Page 67 of Don't Puck His Best Friend
She’s choosing me?
I glance around for her. Nothing. Then I walk to see if Liam has one. He doesn’t.
I wonder if it even matters.
I get in my truck, the smell of the coffee filling the cab. I don’t take a sip until I’m halfway home, but when I do, it’s perfect. Exactly how I like it, which means she’s reaching out. Apologizing without pushing.
I hate that it makes me think of Harper—not the fight, not Liam, not the lies, but just her. The way she laughed when I told her about Rex stealing my shoe. How she’s the best person to play board games with. The expression on her face when she kissed me on my couch, like she wanted me close.
By the time I pull into my driveway, I’ve made up my mind about one thing: I’m not ready to forgive. Not Harper. Not Liam. And I’m definitely not going to make it easy for either of them.
But the coffee cup sits empty in the cup holder, and I don’t throw it away when I get out of the truck.
Which probably says more about where my head is than I want to admit.
31
Plan A Derailed
Harper
Iwakeupwitha knot in my stomach that feels like it’s been there for weeks instead of hours, replaying Cole’s face from last night on an endless loop. The way he looked at me when the truth came out. I can hear Maddie moving around in the kitchen, the familiar sounds of coffee brewing and cabinets opening and closing with more force than necessary.
When I finally drag myself out of bed, I find her standing in front of the whiteboard staring at it. She’s got coffee in one hand, a dry erase marker in the other, and that determined expression that means she’s been awake for hours plotting our next move.
“Today is Plan A day,” she announces without turning around. “You’re going to find Cole, you’re going to own what you did, and you’re going to fix this.”
I pour myself coffee that tastes like burnt regret and stare at the neat lists on the whiteboard. Seeing my love life reduced to bullet points and strategic options makes everything feel even more surreal.
“Own it, no excuses,” I repeat, trying to convince myself I can actually do this. “Got it.”
Maddie turns to study me, taking in my rumpled pajamas and probably catastrophic hair situation. “First things first—you need to look like someone worth forgiving. Come on.”
She drags me to my closet and starts pulling out options. “We need neutral but disarming. Approachable but not trying too hard.”
I cycle through what feels like half my wardrobe before we settle on dark jeans, a soft gray sweater that Maddie insists “brings out my eyes,” and my favorite ankle boots. It’s casual enough to suggest I’m not trying to manipulate him with my appearance but put-together enough.
“And don’t forget eye contact,” Maddie adds, applying mascara to my lashes. “You have killer eyes when you use them properly. Make him remember why he liked you in the first place.”
I blink said killer eyes, but I file the advice away anyway. At this point, I’ll take all the help I can get.
Maddie runs through the plan one more time while I fidget with my car keys, “Go to the rink after practice ends. Wait until Cole’s leaving so you can catch him one-on-one—no teammates around to witness the carnage. Keep it short, honest, and clear. Three main points: I didn’t know you two were friends, I’m sorry I hurt you, and I choose you.”
“What if he doesn’t want to hear it?”
“Then you talk faster.”
I rehearse the speech in my head during the drive, running through different versions until I almost believe I won’t completely screw this up. The words feel foreign in my mouth, too simple for the complexity of what I’ve done, but Maddie’s right—this isn’t the time for elaborate explanations or justifications. Cole deserves the truth, delivered cleanly and without excuses.
I get to the rink early, parking in the lot where I should be able to see the players’ exit. My nerves are high as I watch the building, waiting for practice to end. I shouldn’t be here.
I drive away with tears in my eyes.
I end up at the same coffee shop where Cole took me on our first date. I order his black coffee and head back to the rink. I find histruck and put it on the hood and then I get into my car and drive across the lot. I can’t follow through with the plan. I––
The passenger door suddenly opens, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
Liam slides into the seat, bringing with him the scent of ice rink and that cologne that always makes my brain not think clearly. He’s still in his practice clothes, hair damp with sweat, and he looks at me with those storm-colored eyes that see too much.
