Page 56 of Stick Work

The Tap room, aka, Tap That Ass room, a well-known place where college kids go to party and hook up.

I tilt my head and look out at the dark street. “I can give you a lift.”

“Oh, no. I don’t want to put you out,” she protests, though there’s hesitation in her tone as she follows my gaze to the shadowed bus stop.

“I don’t mind.” I glance at Taylor. “You’re not in a hurry to get anywhere, are you?”

She hesitates for a second, and then, “Nope.” She loops her arm through Avery’s. “Come on, we’ll give you a ride.”

As we walk toward the car, I turn to Taylor. “So? How was it?”

“I crushed it.” She lets out an exaggerated sigh, her breath visible in the cold. “But I’m just so ready for Christmas break. Between school and the play, I’m running on fumes here.”

I make a fist and playfully nudge her cheek. “Atta girl. I knew you’d nail it.” Even though she’s worn out, her energy is palpable—a low buzz of untapped adrenaline after weeks of studying and acting at the local theater. Honestly I can’t wait to get home later, to wrap her in my arms and take care of her in every single way she deserves.

“I’m burnt out too.” Avery sighs, her voice light but laced with exhaustion. I’m glad I can help shave some time off her night by giving her a lift and it’s nice to see Taylor making new friends.

I pick up my pace and reach the car before them, opening the passenger door and then the back.

Before I can say a word, Taylor pipes up. “You take the front, Avery.”

I blink, surprised, but she ducks into the back seat without another word and holds her hand out for her backpack. I hand it off, circle the car, slide into the driver’s seat, and fire up the engine.

“I like your car,” Avery says, buckling her seatbelt.

“Thanks.” I adjust the rear-view mirror, my gaze catching Taylor in the back. She’s glued to her phone, her face unreadable. What’s going on with her?

“Where to?” I ask Avery, deciding I’ll get to the bottom of this strange behavior later.

She rattles off her address, and I nod, familiar with the area. I glance at her as I back out of my parking spot. “How was your exam?”

“Economics,” she groans, dragging the word out like it’s physically painful. “Not my favorite. Just saying it makes me break out in a rash.” She scratches her arm for effect, grimacing.

I can’t help but laugh, the sound filling the car. Catching movement in the mirror, I see Taylor’s eyes flick up, locking with mine for a brief moment.

“Elias did political science too,” Taylor chimes in and that’s when I get it. She’s playing matchmaker. My stomach twists, unease working its way through my blood. I don’t want to date her friend, but it’s a reminder that she’s not in this for the long haul. I grip the steering wheel a bit tighter because the truth is, while I want her, how can we possibly have a future when she has a life to experience, and her brother is my best friend—a guy who thoroughly trusts me with his kid sister?

“Really?” Avery shifts in her seat, her interest piqued. “Did you go to Boston College too? Please tell me you didn’t have Professor Singh for economics. He’s brutal.”

“Harvard,” I say simply, easing the car out of the lot. The tires crunch on the snow, and I drive slowly, wary of the black ice warnings.

Avery’s eyebrows shoot up. “Harvard? And now you’re a professional hockey player?” She laughs, shaking her head. “You’re full of surprises.”

“My dad’s in politics out in California. A degree in the same field seemed like a good idea. It’s always good to have a backup plan.”

Avery grins. “Maybe one day we’ll call you Mr. President.”

I bark out a laugh. “Not happening.” I guess it’s not weird for her to say that but it does remind me of Kalen and Sahara. I heard her whisper something about Mr. President to him but have no idea what that was all about. Some secret between them I guess. Just like Taylor and I have secrets that we don’t want anyone else to know.

Avery shifts, moving a little closer to me. “What was Harvard like? That’s impressive, by the way.”

As we chat, I fill her in on the grueling classes, the late nights, and the unexpected parallels between politics and hockey strategy, having learned that from the quiet woman in the back seat. Avery listens intently, her questions thoughtful, full of real interest—in my college years, and in me.

But in the mirror, Taylor remains quiet. Too quiet. She’s scrolling on her phone, her expression distant. Once again a pang of unease ripples through me, but I push it aside for the time being and focus on the road.

“Are you interested in going into politics?” I ask Avery.

“Eventually,” she explains. “What about your dad? What does he do?”

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