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“I wanted to make sure it was a clean hit.”

He scoffs. “A clean hit? He’s carrying the puck and bearing down on goal. You check him to the ground and turn the puck over. It's the basics.”

“Yeah, and that’s what I did.”

Rule number one. Never talk back to Coach.

Throwing his head up to the ceiling, he props his hands on his hips. “You’re really pissing me off.” Pointing at a rookie we recently traded from Jon’s former team in Colorado. “Holmes, you’re up.” He turns his finger on me. “Evan’s you’re out. I’m tired of giving out second chances. I’m not some kind of charity.”

“We goingto talk about it or what?”

I twist the hardly touched beer glass around on the table. “Or what.”

Jon leans back in the large booth. We usually go to Riley’s after every game, especially after a win, but tonight, he’s hauled me down here for a reason other than to celebrate. And now I know why.

“I don’t know whether to start with your game or your head. But something tells me they’re interchangeable.”

“I’m seeing the team psych. I don’t need another therapy session.”

“Man, with respect, I’m not here to give you a lesson in visualization on the ice. I’m here to find out what’s going on in here.” He taps on his chest, motioning to his heart.

I push the glass away completely. I’m not interested in drinking. “Yeah, and there’s the problem; there’s nothing going on.”

“Have you spoken to her at all?” he asks, swiping a hand over his mouth.

“Barely. I asked her how it all went with the start of school, you know, after the pictures. She hasn’t been to the beach house though.”

“How do you know?”

I feel my face flush. “Because the alarm hasn’t been deactivated once.”

His lips scrunch together as he fights it back. “Dude.”

“Go on,” I say, waving a hand in front of me. “Laugh. Get it all out.”

He doesn’t completely lose it, but his shoulders vibrate. “That’s kind of creepy. What are you doing, lying in bed each night hoping you’ll catch a glimpse of her on the security footage?”

My face burns.

“Fuck. You are, aren’t you?”

“No. Yes. Ugh. Has Felicity spoken to her much?”

He quirks a brow. “Yes, she’s doing okay but not since you asked last, which wasyesterday.” His tongue pokes into the side of his cheek. “You can’t go on like this, man. You’re a pining mess. You two have got to work it out.”

“It’s down to her. I’ve told her how I feel and what I want.”

“So that’s it? You just back away and leave the ball in her court?”

A sour taste rises in my throat as I push out the next sentence. “If she doesn’t want me, us, then she doesn’t want it.”

“Oh, come on, man.” His tone is bordering on incredulous mixed with frustration. “Like it’s that black and white.”

“I can’t force her to want me.”

“No, you can’t, but you don’t need to. She does want you.”

“Ha, yeah, looks like it.”