Page 74 of From Now On

“April fifteenth.”

“That’s still weeks away.”

“I know, but what’s gonna change between now and then? I just need to…choose. And…I should pick UW.”

“University of Wyoming? Why?”

“It’s close to my parents.”

I still feel guilty for coming to Holt for college. Who knows what I could have done to help Sean the past four years, but at least I would have been there for my mom and dad. They lost Sean to drugs, and I moved a thousand miles away.

“They ask you to move back?”

Conor’s tone is careful, same as I am when we discuss his family. He’s obviously assumed I wouldn’t move home because things are so great. Probably because I’m making UW sound like a death sentence, not an opportunity. Because no matter how much I want to support my parents—and I do—it’s hard not to see returning to Wyoming as a regression. I may pick up every time Sean calls, but that doesn’t mean I don’t resent him for needing to call in the first place. Moving back there will be stepping into quicksand. I’ll get sucked back in to all of Sean’s shit.

“No,” I answer. “They wouldn’t ask. That’s the problem. They’d tell me to go wherever I want to go.”

And if I do that, they’ll be the ones stuck with Sean’s selfishness.

Conor exhales as he brakes at a stoplight. One of a few this town has, I’m betting. I couldn’t believe the number of people at Sand Bar, since this town seems smaller than Somerville. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, your future looks more solid than mine.”

“Bullshit. You’re gonna get drafted, Hart.”

He shrugs a shoulder before stepping on the gas again. “Do you know how many free agents have gotten drafted in the past ten years? The odds aren’t exactly in my favor.”

“Fuck the odds, man. What were the chances we’d win a national championship?”

“Exactly. Maybe I used up my one miracle already.”

“I don’t think it works that way. Everyone loves an underdog.”

“Right. And no one liked Gretzky or Orr or Howe or?—”

“None of those guys started out as household names, Hart. They put in the work, just like you have. Just like you will. Not a single thing you could have done more this season.”

“Not one, huh?”

I know exactly what he’s referring to. “I was wrong about Harlow, okay?”

“No. You were right, about me getting distracted. What you didn’t realize—and me neither—I wanted her more than that championship. I love her more than I love hockey.”

“Wow.” Coming from Conor, there’s no stronger declaration. The guy eats, sleeps, and breathes hockey. There’s dedication and obsession, and then there’s Hart on the ice.

I had a good idea how he felt about Harlow. But I’ve never heard him lay it out in such stark terms. Never heard him sound sosure.

Hart chuckles. “Yeah. That’s part of why I’m so stressed about the draft. The uncertainty isn’t just fucking with my future. It’s messing with Harlow’s too.”

“She knows that’s nothing you can control. And she’s crazy about you. You guys will figure it out.”

“I hope so. I don’t know—I don’t know what I’d do if…” He sighs. “There are oceans all over the fucking place, you know? Covers seventy-one percent of the planet. What if she gets a job in the fucking Arctic, studying seals or something?”

I snicker. Which makes me a shitty friend, because Hart sounds genuinely tortured by the possibility. “Well, if that happens and you don’t get drafted, you can go with her. Living in an igloo would be cool.”

Pun intended.

Conor snorts. “An igloo makes me feel alotbetter about everything. Thanks.”

I grin. “Anytime.”

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