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Lennon

S unshine is the first thing I see when my eyes blink open, and instantly, I know I’m screwed. It shouldn’t be sunny yet. I don’t wake up with the sun.

Shit .

I toss the covers aside and sit up with a start, wildly scanning my surroundings before glancing at the clock. “Damn it!” I cry, jumping out of bed. Clothes are scattered across the floor, and I don’t have time to sort through them to find which are mine. I throw on the first T-shirt I can find and a pair of jeans that when I slide them over my ass, I say a silent prayer that they’re mine.

A low grumble comes from the bed, and it further grates my frazzled nerves. “Mason,” I grunt, finger combing my hair in the mirror and wiping away the smudges of leftover mascara under my eyes. “Did you turn my alarm off?”

“I dunno.” Mason yawns, and I’m this close to yanking every single blanket off the bed and tossing them off the balcony.

I snort and snatch my phone off the nightstand, quickly sending a text to my boss that I’ll be there in ten. It’s the first day of the semester, and I’m already running late. Fantastic.

“Where are you going?”

“To work.” Something you know nothing about . I bite my tongue.

He simply rolls over and lets out a heavy sigh. “Have fun,” he mumbles into his pillow, and within seconds, his breathing evens out. His black hair flops over his eyes, shielding them from the morning rays, and for a moment, jealousy courses through me so strongly it makes me sway. I’d love nothing more than to crawl back into bed beneath the sheets to sleep away the morning without a care in the world.

But my parents aren’t funding my life like Mason’s are. I scoop up my backpack and shrug it on before calling over my shoulder, “Don’t you have practice this morning?” as I open the door.

Mason doesn’t stir, and I debate waking him up again, but it’s not my problem. If he misses his first hockey practice, that’s on him. I take one last glimpse of him, bare-chested hugging his pillow, snoring softly, and shake my head.

My frustration may be directed at Mason right now, but it’s myself I’m angry with. This year, I was going to stop sleeping over at Mason’s.

No more sleepovers.

None of his roommates are awake, and the apartment is silent as I rush out the door. Fortunately for me, Mason lives only two blocks from campus, so I make it to the library’s coffeehouse in less than ten minutes.

Despite it being the first day of classes, it’s still early, and the shop is relatively quiet.

Apologies are already pouring out of my mouth as I briskly make my way through the tables and chairs to the counter. “I’m so sorry! My alarm was set, I don’t know what happened.” No use in throwing Mason under the bus. “I promise it won’t happen again?—”

My manager, Krista, holds her hands up, silencing me. “Look at me,” she says, and I meet her eyes. She then closes them and breathes in deeply, her shoulders rising with the movement. She holds it, before slowly exhaling. Despite the hectic start to my morning, I smile and mirror her actions. After a few deep breaths, we both open our eyes. “Better?”

I huff out a small laugh and toss my backpack behind the counter. “Better.”

Krista wipes her hands across her apron with a triumphant smile. “Good. Now, I don’t want to hear any more apologies.”

Making a grab for my own apron, I tie it around my waist and can’t resist one more. “I know, but truly, I am sorry. It won’t happen again.”

She brushes me off. “You’ve never missed a shift before, and I didn’t think today would be the day you’d start that. Don’t worry about it.”

There is a silver lining to always being the employee that’s on time, ready to work, and willing to cover for others when they’re too hungover to come in. I squeeze her arm gratefully as I jump in, refilling the beans and making sure the syrups all have pumps in and ready to go.

“Is no one else working this morning?” I ask nervously. Krista and I have both been working here since we were sophomores, so we can handle a rush, but only having two people to handle the inevitable crowd is not the ideal way to kick off the semester.

“Logan is. He’s over at the dining hall trying to mooch some whole milk from them. For some reason, we only have three gallons and that’s not going to get us very far today.”

“Not it will not,” I agree. We make small talk as we get the shop ready to go, catching up on our summers and what the semester looks like ahead. She’s an Education Major, hoping to teach elementary school students once she graduates. More power to her.

“Are you excited for your season to start?” she asks. “Last one, ready for it to be over?”

The thought sends a rock sinking in my stomach. “No,” I groan. “I can’t even think about it.” Knowing that this is the last season I’ll get to play the sport I love is a truth I don’t want to accept.

“I thought you’d be ready to get it over with so you can actually have some free time,” Krista teases.

“Please, I wouldn’t even know what to do with free time.” Yes, I work in the coffee shop and as a tutor for a few of the finance courses for the money because, well, money makes the world go ‘round. But between the two jobs and hockey, classes and homework, slip in some time with friends and hooking up with Mason, every single hour of my day is accounted for. And that’s the way I like it.

The door to the library flings open and crashes against the outside wall with a loud bang . Krista and I both whip our heads in the direction at the same time as the librarian shoots a scalding warning to the perpetrator. But I relax as Logan comes striding in, arms stuffed to the brim with gallons of milk and a winning smile on his face.

“Bag secured!” he calls out, fully ignoring the librarian.

We laugh as he makes his way over, and all my earlier annoyance and frustration at the rough start my morning had melts away.

The morning passes quickly with a steady stream of students needing their fix. I chat with the familiar faces that come through from years past and try to settle the nerves of anxious freshmen as they take everything in with big eyes. By ten o’clock, I punch out, make a coffee for myself, and head across campus for my first class of the day. My course load this semester is fairly light since I’ve completed most of my gen ed courses previous years and can now focus primarily on accounting.

I reach Bolton Hall, where the majority of the finance classes are, and immediately am greeted with a sea of familiar faces. Many of us have been in the same courses for the last couple semesters, and Haulton is small enough that you get to know your classmates.

“Killer!”

The nickname has me turning my head, looking for the culprit in the busy hallway, as Bryant emerges. His head is freshly buzzed, and his skin is an even deeper shade of brown after the summer.

“Hey, you!” I say as he pulls me in for a side hug as we walk down the hall. “I didn’t see you last night.”

“You were over at our place?” Bryant is one of Mason’s roommates, along with one of their other teammates.

I nod. “But I came over late.”

He smirks and I elbow him. My relationship, or more like casual hookup situation, I have going on with Mason is no secret.

“Where are you headed?”

The open staircase comes into view, and I point up. “209.”

“Hell yeah. Be prepared for me to steal your notes again.” Bryant grins.

We make our way upstairs and into the lecture hall, where I find two more friends from previous classes sitting up toward the front. I plop down next to Chloe, and Bryant sits on my other side. As students file in, chatter fills the air until our professor strides to the front of the room and takes her place behind the podium.

It’s syllabus week, so the lecture is short and sweet. I have two more classes in the same building, each just as easy as the first. In my final class, my phone buzzes, and I peek at it, seeing a text from my roommate and best friend.

Grace: Wanna meet up by Merrington before practice and walk over together?

Me: Yep. Should be out of here in 10

Grace: *thumbs up*

“Missed you at home this morning,” Grace chides as we walk side by side across the courtyard.

I shield my eyes from the sun and bump her shoulder. “I texted you that I wasn’t coming back last night.”

“I know, I’m just messing with you. But I am surprised that you slept over. What was with all that talk over the summer that you weren’t going to do that this year?”

“I meant it, and I still do. Technically, the semester started today, so that rule is now in effect.”

Grace smirks knowingly. “Whatever you say. You already know how I feel about him.”

I roll my eyes. “I know, I know.”

I’ve been hooking up with Mason since the start of junior year, and at the beginning, I was hopeful that it would turn into more, even as he always insisted that it was casual. I thought eventually he’d change his mind and want a more serious relationship, but in hindsight, it’s a good thing he never did.

There’s no time for a serious relationship in my life, and even if there was, I’m confident it wouldn’t be with Mason. We have fun together and share a lot of the same friends, but beyond hockey and our social lives, we’re completely different people at our core.

We approach the rink and head straight to one of the conference rooms we often use to watch game tapes. Coach always likes to start the season off with a meeting before we all get on the ice.

“Why am I not surprised Killer and Red are two of the first people here?” Aubrey calls out from the back of the room when we walk in. Her legs are kicked up on the seat in front of her, and her hands are locked behind her head. She smiles at us as we make our way to sit in the back row with her.

“I’m surprised to see you here already. Since when did you learn to show up on time?” I tease, taking my seat. Grace sits on my other side.

Aubrey’s feet bounce, rattling the chair. “Only took me four years but think I finally got it down,” she laughs.

“Better late than never,” Grace chides.

The room quickly fills with old teammates and new, the volume rising with each new arrival. Most of the veterans gather toward the back of the room, our row filling in quickly, while the newbies sit at the front. It’s pretty separated right now, but once we get on the ice, this divide will cease to exist.

As soon as Coach enters, a hush falls over the room. Not out of fear, but respect. Alice Maver has been head coach for the Women’s Haulton Huskies longer than any of us have been alive. She’s tough, but fair. Hard, but kind.

She’s in her usual dark jeans and Huskies pullover with her well-loved binder tucked under her left arm.

“Well, isn’t it a good day to kick off a new season?” She looks around excitedly, and already her positive energy seems to have a relaxing effect on the anxious newcomers as many of their shoulders relax.

Coach starts her opening remarks, welcoming the new recruits and acknowledging the veterans. The door opens a few minutes in and I blink, not sure I’m believing what I’m seeing.

Austen, a senior and right wing on the first line, gapes as she murmurs, “Is that?—”

But before she can finish, Coach’s attention shifts to what, or who, everyone is now zeroed in on and smiles brightly. She beckons the newcomer in, and he strides into the room like each and every person inside is completely beneath his attention.

“Ladies, as you all know, Coach Renn retired at the end of last season, so I’d like to introduce you to our newest assistant coach. Everyone, this is Luke Holloway.”

She introduces him as if half the room didn’t immediately clock exactly who stands before us, hands tucked casually in his pockets.

He looks smaller in person than the memories I have of watching him play on the TV screen, although that has more to do with the lack of goalie pads than his actual build. He’s still gotta be at least six two, and the parts of his arms that are exposed by his T-shirt are corded with muscle.

Coach claps him on the back and beams as she says, “I’ve known him since he was a young boy, before the million dollar contracts and shiny trophies.”

“ Millions ,” Luke corrects, and Alice hushes him.

The fluorescent lighting reflects warmly off the chocolate brown color of his hair that’s pushed off his forehead and flows effortlessly behind his ears. His dark eyes are partially shielded by his furrowed brow, but even from here, I can see there’s an emptiness to them. He doesn’t bother to hide it as he lazily glances around the room. Add in the slumped posture and the occasional yawn he doesn’t even bother to hide while Coach continues to chat away about adding him to our coaching staff, I start to wonder why he’s here.

Yeah, obviously, he’s more than qualified because everyone in this room at the very least recognizes the name Luke Holloway. He didn’t play for my favorite team, but I still know who he is. Conn Smythe trophy winner and Stanley Cup Champion. Best goalie in franchise history for the New York Flash.

But what’s he doing here? Coaching at our university? Our team?

Discreetly, I lean in and whisper to Grace, “Why isn’t he coaching in the NHL or something?” News of his retirement spread quickly a few years back, but I haven’t heard much about him since then.

She shrugs. “Maybe no one wanted him.”

“Doubt it.” I settle back in my seat and try to pay attention to Coach’s speech, but my eyes keep drifting back to where Luke stands.

Or I guess I should say Coach Holloway . My mind already races with excitement, thinking about the things I could learn from him. Coach Renn was great, but she didn’t have the resume Luke does.

Very few do.

“Did you have anything you’d like to add?” Coach Maver asks him, handing over the floor to him.

Coach Holloway scraps a strong hand down his stubbled jaw and sounds exhausted as he says, “Appreciate the introduction, Alice.” He then scans the room, and as his eyes pass over mine, my breath catches momentarily. “I’ve never coached before, so I guess lower your expectations.” There’s more than a few laughs from the room, but one look at his face and I really don’t think he’s joking. Apprehension begins to cut through the initial thrill of the announcement.

Coach Maver waves him off and waits for him to say more, but instead he simply takes an empty seat at the end of the first row and kicks back. Grace and I share a look of uncertainty, while Austen and Aubrey eye him like he’s something to eat.

The rest of the meeting drags and my knee bounces wildly, itching to get on the ice. It’s been too long of a break since I last skated, and I’m over all the logistics of the season.

The rules, the schedule, the expectations. I already know them, have them memorized, and follow them to a T. That’s just who I am.

Grace’s eyes start to flutter shut next to me, and I elbow her sharply. She jerks awake and scowls at me, gingerly rubbing her side. “You have bony elbows,” she mutters.

“Stay awake and I won’t need to use them.”

Coach claps her hands twice, and I catch more than a few girls jumping slightly in their seats, likely having started to doze off as well. “Alright, ladies, lace up! I want everyone on the ice in ten.”