Page 134 of From Now On

HUNTER

Ifirmly believe skating across wide-open ice is the closest sensation to flying anyone can experience.

The rush of cool air makes my eyes water and the strain of hustling so hard has my quads burning. But I keep skating, losing track of how many times I’ve circled the rink, as I chase that feeling of freedom.

By the time my strokes slow, I’m breathing hard and soaked with sweat.

I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk tomorrow. My muscles are literally trembling. I doubt I’ve ever skated this much in a single day before. I practiced with Conor and Aidan earlier—Phillips spent most of the time teasing me about causing “Somerville’s first draught” with my “selfish showering habits.”

I went to the library to finish working on my thesis presentation, and then I came back to the rink to skate solo for a bit before heading home.

“I see Hart is keeping a real close eye on that key.”

I stop in front of the away bench, sending a spray of shavings across the blue line. Conor only left me the key because he had a study session to get to and I was the last one in the showersearlier. But Coach is kidding—I think. His rare humor is hard to decipher.

“Hi, Coach. You’re here late.”

“So are you,” Coach Keller replies.

I shrug. “You going to kick me out?”

“You going to tell me why you’re skating faster than you ever did during practice?”

I crack a small smile. “More room on the ice now than there was during practice.”

“I suppose that’s true.” He rests his elbows on the plastic partition separating the bench from the ice. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“Whatever has you here.”

I have a lot of respect for Coach. He’s one of the main reasons I chose Holt.

I didn’t come here chasing a hockey career, like Conor did. I knew the past four seasons would be the final four I ever played competitive hockey, and I wanted to do it as part of a program that I was proud to be associated with. Despite Holt’s mediocre reputation when it came to winning, it had everything else I was looking for.

Or maybebecauseof its mediocre reputation when it came to winning. If you ask me, how you lose says a lot more about you than how you win.

But my relationship with Coach has never extended very far off the ice. I was never the flashy star—Conor—or the troublemaker—Aidan—that required any extra attention. I was reliable and responsible, and we never became very close as a result.

I glance at the new championship banner hanging from the rafters, then at Coach. “I think better here.”

He nods. “And what are you thinking about?”

“I’ve, uh, I’ve got to decide what to do with the rest of my life.”

It’s a cop-out of an answer. I mean, yeah, I have to decide that. Eve is the main reason I’m here skating like a madman, though. But broaching girl troubles with Coach seems like a real leap from our previous exchanges.

“Is that all?”

I catch one of Coach’s rare smiles before looking down at the ice.

I skate a little closer, leaning a hip against the boards. Now that I’ve stopped moving, I’m exhausted. My trembling muscles feel like lead.

“Nothing’s as permanent as it seems, Morgan. You’re young. You’re allowed to make mistakes. Change your mind. You’re starting a new chapter, but it won’t be the last one.”

“I just…” I move my left skate forward and back, deepening a groove in the ice. “I like getting things right on the first try, I guess.”

Coach chuckles. “Don’t we all.”

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