Page 70 of Between the Blue
“You’re right,” I admit. “I guess I don’t know everything about your dreams. But it doesn’t matter. Because, the point is, if you continue trying to keep me from mine…” I pause, raising my chin and shoving my pointer finger into his chest. “I’ll become your nightmare.”
Ben throws his arms out, slamming a hand onto the locker by either side of my head, caging me in. The action completely startles me, but I somehow manage to stay frozen in my stance, even as he leans down so close that I can see every shade of brown and amber within his eyes.
“I could have you gone before the end of this game,” he breathes, his voice low and gravelly.
“But you won’t,” I state. “Because if you really wanted me gone, I already would be.”
A muscle in Ben’s jaw flexes, something flashing in his gaze that I can’t read. His eyes burn into mine so long that I think I get lost in them for a moment. Just long enough that I don’t register us getting closer together.
Not until Ben forfeits our staring contest, his eyes flicking down to my lips.
“Cherry,” he exhales, so quiet that I barely register it. “I…”
A horn blares in the distance, forcing the two of us apart in a split second. And with the rumble of noise coming from down the hall that I know is the quickly approaching rest of the team, I practically sprint towards the locker room door. I only pause once I reach it long enough to mumble, “Have a good last period,” over my shoulder, not looking back to see Ben’s response before I make my way back through the tunnel.
I round the corner just in time to make it look like I could have been coming from anywhere when the players pass by me, and I make sure to keep my face neutral until I reach the rink once again.
And even as the cold air brushes my cheeks when I get there, I can still hear my heart pounding in my ears.
eighteen
HIM, THIRTEEN YEARS EARLIER
Whatever Coach says to me goes in one ear and out the other.
But that’s just how it’s been lately.
Ever since her.
I hop off the ice, beyond ready to get home. I make quick work of showering and changing.
Twenty minutes later, I’m pulling into my driveway.
Lately, it’s like my days are blurring together.
I go to practice. I play my game. But I don’t do an ounce more than that. Don’t give any more than that. Because I don’t have time for it.
Hockey’s a part of me.
But Jules is everything else.
I walk into my house. Say hi to Mom and Dad as I’m tossing my keys onto the table by our front door. My eyes catch on the stack of mail sitting there. With just a glance, I spot my name and several college logos in the stack. As usual. Even though their efforts are useless.
I’m playing hockey for the University of Michigan. I’ve been in talks with them since I was fourteen. And it’s just always been the plan.
If anything crazy happened that made it fall through for some reason, Boston would be my number two choice. Minnesota, number three.
I scoop up the letters, carrying them over to the kitchen trash can. Open the lid. Start to toss them in, but then stop. I pull one letter out from the others. Stuff it under my arm and let the others fall into the trash. Close the lid.
I head upstairs to my bedroom. Close the door behind me when I get there.
UMich is consistently one of the absolute best college hockey programs in North America. They’ve been aggressively scouting me for years. My parents fully support me going there. It’s a no-brainer, really.
Or at least, it always used to be.
I take the letter out from under my arm. Brush my thumb over the logo.
University of Toronto.
