Page 71 of Don't Puck His Best Friend
“Shit, Liam.” She takes a moment to think. “This isn’t about him.”
I give her eyes, and she deflates. “You seriously get roped in when you see him? You have it that bad for the guy?”
I look at the ground. “No––I don’t know. I think it’s guilt and curiosity.”
“Like will the player change his ways for you? That’s ego, Harp. It’s not sincerity. You know what you told me about him?”
My eyes flick to hers, waiting to hear what she’s about to say.
“You said you barely know him. Does that stand true?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Yes.”
“Okay. Then we focus on Cole, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“No signs, no cheesy crap,” I warn, pointing my pen at her for emphasis. “I’m not showing up with ‘FORGIVE ME COLE’ written on poster board.”
Maddie smirks. “Fine. Just your face, then. That should be enough.”
Three hours later, I’m standing in front of my closet having an existential crisis about what to wear. I finally settle on jeans and a soft blue sweater with my most comfortable boots. Not a team jersey, not his colors, nothing that screams desperate fan. I want to look like myself—the version of myself he fell for before I ruined everything.
I keep my makeup natural, just enough to look put-together without appearing like I’m trying too hard. In the mirror, I practice the smile I’ll give him if our eyes meet during warm-ups. Hopeful but not presumptuous. Apologetic but not pathetic.
It looks fake as hell and makes Maddie giggle, but it’s the best I can do.
The drive to the arena feels like heading to my own execution. My hands are sweating on the steering wheel, and I keep running through worst-case scenarios: Cole seeing me and deliberately turning away, Liam noticing and making a scene, security escorting me out for being a stalker ex-girlfriend.
By the time I park and walk toward the entrance, my heart is hammering so hard I might faint.
Maddie somehow scored lower bowl seats—I don’t ask how, maybe Sirus is working behind the scenes. The seats are close enough to the ice that Cole will definitely be able to see me during warm-ups, assuming he bothers to look toward the stands.
The arena is already filling up with other students, families, die-hard hockey fans wearing jerseys and face paint. I slide into my seat and try to blend in, just another face in the crowd who definitely isn’t here to stage a romantic intervention.
I notice a few of the girlfriends here, but we only wave softly and take our seats.
When the team skates out for warm-ups, my breath catches in my throat. I see Liam first and inhale. Then comes a few tall really good-looking guys. Jeez, no wonder they call this the boy aquarium. Then out comes Cole and my heart stills. That’s how I know it’s Cole. It’ll always be Cole. He looks exactly like healways does—laser-focused, moving with that fluid confidence that makes hockey look effortless. His hair is longer than usual, curling slightly at the edges where it peeks out from under his helmet, and even from this distance I can see the intensity in his posture.
He’s not looking toward the stands. Not scanning for familiar faces, not acknowledging the crowd at all. Just pure concentration on the ice and the puck and whatever internal rhythm keeps him grounded.
I watch him go through his warm-up routine—stretches which gives me a good idea on how he’d be in the bedroom.My God.I see Liam doing the same, and I freeze. Maddie grabs my hand, grounding me. Then Cole switches to easy passes with his linemates, a few practice shots that ping off the goalie’s pads with satisfying precision. Every movement is deliberate, economical, and I’m reminded all over again why I fell for him in the first place. There’s something deeply attractive about competence, about watching someone be genuinely good at what they do. Then Liam like an afterthought does the same thing, but I’m not yearning for him in the way that I am for Cole.
Finally, as the team gathers at the bench for some last-minute instruction from the coach, Cole glances up toward the crowd. His eyes sweep across the lower bowl, probably looking for family or friends, and then they snag on me.
My heart stops.
For just a second, we lock eyes across the ice. I see his jaw tighten slightly before he looks away, turning his attention back to whatever the coach is saying. Not good. Not bad. Just... unreadable.
My heart sinks. I was hoping for something, maybe even a small smile. Instead, I got the hockey equivalent of a poker face.
Then Liam looks over. My eyes catch his, and dear God, this isn’t funny anymore. Liam isn’t so hostile. His expression doesn’t change, but I can read his eyes. Then he looks at Cole, then back at me. I look away.
“It’s okay,” Maddie says. “You’re going to be okay.”
“I know,” I breathe.
