Page 2

HAYDEN

The cold morning breeze sends a jolt to our systems as Ansel, Evan, and I haul our asses through the streets of Manhattan.

Even with the sun not yet up, there’s still ample hustle and bustle here in New York City.

Warm city street lights illuminate the gray pavement we’re walking on and I think of all the people snuggled up with a warm blanket or hot cup of coffee right now.

Most of the stores we pass are closed, of course, but there’s still the gentle rumble of the city’s comings and goings as the sun prepares to make its appearance and mark a more figurative start to a new day.

Having grabbed coffee and taken a brisk walk, we end up at back on the confines of campus, our sights set straight on Somerset’s ice rink.

As our destination comes into view, we see a massive bus bearing our school crest. It’s waiting right in front of the rink as a man in a button-up and slacks loads a stack of hefty luggage into the bus’s storage.

And guess who’s over there, bright-eyed and eager to help the gentleman from the bus company?

I guess it should come as no surprise.

He spots us instantly, almost like he has a sixth sense about where his players are at any given moment.

“Well, what do we have here?” Julian says, taking a break from helping load luggage.

“I’m glad to see you guys have chosen to be early birds today.

” Julian’s smile is warm and there doesn’t seem to be an ounce of exhaustion on his face.

I have no idea how he’s brimming with sunshine when the sun itself is still hiding.

“Seriously guys,” he continues, patting each one of us on the back, “it’s nice to see you guys taking camp seriously. ”

Oh, Julian. Always so polite and positive.

Occasionally, his positive demeanor rubs off on me.

Julian is totally the kind of guy that’s a positive influence through and through.

But it’s too early for positivity today.

My body—even after the chilly walk and a fresh cuppa—is craving a quiet corner and a few more hours of sleep.

“Okay, Julian,” I say, “you can stop being a dad now.” Carefully, I put my hockey gear inside of the compartment, saving Julian the trouble of helping load the luggage.

“Good morning to you too,” Julian responds plainly, shaking his head and stepping aside as Evan and Ansel follow suit with their gear bags.

“You know,” Evan begins, narrowing his eyes at Julian. “Now that I think about it, you do come off sort of like a dad sometimes.” He chuckles. “Guess you’re gonna have to take care of all of us during this trip, huh? Wonder how long until Dom or Cato get on your nerves.”

Julian brushes off Evan’s comments. “Please,” he says. “I can handle them.” Julian leans against the side of the bus, his demeanor calm as other teammates begin to arrive. “It’s the other teams that I’m worried about.”

Ansel hums in agreement. “We’re going to be doing this training camp with Wildwood University, among other colleges, right?

” It’s more of an observation than a question, and I can’t help but fall silent whenever the Wolverines are brought up in conversation.

They’ve been our rival for so long that I should be used to them by now, but they’ve always stressed me out.

Match after match, I fail to make peace with our rivalry; I just can’t do it for some reason.

“Hoo boy. Hopefully, they aren’t as rowdy at camp as they are on the ice,” Ansel adds.

Ansel’s statement might as well be a joke, given how unrealistic it is.

If I know anything about the Wildwood Wolverines after all these years, it’s that they’re not afraid to talk shit and stir the pot.

Those guys love chaos. And yes, they have a lot of bark—but annoyingly, they have a lot of bite to back it all up.

Every time we go up against them, there’s a cold sweat running down my back.

I know that we’ll be met with rigid defense and piercing offense.

The stakes are always high, and all the while, they hurl a couple of taunts here and there to throw you off mentally.

Maybe it’s their game plan; maybe they want their opponents to be irritated by them, that way we’ll be off our game and easier to beat.

I’m ashamed to admit that it’s kind of worked a couple times on me, including the very first match of this season.

This is my last year as a Seagull and I wanted to start the season off with a win, but I felt so constricted that night.

Every time I thought I had a clear shot, Wildwood’s goalie managed to intercept my play.

I can remember so vividly how all the pucks I hit that night were only sent back with exasperating skill.

“Nice try, pretty boy!” Their goalie had taunted me so loudly that first game, and I couldn’t stop myself from feeling vexatious about it.

It’s frustrating when you work hard to penetrate a defense, only to fail in epic fashion.

Not to mention, if it weren’t for my own failure, we would have won that game.

I know Ansel blames himself a lot for missing that block, but I silently did the same.

I’ve still been blaming myself, in fact.

I can’t shake the feeling that I played too sloppily.

Taking a deep breath, I run a hand through my still-damp hair.

When the strands pass through my fingers, they fall lightly on top of my eyes, prompting me to move them away.

I need a haircut, but more importantly, I need to stop dwelling on something that happened months ago.

It’s not like me to be so hung up on a mistake that I can’t do anything about now, but it’s that goalie’s voice that echoes through my head, reminding me of my mistakes.

Even now, he gets under my skin so easily, and the thought of partaking in a training camp with him is already souring my mood.

I take a couple more breaths, pulling my sweatshirt closer to my body.

I should have worn extra layers. Maybe I need another coffee or something?—

“Hey, there!” The bubbliest and cheeriest voice fills the air, and I don’t even need to look to know who it is.

I’ve been having countless encounters with her over the past couple of months, and I know it’s partially my fault considering I pushed Ansel to pursue her.

She’s kind, I’ll give her that. But it’s still early and I have a lot on my mind.

“I just finished a graveyard shift over at the coffee shop, and I got coffee for everyone!” Aria is bouncing on her toes with excitement as she expertly handles multiple drink trays, each loaded with fresh coffee.

For someone who’s just worked a graveyard shift, Aria doesn’t seem tired at all.

Ansel, of course, immediately helps his girlfriend with the trays of coffee. When he gets a good grasp of everything, he places a quick kiss on Aria’s lips, which almost makes me gag. “Thank you so much, babe,” he says to her in a way that sours my empty stomach.

Julian nods towards Aria, friendly as always. “This is very thoughtful of you, Aria. How much do we owe you?”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that! It’s all good.” She shrugs. “I wanted to bring something for Ansel and his best friends.” I can’t lie; as much as I want to be nauseated by Aria and her antics, there is something the tiniest bit infectious about her incessant effervescence.

I begin to tune their conversation out, though, as Julian and Aria go back and forth about how the team can’t just let her pay for the coffees out of her own pocket, with Aria insisting that her generosity is meant to be a donation.

Either way, I don’t really care. I just want to lay my head against the bus window and pass out.

But with the rest of the team not here yet, standing outside and leaning against the bus will have to do instead.

“Ansel and Aria are nice together, aren’t they?

” Evan says, striking up a conversation as he leans against the bus as well.

He and I observe the two from a distance, watching how they interact with one another.

Ansel tends to put blame on himself a lot, and it makes him this gloomy dude who kind of brings everyone else down.

But Aria’s endless enthusiasm seems to be rubbing off on him, making him a more positive and optimistic guy to be around.

It’s like they’re too halves of a whole. They offset each other well.

Still, I let out a tiny scoff. “Yeah,” I say to Evan. “I guess.”

Look, I acknowledge the truth about Ansel and Aria’s suitability, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m just not really that into the concept of relationships.

I don’t get the appeal—even when I do see how two people are meant for one another.

And Ansel and Aria, or Dom and Maisie—or any of the other couples popping up left and right—aren’t likely to change that fact about me.

Gosh, I think I either need to get punched or to get laid. I’m annoyed by my own cynicism.

Exasperated by all this small talk before sunrise, I let out a breath, trying to calm myself down.

I walk over to Ansel and grab a cup from one of the trays he’s holding, but neither he nor Aria notice my presence.

They’re lost in each other’s eyes as they talk in a hushed tone, their faces close to one another.

I contemplate making a snarky remark, asking how they’ll survive without one another while Ansel is at camp.

But I decide against it, resigning myself to simply snag the extra caffeine I need right now.

After all, Aria does make a really good cup.