Page 65 of Falling

Hockey gamesat NU are the highlight of the week. We always get a full house even when the games are just friendly. Everyone loves the atmosphere, the rush, and the energy that radiates off the players. I can’t wait to get myself back out there.

Coach has been checking in to see how I’m doing, and he told me that he’ll let me know as soon as he thinks I’m ready to play again. Wren has been easing me into getting back on the ice in my full gear, but it’s a lot harder than I thought. Each time I step out there and see the nets, I freeze up. I’m going to have to get there eventually. After we sat by the ice for hours, I started to feel the warmth slowly seeping back into my blood, and imagining myself back out there isn’t as scary as it once was.

I drive the distance from my house to Wren’s apartment, and when I get to her door, I knock twice before Kennedy opens it. A wide grin splits on her face, and she lets me in.

“She’s through there,” she says, pointing down the hallway. I look down the hall and then back to her. “When you hear frustrated groans, you’ll know which one it is.”

As expected, I hear frustrated grunts coming from one of the rooms down the hallway, and I knock on the door.

“Wren?” I ask. “It’s me. Miles.”

“Yes, I know what your voice sounds like, Miles,” she says, sighing. “Open the door.”

Entering her room is like looking straight into her brain. A chaotic, beautiful mess.

The walls are covered in music posters, figure skating posters, and pictures of her and her friends. A dressing table in the corner holds a vinyl player and a stack of Taylor Swift records next to it. A shelf is covered from top to bottom in trophies, medals, and certificates. Another shelf is dedicated solely to books, and it looks like it’s seconds away from collapsing. I don’t know why I’m surprised with all the awards because I knew she was good, butfuck. There is almost no room for anything else on the shelves.

And best of all, Wren is sitting in the middle of the floor, surrounded by thousands of clothes in a sports bra and leggings. She looks up at me, and her face drops in exhaustion.

“You’re going to have to leave me here. I’m not going,” she groans. I crouch down in front of her and tilt my head to the side.

“Yeah, you are. I got you a present,” I say, holding out my cap and jersey with my number seven on it. She looks at them and then at me.

“Do you know how tacky it is for me to wear your jersey?”

“If you’re gonna wear a jersey, it needs to have my name and number on it. I’m not letting anyone think you’re someone else’s,” I challenge. Okay, maybe I do have a jealous side. Her mouth tilts into a grin. “Plus, it makes you look like you care and that we’re in a committed relationship. We are in a very committed relationship, right?”

“Yes,” she mumbles.

“Great. Then get dressed, princess.”

She groans before grabbing my shirt out of my hand and standing up out of her heap. When she stands, I get a better look at her and the red-and-purple marks on her skin.

She rolls her eyes when she catches me staring. “Yeah, those are your fault,” she says, pointing at her neck. “Really appreciate the hickeys, Miles. Are we in fucking high school?”

“How the fuck did you get those?”

“Do you not remember pinning me to a tree and kissing me everywherebutmy mouth and then telling me you wouldn’t touch me again until I’m sure?” I give her a blank look. “Whatever the fuck that means.”

I snort. “I mean, I know I kissed you there, but fuck.”

I reach out to touch her neck, where she’s basically covered in marks from me. She swats my hand away. “My skin’s sensitive, Milesy. You would have known that if you didn’t go all crazy possessive caveman on me.”

“God, I’m sorry, but you’ve got to admit, it’s a little funny,” I say, pressing my lips together, but Wren is not the least bit amused. “You don’t think it’s a little funny that I hardly did anything, and you look like a victim of a vampire attack?”

“No, it’s not funny,” she huffs, but I can tell she’s trying to hold in her laughter. She pulls the shirt over her head and looks in her full-length mirror. The jersey hangs loose on her and falls halfway down her thighs. I stand behind her and put my hands on her shoulders.

I love that she has my name written on her back. I’ve never given a girl my jersey, and I’m so glad Wren is the first person to wear it. My ex-girlfriend Emily Fraser would love to use the fact that I’m a hockey player to show off, but she’d never wear my jersey. She demanded I get her a fitted one, or else there would be no point in wearing it.

“See, you look fabulous,” I say, smiling. She shakes her head and turns to me, my hands still on her shoulders.

“I look like I’m dating a hockey player,” she says before a horrified expression takes over her face. “Oh my god. I’m dating a hockey player.”

“Should I be concerned that it’s taken you that long to notice that?” I laugh while her jaw hangs open. I put my cap on her head and tap it. Her nose scrunches as I put two fingers under her jaw and close her mouth. “Come on. We’re going to be late.”

“Why are you so worried about being late? You’re not even playing.”

“I know, but it’s not the worst thing to be on time,” I retort. “You’re the one who likes to take hours to get ready.”

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