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noah

The only time I’m grateful to have practiced with my dad at six in the morning is when it’s three in the afternoon, and I’m done with all my classes and team practice.

I shower quickly because, unfortunately, not even the near-boiling water from the locker room can relax my muscles today, and I throw on a clean pair of sweats.

The comfort of my bed and a nap that takes me all the way into tomorrow afternoon is calling my name.

“King! Where you running off to?” Gabe calls out. I’ve got one hand on the door, and one foot closer to sleep, but I turn around and find half my teammate’s eyes on me.

“He’s probably got to go get a coffee .” Maverick over exaggerates the word.

“Don’t wink at me.”

Silas laughs, pulling a white T-shirt over his tattooed body. “Where are you going, then? Got a hot date?”

“Yeah.” I push the door open. “With my bed.”

Their shit-talking and laughter fade into a lull behind me, all the way down the hall and toward the parking lot.

I can physically feel my body dragging. I’m not walking one foot in front of the other on autopilot.

I have to actively work to pick my legs up and move them.

It’s no longer the kind of exhaustion where my eyelids feel heavy, it’s escalated to the kind that could mistake itself for the flu.

The weight of it is seeping into my bones, and the only reason I’m still going is because my mental game has no limit.

It’s my lion mentality that doesn’t know when to quit.

Most people have motivation, but I have discipline, and I fear there are no limits there.

“Kingston!”

My head falls back and a deep sigh escapes me when my coach’s voice stops me two feet from the door.

So close.

I slowly turn around, facing him. “What’s up, Coach?”

“I just wanted to check in on you. Make sure…” He waves a hand in my direction. “Everything’s alright. You doing okay?”

I was just contemplating calling an Uber because I might fall asleep while driving home, but Coach Alvarez’s concern sobers me up real quick.

I hike my bag up my shoulder and feel my eyebrows pinch slightly. “Yeah, Coach. All good. Why? Was I off? I mean, I know I missed that last goal on Evans, but to be fair, he was really fucking on it today. Honestly, I got lucky with that top shelf. He was?—”

“Relax, kid.” He reaches out, putting a hand on my shoulder, and I freeze at the contact.

“You played great today. I just wanted to check in with you.” He eyes me like a concerned father from a nineties sitcom.

I can almost hear the dramatic music building in the background, like at any moment, I’m supposed to admit I smoked a cigarette.

My dad is a little more straight to the point, but I like Coach.

He treats everyone on the team with respect, and it’s obviously worked out for him.

His track record speaks for itself. He’s a great coach, and I bet he’d make a great dad—or makes .

I’m pretty sure I’ve heard him mention that he has kids before.

“Look, Noah, you’re a great player. You’ve got that sled dog mentality and you're one of the best talents I’ve seen in a long time. But at a certain point, too much—let’s say— pressure , can ruin it for you. Do you understand?”

I can’t tell him that I don’t feel pressure, I just feel tired, so I nod instead.

If Coach is picking up on something wrong with my game, then my dad was right. I do need to pick it up.

“Got it. Thanks, Coach.”

All I want to do is divebomb into my bed, but after that conversation with Coach, I make a quick U-turn through the quad. If I get my studying done now, I’ll be able to sneak in an extra practice tomorrow.

I would imagine our university’s library could give a scholar a semi.

The Emillian Library is a cross between a cathedral and an old train station.

Hundreds of archways, sixteen levels, thirty-two miles of bookshelves, and a stained glass skylight in the center.

Today, large flakes of crisp, white snow gather atop the architectural art piece.

There are rooms on top of rooms in this library, and imagine my luck when the room I find myself in is the same room as Savannah.

“I know an open seat next to Savannah hates to see me coming.” I set my things down, sitting across from her.

Chloe’s chin rests on her hand with a bemused smile on her face. “I was actually just about to head out,” she says, standing from her seat.

Savannah scowls at her and I swear she mumbles ‘Judas’ under her breath.

Chloe's grin only widens when she puts a hand on her shoulder. “Text me later about the girls, yeah? ”

“Yeah, yeah.” She waves a flippant hand and goes back to peeling her orange.

Little Coop gives me a slight nod and I smile in return. The girl might be Savannah’s best friend, but she feels more like my ultimate wingwoman at this point.

“Who are ‘the girls’?” I ask in a spooky voice, making a show of my hands.

Savannah’s eyes flick to mine with a bored expression before popping an orange slice in her mouth. The citrus smell wafts over to me, and I subtly lean across the table, hoping to get a hint of her vanilla scent with it.

“Christina and Simone.”

“You don’t sound too excited about them.”

“Well, last time we went out with them, we ended up at your party.” She gives me a sarcastic little smile that looks like it should be accompanied by two middle fingers.

“Oh. Well, they sound like a great time.”

“Maybe you should go out with them then,” she says, plopping another slice of fruit into her mouth.

“I already have a pretty expansive friend group.”

“I wouldn’t really say they’re my friends. They’re just, like, I don’t know—” She shrugs. “People I sometimes hang out with.”

I should feel better about the fact that I’m not the only one she appears to give the cold shoulder to. Hockey players might be at the top of her list, but aside from Chloe, she doesn’t seem to have much of a relationship with anyone and that’s a slight blow to my confidence.

I can already hear her hissing a reminder that I don’t know her, so I don’t dare speak those thoughts out loud. Instead, I rifle through my backpack, thanking my past self for being smart enough to carry our journalism project with me everywhere I go.

“What are you studying for?” I lift my chin toward her papers .

“I have an interview tomorrow.”

“For what? You already have a job.”

I would know, considering I’ve been at the coffee shop every free hour that I have this week.

“It’s for an internship.”

“Oh, cool. Where?”

“With the rugby team.”

I quirk a brow. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a rugby fan.”

“Have you ever heard of Knox Browning? He could make anyone a rugby fan.” She bites into the last slice of her orange.

A dribble of juice shines along her bottom lip before she swipes her tongue across it, and I shift a little in my seat.

“I’m not really that into it, I’m just trying to get a head start on the internship requirement for the sports journalism class next semester. ”

I watch as she picks at a sticker of a holographic ghost riding a skateboard on her water bottle. “I thought you might have just wanted an easy class with your aunt, but sports journalism? Is that your major?”

“Hockey commentating is the end goal.” She nods to herself.

That gives me pause. This girl has been pushing me away with the brute force of a five-thousand-pound bull because she hates hockey players. An utterly confused laugh escapes me as I shake my head.

“What?”

“I’m just confused about how you plan on working with hockey players when you clearly hate them so much.”

“Notice how you said working with and not dating.” She points a finger at me.

“Ahh.” I pull my head back.

She brushes all her orange peels into a neat little pile and slides her papers into a folder, before dropping it in her bag. I watch nervously, like she’s going to get up and leave now that she’s done.

I open the small zipper on the front of my bag, pulling out my Hail Mary. I’m rewarded with a small parting of her lips.

“I can’t believe you found these.” She reaches for the pack of s'mores flavored jelly beans. “I’ve only ever been able to find them at this candy shop down by the beach we stay at in the summer.”

That checks, considering I had to scour the internet and pay a small fortune to get them shipped to our little town in a timely manner.

Her dimples appear when she grins, no longer holding back, and I know I’d buy a pool full of those damn things if it meant more smiles like that.

“So, I know we didn’t plan on meeting up again until Monday, but since we’re both here.” I lift my papers from the table. “Should we work on a few more questions?”

A thick swallow is her only tell. I noticed it yesterday and at the diner. So, I give her a little smile, like a gentle coax.

“Come on, Savvy. You can spare twenty minutes.”

She playfully rolls her eyes, and I know I’ve got her.

“Fine.”