Page 166 of From Now On

“We must all look pretty tiny from your high horse, huh?”

“I have a fucking key,” I snap. “Stand up before someone calls campus police.”

Sean stands. “You have a key, huh? Was that part of the championship package?”

“So youdoknow we won one. I wasn’t sure, since you never bothered to show up or to congratulate me.”

That shuts him up.

Something that looks very similar to regret flashes across Sean’s face. But it’s gone a few seconds later when the hinges creak open.

My brother walks very slowly into the lobby I’ve entered a thousand times.

Watching him, I’m reminded that Sean never went to college. That his hockey career ended when he was in high school because of an injury that sent him spiraling into addiction.

Anger hurts more when it’s attached to sadness. It lingers and it stings and it festers.

“This is the main entrance,” I say gruffly. “Concession stand and ticket booth are over there. Locker rooms and offices are through that way.”

Sean’s stopped by the trophy display. The national championship is front and center, a framed photograph of the team right above it. I’m in the middle, between Conor and Aidan.

“These are your best friends, right? Phillips and Hart?”

“Yeah.” I’ve mentioned them before, but I’m surprised he remembers their names. Most of what I say to Sean seems to go in one ear and right out the other. “Rink’s through here.”

I shove through the doors that separate the lobby from the ice, and Sean follows me.

It’s not an impressive sight. The wooden bleachers are ancient and empty. The rubber mats are scuffed and frayed in spots, and the ice is missing, just a dull slab of concrete inside the boards.

But it’s been my second home for the past four years. The site of some of my happiest memories.

And something in Sean’s expression makes me think that he understands that. That he sees more than the mediocrity most do.

We take a seat in the bleachers, which creak under our combined weight, and Sean glances up at the bright banner. It’ll fade eventually, but right now it’s the brightest, newest thing in here.

“Nice rink,” he comments.

I say nothing. With Sean, it’s always difficult to tell if he’s being serious. That could be genuine, or it could be a jab.

“Mom said you finally got a girlfriend?”

“Finally?” I scoff. “I dated Jemma in high school.”

“Yeah, but that washigh school. It never seemed that serious.”

“Well, I was…distracted.”

By you.

I think it; I don’t say it. But there’s a wry twist to Sean’s mouth that makes me think my brother read my mind.

“And now?” he asks.

“Now, I’m focused. It’s serious. She’s…special. She’s really special.”

“That’s great, Hunter. I’m happy for you.”

“You’ll meet her tomorrow, if you?—”

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