I chew on my cheek until I’ve drawn blood, but I barely notice the coppery flavor that fills my mouth. I’ve been treating this upcoming year like a death sentence, but maybe Garrett’s right. Maybe I need to start viewing it as an opportunity. One more year to enjoy my freedom. To play the game I love. To hang out with friends I’m lucky to have and probably don’t deserve.
Freedom, hockey, and friends. Yup, all those things make the list.
But the number one slot? That’s a no-brainer.
I need to make things right with Grace.
18
Logan
August
There’s one more week before the new semester starts, and I’m finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Though if I’m being honest, the tail end of the summer wasn’t all that shitty. I spent a week in Boston visiting my mom, didn’t have any major run-ins with my dad, and I even ended up calling Bernie and playing a few games with the Miners. Turns out the players are actually pretty decent. Most of them are in their thirties, a few are in their forties, and I, being the only twenty-one-year-old, schooled each and every one of them on the ice. But it felt good to be part of a team again.
The one dark spot on an otherwise mostly-painless summer record is that Grace hadn’t called. After my talk with Garrett, I left her a long voice mail apologizing again and asking for another chance. No response.
Still, she can’t avoid me forever. I’m bound to run into her on campus, or…I can always speed up the process by flirting with the hot grad student in the housing office to find out which dorm Grace will be in. My last resort would be calling her “friend” Ramona, but I refuse to do that unless I absolutely have to.
But all that can wait. I have the afternoon off today, and my spirits are high as I drive to Hastings. My strength and conditioning program requires increased weight training now, but since I have the worst selection of weights at home, Jeff agreed to cover for me twice a week so I can use the state-of-the-art weight room in our team facilities on campus.
Dean has been tagging along with me, and when I pull up in front of our townhouse, he’s waiting for me in the driveway. Mr. GQ is shirtless, wearing low-riding Adidas tear away pants and jogging in place like a moron.
Grinning, I hop out of the truck and walk over to him.
“Hey. Change of plans,” he says. “Wellsy got off work early, so we’re going running instead.”
I wrinkle my nose. “You and me?”
“You, me and Wellsy,” he clarifies. “She and I have been running every night. Sometimes G comes if he’s not too beat. But she has plans with her folks tonight.”
“Nice. Her parents are in town?” I know Hannah doesn’t get to see them as often as she’d like, so I imagine she must be thrilled. I also know that the reason she doesn’t see them is…her own damn business. Even though she told Garrett it was okay to confide in me about the sexual assault in her past, it feels inappropriate to bring it up. If she wanted to talk about it with me, she would.
“They’re staying at the inn on Main,” Dean answers. “Anyway, this is the only time she can run today.”
As if on cue, Hannah appears on the front stoop, decked out in a baggy T-shirt and spandex pants that go to her knees. Her ponytail flops around as she hurries over to give me a hug. “Logan! I feel like I haven’t seen you in months!”
“That’s because you haven’t.” I tweak the end of her ponytail. “How’s your summer going?”
“Good. You?”
I shrug. “All right, I guess.”
“So you’re coming running with us?”
“Apparently I don’t have a choice in the matter.” I’m already wearing sneakers, track pants and an old T-shirt, so I don’t need to change, but I pop into the house to stash my wallet and keys before joining them outside again. Just in time to hear Hannah scolding Dean about his running attire.
“Seriously, dude, put on a shirt.”
“Hey, you know what they say,” Dean drawls. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it.”
“No, I’m pretty sure they say put on a shirt when you go for a run, you cocky narcissist.”
His jaw drops. “Narcissist? More like realist. Look at these abs, Wellsy. Actually, touch them. Seriously. It will change your life.”
She snorts.
“What, you’re too intimidated by all this masculine beauty?” He slaps a hand over his tight six-pack.
“You know what?” she says sweetly. “I would love to touch your abs.”
In the blink of an eye, Hannah scoots down and grabs something from the planter next to the garage. A handful of dirt. Which she proceeds to smear on him, leaving a line from his belly button to the top of his waistband. And since it’s hot as hell outside and Dean is already sweaty, the dirt cakes to his skin like a mud mask.
“Ready?” she chirps.
Dean glowers at her. “I know you think I’ll go inside and wipe that off. But guess what—I won’t.”
“Oh really? You’re going to run through town looking like that?” She tips her head in challenge. “No way. You’re far too vain.”
I snicker, but I happen to know she’s not giving Dean enough credit. As much as his ego probably hates that his pristine abs have been soiled, Dean also happens to be a stubborn-as-fuck hockey player who’s not going to allow a tiny ballbuster like Hannah get to him.
“Nuh-uh, baby doll. I’m wearing this dirt as a badge of honor.”
He stares at her. Gloating.
She stares back. Annoyed.
I clear my throat. “Are we running or what?”
They snap out of their stare-down and the three of us take off in a brisk pace down the sidewalk. “We usually run the same route,” Dean tells me. “Down to the park, hit the trail there, then come back the other way.”
Knowing they’ve been running together often enough to have a “route” brings a strange pang of jealousy. I miss my friends, damn it. I hate how isolated I’ve been in Munsen, with nobody to talk to but Jeff and my perpetually inebriated father.
We’ve only been running for a few minutes when Hannah starts humming. Softly at first, but eventually it turns into full-on singing. Her voice is beautiful, sweet and melodic with a throaty pitch that Garrett says gives him goose bumps. As she sings Hozier’s “Take Me to Church”, I can’t help but turn to grin at Dean.
“She sings when she’s running,” he says with a sigh. “Seriously. She does it the whole time. Garrett and I tried explaining that it messes with your breath control, but—”
“I swear to God,” she interrupts, “if I have to hear one more lecture about my breath control, I will punch you. All of you. I like to sing when I run. Deal with it.”
I actually don’t mind it. Her voice is a nice soundtrack to the thuds of our sneakers pounding the pavement, even if her choice of songs is slightly depressing.
When we reach the entrance of the park, I notice the roof of the gazebo peeking through the trees, and I’m suddenly reminded of the night at the water tower with Grace. She’d told me this was her childhood spot.
My shoulders tense, almost as if I’m anticipating to find Grace in the gazebo. Which is stupid, because of course she’s not—
Holy shit, she is. I see a girl on the steps. A long braid and…disappointment surges through me. Wait. It’s not Grace. It’s a blonde in a green sundress, and the afternoon sunlight catches in her golden braid as she bends her head to read the book in her lap.
Then her head lifts, and holy shit again, because I was right the first time—it is her.
I stumble to a stop, completely forgetting about Dean and Hannah, who keep running. From her perch on the steps, Grace looks in my direction, and although thirty or so yards separate us, I know she recognizes me.
Our gazes lock, and a frown mars her lips.
Shit, maybe Dean’s onto something. Maybe I shouldn’t be wearing a shirt right now. Chicks are much more amenable when they’re looking at a ripped chest, right?
Jesus, and that’s just sad, thinking the sight of my bare chest will make her forget everything that went down between us.
“Logan. Yo, what the hell? Keep up, bro.”
My friends have finally noticed I’m not with them, and they come jogging back. Hannah follows my gaze, then gasps. “Oh. Is that Grace?”
For a second, I’m surprised she knows her name, until I realize that Garrett must have told her. Shocker.
Beside me, Dean squints at the gazebo to get a better look. “Naah, that’s not her. Your freshman is a brunette. And she doesn’t have legs that go on and on and—fuck, those legs are hot. ’Scuse me, I think I’ll go over there and introduce myself.”
I grab his arm before he can take another step. “It’s Grace, dumbass. She obviously dyed her hair. And if you looked at her face and not her legs, you’d see it.”
He squints again, and then his jaw drops. “Shit. You’re right.”
Grace lowers her gaze back to her book, but I know she’s aware of my presence because her shoulders are stiffer than the posts at the gazebo’s entrance. She’s probably waiting for me to run off, but that’s not going to happen. I’m not running away, not this time.