Page 262 of Burn Bright

“Do you think you could fall back in love with hockey?” I ask him, since he’s learned that his OCD stripped away his enjoyment of the sport. He was too fixated on potentially hurting other players and causing harm on the ice—it made it difficult for Ben to find pleasure in the game.

“I don’t know.” He stares off. “I’ve thought about whether I can overcome this enough to love it again, but…right now, it seems unreachable. Ask me in a week?”

I nod. “I’ll put it in my calendar.”

“Do I get an alarm alert too?” He slips me a teasing smile.

“Oh yeah, a super basic one,” I say flatly. “Chimes.”

“Not even an electronic beep.” His lips rise higher. “Ice cold.”

“Frost to your fire.” I make a lame joke and crinkle my nose, but Ben is laughing like it was decently clever, so I snuggle closer to him, especially for his warmth.

He has an arm around me, moving it up and down my side. I wouldn’t let him give me his jacket. It’s too fucking chilly, and I’m already wearing outerwear.

My phone pings within a few minutes of sitting.

Tom

Not to rush you, Harry. But I just got a call from the label. They need a decision by Friday.

My stomach plummets. “Fuck.”

“What?” Ben reads the text over my shoulder after I angle my phone to him. He lets out a low growl. “That’s bullshit. He’s only giving you two days. You want me to call him?”

“No, it’s okay. It doesn’t sound like it’s his choice.” I exhale out a tensed breath. “On one hand, joining The Carraways would be wayless pressure than trying to become a doctor. It’s like skipping to the almost-finish line. Whereas I’d still have med school, residency, a fellowship…” My voice drifts off as the stress starts to build.

“Tom wouldnottell you he’s at the almost-finish line,” Ben says. “In his head, he’s still stuck at the starting gate.”

“I guess that’s true…maybe there is no real finish line with music. Maybe every album is going to be another race.” I stare into the depths of my hot chocolate. A nagging thought takes root in my head. “Sometimes I think maybe I don’t have the gut instinct to be a doctor.”

He frowns. “Why would you think that?”

I don’t have the heart to look at him. My insides coil uncomfortably. “I didn’t catch on to what you were going through that quickly. Maybe it’s a sign.”

“A sign,” he echoes. “Harriet…” He brushes his fingers underneath my chin, tilting my head up so our eyes meet. He carries an immense amount of tenderness in his baby blues. “Don’t quit on medicine because of me. Because I could just as easily find a good sign.”

“Like what?”

“Like how being with you has only brought me comfort and peace. You have?—”

“If you say ‘healing hands’ I’m going to shove you off this bench.”

“Damn, Fisher, that is more punk rock,” he teases, and I let out a laugh, hooked on his softening smile. Especially as he says, “You have what it takes to be an incredible doctor if that’s the path you want. Just like you’d be an amazing drummer.”

His words temper my anxieties, but I think aboutus.Because outside of our own goals, there is anusnow.

A Ben and Harriet in New York City. Attending college together. And our future living situation has been super up in the air.

The ground feels more unstable. Like I’m back on the ice fighting to stay on my blades. “Eden texted me this morning,” I tell Ben. “She’s moving in with Austin next semester. Not that I planned to stay on her couch again. It’s just now my options are officially narrowed. Especially with the likelihood of not being accepted into the Honors House.”

He downs the last of his apple cider and free-throws it into the recycle bin. I can’t even call him out for his jock behavior when he’s saying, “If Guy Abernathy makes that mistake, then you and I could always move in together.”

Oh my…what?

60

HARRIET FISHER