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JONAS

Beer is great. To drink, not shower in. This might be Evan’s idea of a fun time, but it’s not mine. I want a quiet moment to think, to take everything in and process the night.

I sigh and shake my head at him. “Gross. Dude, it’s champagne that you’re supposed to spray on your teammates, not beer.”

He laughs. “It’s all the same when you’re a champion, Jonas!”

We just won the National Championship! We are the best college hockey team in the country. This is amazing!

But telling myself that doesn’t take away the pressure.

It’s like there’s an elephant sitting on my chest. Scouts, career plans, the future.

Go pro? Or stay where I’m comfortable? Use my talent or my brain?

Serve myself or serve others? Accept a calling or a career?

The competing voices in my head wind me tighter than the tape I wrapped around my stick, and I wish I knew the right answer.

“Yeah,” I say, agreeing outwardly. Because what else is there to do?

My best friend claps me on the shoulder and drains what’s left in his beer can. He snuck it in from somewhere. Typical. As if Evan’s words summoned it, Queen’s “We are the Champions” blares from the hotel speakers again. It’s at least the seventh time it’s played tonight, and it’s getting old.

But not to Evan. He sways to the music, fist raised in the air.

His features are blissed out, his blonde hair is a mess on top of his head, but he doesn’t care.

At least he doesn’t notice my smile is forced.

This is supposed to be the best night of my life, the pinnacle of my hockey career.

I’m proud of the guys, but personally, it’s not as thrilling as I expected.

Stepping away from him, I hold my Griffins NCAA Championship t-shirt out from my body.

It’s soaked and now smells like a combination of hops and the chemical scent of new clothes.

I wore it for about five minutes before Evan doused me with Coors.

It was stiff and scratchy, anyway. I don’t mind the excuse to take it off.

“I’m gonna go…” Jerking my thumb, I trail off. Evan doesn’t notice.

Dodging my way through the crowd of people in the hotel ballroom where we’re celebrating, I find my duffle, stashed in a corner.

I could go to my room and change, but I won’t make it back downstairs if I do, and my absence will be noted.

I’m not ready to explain how I’m feeling to anyone yet.

I’m not sure I understand it myself. So though I desperately want to disappear and unwind, I need to stay here. I won’t rain on my team’s parade.

But maybe I can step outside for a second for fresh air. I’ll get my head on straight and come back, ready to celebrate. Only for a few minutes. I root through my bag until I find a plain black tee. Perfect.

After glancing around, I spy a back door to the ballroom. I shoulder my bag and investigate. It’s not marked as an emergency exit, and the window reveals a little courtyard with patio furniture and a fire pit. It’s deserted.

Pushing the door open, I step outside. The quiet, compared to the ballroom, wraps around me like a fluffy comforter.

The lights of Boston make it too bright to see stars, but the April evening air is cool against my flushed skin.

Stripping off my soaked shirt, I inhale for a count of five.

Being outside grounds me, helps keep me centered like nothing else.

Hockey used to. When I was in high school, flying down the ice after a puck made me feel free.

But not these days. Lately, it makes my stomach tight with nerves and fills my head with questions I can’t answer.

Too many worries about the future. I never thought I’d be faced with these choices.

I wouldn’t give up my team for the world, but I didn’t expect scouts to approach me or an ESPN interview after the game. Is that what I want every night?

Think of the good you could do , a little voice whispers. Is it an opportunity you can afford to waste?

Dropping my duffle, I take a seat by the fire pit. I banish those thoughts from my brain and focus on the immediate, repeating my mantra.

We just won the National Championship! We are the best college hockey team in the country. This is amazing!

Maybe it will be more chill since we’ve won. I can just relax and enjoy the victory like everybody else inside.

Yeah, right, Jonas.

I huff a laugh at myself, running a hand through my curls, and startle at a noise. Someone shoves the door open, and I stifle a groan. It’s probably one of my teammates. Evan, coming to see where I am and why I don’t want to be the life of the party, like him.

That’s fine for Evan, but that’s never been my style. I’d rather fade into the background. His playboy ways don’t bother me, but I’m pretty much the opposite. And tonight I can’t bring myself to fake a happiness I’m not feeling yet.

My muscles tense as I prepare to make an excuse and go back inside with him, and I look up.

And freeze.

Because an absolutely gorgeous woman stops short in front of me.

She’s tall, with slim legs that seem to last forever.

She tosses a long blonde curtain of hair over her shoulder and stares at me with crystal blue eyes rimmed by dark lashes.

A sharp jaw frames her face and full, pouty lips smile below a cute button nose.

A Griffins hockey t-shirt clings to her curves, but I haven’t seen her on campus before. I’d definitely remember.

“Oh, sorry.” She giggles. “I didn’t know anyone else was out here. Am I interrupting?”

I clear my throat. “Uh, no. It’s fine.”

Fine? Fine, Jonas? That’s the best you can do?

Wincing, I wave my hand towards the fire pit. It’s artificial, but the glow of the fake coals is still inviting. “Feel free to enjoy the fire.”

Smirking, she flounces into the patio chair across from me.

“That’s a crazy party in there. Normally I’m down for that, but the testosterone got overwhelming. So many jocks.” She makes a face like someone offered her food from the garbage.

“Yeah.” I swallow, trying to wet my dry throat.

“You go to Harrison?” she asks, giving me a long glance.

“Yep.” She’s got me so tongue-tied, I can only manage one-word answers. Real smooth.

“Hockey fan?” She gestures around at the hotel. “I mean, I guess you’d have to be, since you’re here, right?”

“Something like that.”

I don’t know why I don’t tell her I’m on the team. I just helped us win a national championship. The other guys are definitely using that to pick up girls tonight. Hell, they’ll use that for the rest of their lives.

But I want to put some distance between myself and hockey right now. I thought winning tonight would take away my looming anxiety. Maybe I’m still waiting for it to sink in. Or maybe I want to be liked for something besides my athletic ability.

Because I’m good. Really good. And I’ve been told for years I can’t waste my talent. So I won’t. But I also won’t trade in on it. I should probably ask her about the game—she’s sporting a Harrison shirt, after all. But I glance around instead.

“Boston, huh? Ever been here before?”

“Uh, yeah.” She blinks. “I grew up here.”

“Oh.” My roommate Hunter is from Boston. But it’s not a small town, not like they’d know each other. So I don’t bother to ask if they are friends. “I’m from Chicago.”

“Yeah? How does it compare to Boston?”

I shrug. “Not like I’ve seen much of the city on this trip, but from what I’ve heard, they are pretty similar.”

“Do you like big cities? Or would you rather live in the country?”

I relax, leaning back on the patio loveseat. Unlike hockey, this is something I could talk about for hours.

“I love the country. Wide open spaces, lots of fresh air. Quiet.” Not like in Chicago or Boston. “Have you ever been out west, seen the mountains?”

She shakes her head. “Not yet. I can’t wait to travel when I’m out of college, though.”

“I did a backpacking trip to Arizona last summer. It was amazing. You should definitely visit.”

“Oooh, I’ve got a good question.” She leans forward, elbows on her knees, blue eyes sparkling. “What are the top ten places you want to go on vacation?”

“Only ten?”

She nods.

“U.S. or international?” I ask.

“Let’s start with the U.S.”

“Okay, Badlands first. Then probably Zion National Park, um, Glacier National Park?—”

“Wait a minute,” she interrupts, laughing. “Are they all national parks? No beaches or anything?”

I shrug. “It’s my list. What’s yours?”

“London,” she replies quickly, her eyes glowing.

“Where else?”

She shrugs. “Everywhere. But London is first.”

“Why?” I ask, leaning forward.

“Something about the modern mixed with history. It’s so cool. And British accents are hot.” She smiles, utterly gorgeous. Her confidence is sexy. “But I take it you like camping?”

“Love it.”

“Ohmygosh, were you a Boy Scout?”

“Affirmative.”

She tosses her smooth blonde hair out of her face and squints, then stands and moves to sit beside me on the small couch.

We’re close enough I can smell her perfume, something light and sweet, like cotton candy.

“I couldn’t see you through the glare from the fire.

Now tell me all about being a Boy Scout. ”

“There’s not much to tell.” My cheeks warm, but if I’m lucky she’ll think that’s due to the fire pit’s heat.

“I bet you were an Eagle Scout.”

“Maybe.”

“What did you like about it?”

I raise my brows. I expected her to make fun of me, but instead she asked an insightful question.

“I liked doing something for my community. It felt meaningful.”

At that, her features soften. “That’s really sweet. What about?—”

“No, it’s my turn to ask you something. Do you play sports?” She has an athletic build, lean lines under her tight t-shirt and jeans.

She looks like she took a bite of a lemon. “Not anymore. I hate athletes.”

Ouch. I don’t know why there’s so much venom behind her words. “But you used to?”

“I ran Track and Cross Country in high school.”

“What happened? Why do you hate athletes?”