Page 70 of Last Boy

She nuzzles her cheek against my hoodie. “At least this time around, we’re not leaving angry.” She pauses. “That’s got to count for something, right?”

“Right,” I mutter lifelessly.

It doesn’t matter if we leave each other happy, angry, or fucking hating one another. Any universe where she’s leaving or I’m leaving her behind makes zero sense.

I nod toward the box, seeing one of the hats Van always wore and a piece of pottery he made in, like, fifth grade. But when I see the MVP baseball trophy Van got in seventh grade, I almost lose it. He stopped playing the next year, which was a damn shame because he was quite the player.

“I hated baseball. Literally couldn’t fucking stand it one bit. But I always wonder, if I had just played a few more years, if I could have stuck it out for him…maybe he would have kept playing and ended up with a scholarship.” My eyes glance around. “A scholarship to get him the fuck out of here.”

“You had to chase down your dreams, Walker,” she whispers against my hoodie. “If you hadn’t, you could have ended up in the same boat as he did.” She stretches an arm around the front of me. “Watching you on the ice again just solidifies what I’ve known all along.” She cranes her neck so that her face is tilted up toward mine. “You were born to play hockey. And I love watching you do something that sets your soul on fire.”

My chest warms while my heart hurts, all at the same time. “Hockey just doesn’t seem like that big of a deal anymore.” I shake my head. “I’m losing you. We lost Van.” I stop, feeling the dread spreading through my body. “I’ve felt guilty since the night I saw Van when I came back here. Right when I looked at him, I knew in my heart that I had abandoned him and that if I hadn’t, he might have never gotten into drugs or dealing them to begin with. Just because I moved away didn’t mean I had to stop being there for you all. But that’s exactly what I did. That’s something I have to live with. And to be honest, P, it fucking kills me.” I take a long breath, slowly letting it out, though it comes out shaky. “My sister has lost her mind. Van is dead. Jake will likely hate me when he thinks I’m leaving you again.” I look at her, my eyes growing blurry as I squeeze her hand. “I just want you to be happy, Poppyseed. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Slowly, she reaches up, brushing my hair over. “I refuse to think that after everything we’ve been through,” she says, stopping as her eyes fill with tears, and she smiles before pouting sadly. “Our families addiction, abuse, betrayals, hunger, feeling filthy…” Her lip trembles. “After all of that, Walker James, I refuse to think that someone they call Dr. Boobs is going to be our demise.” She attempts to lighten the mood but only cries harder. “I was never with another man because I had never given up on the idea of us.” She squeezes my hand tighter. “I’m not about to throw in the towel now.”

My lips attack hers, and I kiss her, tasting the salt from her tears on my lips as her body shakes against mine. Pulling back, I cup her cheeks. “I love you. I have loved you since we were kids, and I will love you until the day I die.” I kiss her again—happy as fuck that her lip is healed because I’m almost certain I just bruised it without meaning to.

“I think I’ve loved you for my entire life.” She sniffles. “And even though I’ve never thought of myself as wife material, I can’t let you marry someone who isn’t me.”

I don’t make a promise that I can’t keep. And I don’t tell her it’ll all be okay and that my uncle will drop the deal and let us ride off into the sunset and leave me the fuck alone. I might have hurt her in the past, but I don’t want to lie to her and give her false hope. So, instead, I kiss her again and touch my nose to hers.

“Please, let me get you out of here,” I whisper, sliding my hand to her thigh. “Let me take you home. I need to feel you, my perfect fucking girl.”

“Okay,” she utters, nodding her head up and down.

But before we stand, my phone rings in my pocket. Pulling it out, I see an out-of-state number with an area code I don’t recognize.

“Better see who it is,” she whispers, nodding toward my phone.

Slowly, I drag my thumb across the screen and bring it to my ear.

“Hello?” I say, expecting a telemarketer or maybe even my uncle to respond.

“Hey there. Is this Walker James?” a deep voice replies quickly.

“Uh, yes.” I glance at Poppy, who watches me closely. “This is Walker James.”

“Walker, this is Jack Dow, GM of the New England Bay Sharks here in Portland, Maine.” There’s a short pause, and I swear to God my heart fucking stops beating as I wait for his next words. “You’ve probably heard that our starting center, Kenneth Smitten, is retiring after this season. Leaving us in need of some fresh blood on the team. We’ve watched you this season. And we’re impressed. You came onto a brand-new team as a freshman, stepping into the shoes of Cam Hardy. Which we recognize was no easy feat. Anyway, we’d love to offer you a position on our team next season.”

“For real?” I barely register myself saying. My brain feels like it’s spinning.

“Hell yeah, son.” He laughs. “We’ll send over a contract for your agent to look over. Talk about it with your family and get back to me in the next few weeks. Okay?”

I’m still so shocked by the phone call that it takes me a second to even respond. “Yeah…yeah, that sounds great. Uh, thank you.” I run my hand over the top of my head. “Thank you so much.”

“Look forward to hearing from you, James. Enjoy your day.”

He ends the call, and I look at Poppy, whose big eyes stare at me, wondering what the hell is going on. And I’m scared to tell her because if the odds weren’t already stacked against us for being together…they really are now.

Playing in the NHL is all I’ve wanted to do since I was a kid. But if I had to choose between the pros and her, I’d hang my skates up right now.

All I know is…I’m not letting Beckett find out that his nephew just made it into the NHL. Fuck. No.

Poppy

Judging by the look on his face, it’s obvious that he just got big news. Huge news even. And as the call comes to an end, I patiently wait for him to share with me what’s going on.

Slowly, he stands. “That was the general manager of the New England Bay Sharks.” He swallows, looking straight ahead. “They want me to come play for them next season.” His eyes find mine, and he cringes the slightest bit. “In Maine.”

---