

“No, it’s not.” I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. “What should I do?”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.” He sets down his cup and scrapes his chair back.

“What are you doing?”

“You don’t mess with a man’s ritual, Brenna.” Dad checks his watch. “What time does the game start?”

I’m already looking it up on my phone. “One thirty,” I say a moment later.

Right now it’s eleven. It’ll take an hour or so to get to Worcester. Relief fills my chest. I can make it there long before the game starts.

Dad confirms my thoughts. “If we leave now, we’ll get there with plenty of time to spare.”

“We?”

“You think I’m really going to let you drive the Jeep in a panic? Christ. I shudder just thinking about the mailbox destruction you’d be leaving in your wake.” My father snorts. “I’m driving.”

Jake’s not answering his phone or responding to my texts. It occurs to me that maybe he blocked my number, but that would be a total dick move. He’s the one who broke up with me. He has no reason to block my number. Unless he thought I’d be one of those girls who called him five hundred times begging for a second chance? If so, then I guess he didn’t know me at all.

The alternative is that he’s too focused on his game-day rituals and isn’t checking his phone.

There’s a light drizzle outside, lazily sliding down the Jeep’s windshield. In the passenger seat, I wonder if there’s another way to get in touch with Jake. I don’t have Brooks’s number, and I deleted McCarthy’s. I suppose I could do some online investigating and track down their social media accounts, but that requires a level of panic I’m not feeling right now.

There’s lots of time, and when we get there, I’ll be bound to run into a Harvard player or someone who could send a message to a Harvard player. Hopefully, I can simply give the bracelet to someone who’ll pass it on to Jake, without me ever having to see him. I’m not sure what I would say if I saw him. Plus, he’s already accused me of being a distraction. Seeing me right before a crucial game might mess with his head.

When we pull into the arena, Dad bypasses the parking lot and drives directly to the entrance. “Get out here,” he orders. “I’ll park the car and meet you inside. Keep your phone on.”

A thought suddenly occurs to me. “Oh no,” I say in dismay. “We don’t have tickets.”

“Sure we do. I called Steve Llewellyn when you were getting dressed. Told him I needed a favor. There’ll be two tickets waiting for us at the box office under your name. Standing room only, though. It was too last minute for anything better.”

Llewellyn is the head coach of Michigan. I guess it helps to have a father with connections. “You’re the best.”

I hop out of the car and dart toward the entrance. As I pick up the tickets, I call Jake again. He doesn’t answer.

Although the game doesn’t start for nearly an hour and a half, tons of people are already streaming inside the arena and filling up the stands. I glimpse a sea of Harvard fans, along with the gold and blue Michigan colors. I scan the Crimson portion of the crowd for anyone who looks familiar. Nada. Then I search for any signs that might tell me where the locker rooms are. I spot one and take off in that direction.

I’m approaching the corridor when I finally encounter a face I recognize.

It’s Jake’s friend Hazel.

Lovely. “Hey,” I greet her. “I’m looking for Jake.”

After a cool appraisal, a flicker of displeasure flares in her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I just told you—I’m looking for Jake.” I fidget with one of the beads on his bracelet. I wore it on my wrist for safekeeping. “Is the Harvard bus here yet?”

“No.”

“Do you know when they’re showing up? Have you spoken to him at all today?”

“No.” She frowns slightly. “He’s not answering his phone. I’m here with his parents—”

My stomach twists. Nope. Not jealous. I am not jealous.

“—and none of us can get in touch with him. Maybe his phone’s dead. Sometimes when he goes into hockey mode, he forgets to do basic things, like charge his tech.”

I hate this girl. I don’t know if she does it intentionally, these I-know-him-better-than-you-do jabs. Maybe I’m just feeling insecure, though. Or maybe she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. Maybe she knows him so well that it comes out instinctively.

Either way, it’s a good thing Jake isn’t here yet. Now I won’t have to see him, and he won’t see me. He wants to focus on hockey? Congrats, he can focus on hockey.

“When he gets here can you give him this?” I clumsily slide the bracelet off my wrist. Removing it brings a pang of sorrow. It’s like saying goodbye to the last piece of Jake that I have left.

Hazel’s gaze darkens with suspicion. “Where did you get that?”

I set my jaw. I don’t appreciate the not-so-veiled accusation. “If you think I stole it, relax. Jake loaned it to me the other day. I was nervous about something and he said it would bring me good luck.” I have to smile, because something good did come out of it. Dad and I got our fresh start, after all. “Anyway, I forgot to return it, and I drove all the way here, so…” I thrust out my hand. “Could you please give this to him when he gets here?”

“Jake let you borrow his good-luck charm.” Her tone has a dull note to it.

“Yes.” I’m starting to get annoyed. And I’m still holding my arm out like a moron. “Look, I get that you don’t like me—for no good reason, by the way. You don’t even know me. But I care about Jake, same as you. This—” I wave the bracelet at her. “—is important to him. He’ll hate me forever if this bracelet isn’t on his wrist when the puck drops. So can you please just take it already?”

After a moment of hesitation, Hazel accepts the bracelet. She slips it around her wrist and says, “I’ll make sure he gets it.”