Page 136 of From Now On

It’s pitch-black out when I leave the rink. There’s a pang of nostalgia as I walk to my car. During the season, leaving at this hour was a regular occurrence.

Rather than drive straight home, I head toward Eve’s. I could call or text her, but this feels like a conversation we should have in person. She hasn’t called or texted me, despite now knowing she has my number, but I shove that concern to the back of my head.

When I get to Eve’s house, the driveway is empty and all the windows are dark. No one’s home.

I swallow my disappointment and continue to my place, which is the total opposite of empty. I have to park halfway down the street, since my usual spot is taken by what I think is Robby’s black Jeep. Even this far down the block, I can hear the music.

What the hell is—shit. It’s Sunday. It’s Robby’s birthday. Why didn’t Conor or Aidan mention it when we were at the rink this morning?

I’m guessing the answer is they were distracted by what happened before our weekly practice, same as I was.

I swear under my breath as I walk toward the front door, a heavy bag of smelly hockey equipment slung over one shoulder.

As soon as I step inside, there’s a loud chorus of my name. The entire team is here, plus a lot of other people. The only shout I acknowledge is Robby’s, clapping him on the back and wishing him a happy birthday.

I sneak upstairs as soon as I can, depositing the bag in my room and changing into jeans before heading back downstairs.

Aidan and Conor are in the kitchen. So’s Robby. He’s talking with Jake Brennan. It sounds like they’re discussing Brennan’s twenty-first.

“Your days of delinquency are almost over.” Robby knocks his cup with Jake’s so hard that some of the beer in his sloshes over the rim and into the one Jake is holding.

Jake grins. “Dunno about that.”

Robby grins back, then notices me. “Where are your Jell-O shots, Morgan?”

“Didn’t make any,” I say.

“What?” Conor asks, glancing over from his spot by the stove. “Why?”

“No one else likes them.”

Conor’s frown deepens. “You do.”

“Well, it’s not my birthday.”

“Can you make some now?” Aidan asks. His expression is uncharacteristically somber. For anytime, let alone at a party.

“Yeah, but it takes a couple of hours to set.”

Aidan shrugs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You live here, Phillips.”

“Exactly. You want some of Morgan’s famous Jell-O shots, Sampson?”

“Hell yeah!” Robby calls back.

“Fine.” I open the cabinet that contains my extra stash and pull out boxes of cherry and lime.

Conor shifts to the left so I can boil the water on the stove. “Wasn’t sure you’d make it,” he says in a low voice that I can barely make out over the commotion in the kitchen.

“I forgot,” I admit. “You guys didn’t mention it this morning.”

“Because you never forget shit.”

I watch the bubbles form on the bottom of the saucepan. “I know.”

Rylan appears, setting an empty can by the sink before walking over to me. “Hey, Hunter! I was wondering where you were.”

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