Page 46 of A Little Complicated

OPHELIA

It’s strange. Being here. Next to Archer. With his arm wrapped around my shoulders, we’re snuggled on the couch in the middle of his family room, surrounded by his friends.Ourfriends. Griffin and Everett asked if we wanted to hang out tonight, and after Archer texted me privately to see how I felt, we said yes. In a way, it kind of feels like a coming-out party. Like we’ve officially crossed into actual relationship territory instead ofjustfriends. It’s stupid because we’ve been together for a little while now, but being together one-on-one versus front and center and surrounded by friends is…weird. Like it’s official now, and there’s no going back.

Maverick and I never made it to this point. Hell, as soon as we were even close, he ended things. I guess it’s for the best. If he hadn’t, there’s no way I would’ve wound up with Archer.

So why do I feel guilty?

Archer laughs at Griffin and pulls me closer to him. I force my muscles to relax, attempting to focus on the conversation instead of the front door across the room. I haven’t seen Maverick since he mowed the lawn while I was outside. It was awkward, and I barely lasted two minutes until I was packing up my things and disappearing into my side of the house.

It’s normal, though.

Isn’t it?

To think about your ex sometimes. To feel awkward around them. To remember what it was like to be with them while doing your best to get over them and move on with someone new.

It’d be easier if I had some semblance of closure. If I knew why he broke up with me. If he wasn’t always around, reminding me of our past.

Then again, maybe not. He isn’t around right now, and I can’t stop wondering where he is or if he’ll show up as soon as I let my guard down and relax with Archer, which is messed up on so many levels. Maybe it’s a damned if you do and damned if you don’t scenario, and there is no winning.

Probably.

Because if there was a solution, I’m pretty sure my overthinking, overanalyzing brain would’ve figured it out by now.

“What do you think, Lia?” Griffin asks from one of the recliners across from the couch where I’m snuggling with Archer. A coffee table separates us, and Everett takes up the last chair beside Griffin, making a cozy little circle in the center of the family room.

I blink slowly and turn to him. “I’m sorry, what?”

“What do you think about next year?” Griffin repeats. “You think Archer’s dad will trade anyone so we can all play together?”

Griffin signed with the Tornados, and Everett will play for the Rockets next year. Or at least, that’s the plan. Archer passed on any contracts, telling everyone he planned to take a different route than the rest of his friends. He’s choosing to focus on a career outside of hockey. Well, kind of. I have a hunch he’ll wind up owning the Lions in the long run, but what do I know?

“Don’t get me wrong. You guys would be awesome playing with anyone, but Uncle Henry isn’t an idiot,” I point out. “He knows how much stronger you are when you all play together. I bet he’s messing with some things behind the scenes, seeing what he can do to get all of you to play for the Lions next year, but that’s just me.”

“Guess we’ll have to wait and see,” Everett says, looking unconvinced. “Mav’s lucky his dad owns the team, and he’s a shoo-in.”

“You’re lucky he plays defense,” Archer says. “Try competing with him for everything.”

“Is that why you decided not to sign with the Lions when they tried to recruit you?” Griff asks. “Because you both play the same position?”

Honestly, it’s a good question. One I’ve been way too hesitant to ask, despite the years that’ve passed since contracts were sent out during their senior year of high school.

“Didn’t make it easier,” Archer mutters. “Mav’s always been the better player.”

“Bullshit,” I untuck myself from his side and stare back at him. “You guys are even, and we all know it. Take a look at your stats—”

“No need to defend me, Lia,” Archer interrupts. His eyes shine with amusement. “I know I’m good and everything. But we’re used to being pitted against each other. I think both of us hope if I switch my focus to other shit, everyone will stop comparing us.”

“So you did it for Mav?” I ask.

“I did it for both of us. Now, as long as Maverick doesn’t squander his chance with the Lions, it’d be great.”

“Squander it?” I pull away from Archer’s side even more, my spine straightening. “What do you mean?”

“I don't know, I think he’s been off,” Everett explains. “Distracted, maybe?”

“Or maybe he’s peaked,” Griffin jokes, but the rest of the guys simply laugh.

Maverick? Peaked? Not possible. The guy was born to play on the ice, and we all know it. Even Archer does. And it isn’t because Maverick’s better. It’s because Maverick eats, sleeps, and breathes hockey. The idea of him doing anything else or not giving it a hundred and ten percent every single day is laughable.

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