Page 11 of Last Boy

Jake looks at me, a mischievous grin on his face. “You mean, since Walker moved away.” He takes a long sip from his orange soda. “Walker James is the Wolves new center. I heard it on the radio.”

I rear my head back. “So, that’s why you begged me to bring you here?” I shake my head in disbelief. “Well played, traitor! You know he’ll think we’re here just for him, right?”

“I am here for him,” he says thoughtfully. “He’s still my best friend.”

Jake adored Walker from the day they met. And I loved how well Walker always treated my brother. School wasn’t always easy. Kids were cruel. A lot of people saw Jake as an easy target despite how incredibly smart he was. Walker didn’t stand for that. And before the school ever had to step in, Walker took care of it. However, one thing about Jake is that he fixates on certain things. And when Briar and Walker left, he fixated on the fact that they were gone. It took months for him to think about anything else. And now that he’s aware Walker is back, I’m afraid he’ll get his hopes up for nothing.

After all, the new Walker James spent the last three years living with his rich uncle, probably having the nicest, most expensive things at his fingertips. He isn’t the same boy we knew. The one with hunger pains in his stomach or worn-out secondhand clothes, like the rest of us. And I don’t want to see my brother getting hurt because of it.

“You know, Bonnie could have come with us.” I nudge him. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you seem a little sweet on her.”

His cheeks redden, and he smiles so hard that his nose scrunches up. “She is very pretty.”

His neighbor seems to stop in and check on him…a lot. And every time I’m around when she does, he can’t wipe the grin off of his face.

All of a sudden, Jake stands in his seat and starts waving both hands like a maniac. And when I look down, there’s Walker, skating toward us. He holds his stick up with one hand and waves with the other. As much as I want to be pissed at my brother for being so nice, I can’t push my negative attitude about the situation onto him. Jake believes in the magic in life and the good inside of people.

Me? I think that’s all a bunch of bullshit most days.

I just keep my eyes on my brother, who is living his best life right now. But once he sits down again, still grinning, I suddenly feel Walker’s stare. I don’t look at him. I’m afraid to.

Maybe the boy that I fell in love with as a kid is still in there somewhere. But I’m not willing to risk finding out.

Walker

The ice has always been the one place I can count on for peace. Right now, peace is the furthest thing I feel. We’re about to win this game, and that’s great and all, but I know I didn’t fully bring my A game tonight. And that’s all because of the pretty distraction in the stands.

The distraction is named Poppy, and she makes me nervous as fuck.

I’m happy as hell that Jake is here. And I’m even happier that he waved to me and smiled. For years, I’ve worried about how his life ended up. Seeing him tonight shows me that he’s more than okay. And I think a lot of that is thanks to the girl beside him. His sister is the most protective person of him ever to live.

While I’m glad they are here, having her here is distracting as hell. I can’t focus on anything besides the fact that she’s in the stands, watching my every move. And I feel her eyes despite her refusal to look at me when I waved to her brother. But now, if I looked their way, her gaze would be on me.

She’s so fucking beautiful. Even with her resting bitch face, as she always called it, she makes it hard for me to take a breath.

I’ve scored a goal tonight and had a few assists. But I was sloppy, and I know it. Link Sterns is champing at the bit to tell me again that I’m no Cam Hardy. Maybe if I score in the last thirty-six seconds of this game, it’ll make him a little less pissed. Maybe.

I push it out of my brain that the girl I’m supposed to hate and be completely resistant to is here. I don’t think about the fact that all I want to do when the clock runs out is run up there and ask her how she’s been and hug her. But that isn’t going to fix anything. Too much shit has happened between us. She turned her back on me and didn’t do the right thing, and I abandoned her.

I still get fucking sick when I imagine the horrors she could have gone through when I wasn’t there to protect her.

Nothing will ever be the same, and I need to let her go. From my brain and my life. So, instead, I get the puck, and I fucking make it my mission to get it in the other team’s goal. Out of my peripheral vision, I see a maroon jersey headed toward me. But before he can check his body into mine, I pull my stick back and slap the puck as hard as I can toward their goal.

Everything else turns to background noise as I watch the goalie attempt to stop it—a solid attempt, but still a fail for him and a victory for me.

We won the game, and I made a goal with seconds left on the clock. And the first person I look at…is her.

And just like before, she won’t fucking look at me. And every effort it just took to get that goal means nothing to me now. And it’s all that she-devil’s fault.

“It’s public knowledge that you’re referred to as Cam Hardy’s replacement now that he’s gone pro. How do you feel about that?” the female reporter says, her deep red lips pressed together for a split second. “And does that add more pressure, or is it something that fuels your fire?”

This is the same question I’ve been asked for weeks upon weeks, just worded slightly differently. To be honest, ever since I announced my spot as the Wolves new starting center, it’s the main thing people want to talk about instead of the damn game I just played.

“You know, Hardy is one of the greatest players to ever play for Brooks. And hands down the best center. But I’ve worked hard to get to where I am. And I’ll continue to work hard too.” I shrug, giving her a small grin. “I have that same hunger not just to make it to a Frozen Four, but to also win one. Just like Hardy.”

I know I didn’t answer her question, but I’ve given them basically the same answer every time, and I’ll continue doing so. I’m not here to ruffle feathers. But I’m also not here to constantly talk about how great Hardy was.

Before she can ask me anything else, I pat her shoulder. “Thank you. Have a great night.”

---