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“Yeah, I need to make one quick stop before heading back to campus.”

The studio isn’t far from where we are, but it is in a more industrial area. I pull the truck in front of the little brick building. I’m about to tell Shelby to stay in the car, but she’s already got the door open and has hopped to the ground.

“So what is this place?”

“A metalsmith studio.”

“Metalsmith?” she repeats, as I press the security buzzer. I look up into the security camera and wave. “You mean like–” The door unlocks and I pull it open. One step inside and she finishes her sentence, “–a jeweler?”

The glass cases on either side of the small space answer that question for her. They’re filled with rings, bracelets, necklaces and pendants. The artist is at the back of the room. Dean is a little older, with long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail that sits at the base of his neck, and an oiled handlebar mustache.

“Dean is a jewelry designer, yeah,” I say, tension rising up my neck. No one knows about this place; one of my art professors suggested him when I asked for a quality craftsman. Why the hell did I bring her with me? It’s like having a witness to my biggest, dumbest, crime.

Dean looks up from the project on his worktable, pushing the safety glasses to the top of his head. “Hey man, how are you?”

“Pretty good,” I reply, even though my insides are twisted in a knot.

Dean’s blue eyes skip over to Shelby. He grins and says, “You must be the fiancée.”

Shit. I mean, she is draped in a jacket with my name on it.

“Me?” Shelby’s voice comes out in a surprised squeak. “Oh, no. I’m not–”

“This is Axel’s sister, Shelby,” I say quickly. In an attempt to save both of us further awkwardness, I fall on the sword. “But, that’s why I’m here. My girlfriend and I broke up. I’m not going to need the ring.”

Dean’s grin falters. “Damn, man, seriously?”

“Yep, and I know you get to keep the deposit and that’s fine, but I wanted to get the designs back.”

“I’ve got them back here,” Dean says, turning to a file cabinet and pulling open a drawer. He flips through until he finds the right file. “Too bad, I was looking forward to creating it.”

I reach for the file, but before I can, Dean flips it open revealing the design.

Shelby leans forward and looks between the design and my face. “You drew this?”

There’s no mistaking the incredulous tone in the question.

“It’s just a few sketches.” I snatch it off the counter, but Dean isn’t having it.

“Your friend is a talented artist. Unlike the rest of us who need validation and praise, he likes to hide it.”

“I can see that,” she says, giving me a look that makes me feel like she’s trying to peek under my skin. “I’m impressed.”

Dean reaches under the counter and returns with a stack of cash. He counts it out and sets it on the glass top. “What’s that for?” I ask.

“I’m not taking your money, Wilder. I hadn’t even started to work on it.”

“But you booked me in,” I argue, “and probably said no to other projects.”

“Look,” Dean says, tapping his fingers on the countertop, making the silver rings flash in the overhead light. “The next time you need a ring or any other piece of jewelry, come backand I’ll fit you in. Maybe it’ll be a ring,” his eyes flick to Shelby, “or maybe it’ll be something to commemorate your Frozen Four win. I’m not here to cause more pain. My karma is worth more than that.” A slow grin curves at his lips. “Plus, I’m banking on your making it to the NHL and tagging me in all the photos wearing my shit. I can wait it out.”

“Dammit,” I mutter, taking the money and shoving it in my pocket. “Fine, but you better hope I’m not involved in some kind of scandal before then.”

“There’s no such thing as bad press,” he looks at Shelby and winks, “right?”

“I don’t know,” she says with a laugh. “My father is a minister. He’d probably disagree with that one.”

I take the designs and finish up with Dean, promising to be back when we win the championship. I’m opening the truck door for Shelby when she stops and looks up at me. “Are you okay? I know that had to suck.”