Page 21 of Hidden Goal

noah

“Have either of you taken Methods in Community Engagement?” Maverick asks from the kitchen.

“I did it last year,” Silas absently says from beside me, while never taking his eyes off the video game we’re playing.

“Alright, you guys—think. We need to come up with a good excuse for getting out of a class.”

“Crazy idea here, but why don’t you just take the class?” I ask.

“Because it says I have to complete a minimum of fifty hours of community service.” He drops the paper he was reading. “I don’t have time for that.”

“You spend fifty hours in one month alone at Rowdy’s .”

“That’s for my physical health.”

“Beer? ”

“No. Pussy.” He smiles.

I shake my head, the minute of back and forth with Mav cost me a goal.

“Damnit.”

Silas shakes his fist, with a whispered, ‘Let’s go’ .

“Pipe down. I was distracted.”

“You seem to be distracted quite a bit lately, Kingy boy,” Maverick says.

I toss the PlayStation controller onto the coffee table, falling back onto the couch with my hands crossed behind my head.

“Meaning?” I look from Maverick, sitting on a stool in the kitchen with raised brows—blowing into his coffee cup, to Silas who is pretending to be focused on the game that no one is playing. “What the fuck?”

“It’s not a big deal, buddy. You’re just a little off your game lately,” Maverick says.

“My game has truly never been better.”

“I’m not talking about your game on the ice.”

“If you miss me, just say that.” I deflect with a grin.

“The only thing I miss is catching glimpses of the asses that leave here in the morning.” He throws a strawberry up in the air and catches it in his mouth, grinning at me.

He’s trying to bait me like he did last week but it’s not going to work today.

He hasn’t seen anyone leave my room since I met Savannah and it turns out those things are mutually exclusive.

I haven't wanted to see anyone else except the girl that didn’t want to give me the time of day.

She’s at least admitted we’re friends now, and I find myself wondering when she’ll agree to more.

This whole thing is a foreign experience for me.

I’ve never been opposed to a relationship, but I’ve also never sought one out.

The truth is, no one has ever caught my attention enough to consider it.

Until now.

Snippets of yesterday start drifting through my mind, and I squeeze my eyes shut, running an aggravated hand through my hair when I think about how close I was to fucking everything up.

A shitty practice with my dad is nothing new, but my reaction to it—and the way I let it linger—certainly was.

A few extra practices shouldn’t be affecting me the way they’ve started too, and it’s not like I can’t use classes as an excuse with my dad either, unless I want to get the world's longest lecture on how, if I were better, classes wouldn’t matter because I would have been signed right away.

I try not to think about it and instead focus on the fact that, by some miracle, I was able to fix things with Savannah by the end.

It’s not lost on me that the time I get to spend with her, whether quietly in class, or the hours spent talking about everything and sometimes nothing at all, always ends up being the best parts of my day. I’m finding myself desperate for more.

Staying laser focused on the game, even while on the bench, has never been an issue for me.

The helmet is on, the lion is out. But tonight, every time the captain of Hartland skates by, my mind starts reeling.

I’ve heard about this kid. Leo Alvarez has been the top prospect for this year's draft. Rightfully so. Hartland is a solid team, but their captain is in a league of his own. Unfortunately for me, it’s the letters across the back of his jersey that continue to keep me distracted tonight.

I shake my head. Savannah’s not even here and she’s still occupying my every thought.

The Alvarez kid scores another goal, taking us into overtime, but since we're not in the playoffs yet, after one five-minute period we end in a tie game.

“How ya feeling, Kingston?” Coach Owens asks, patting me on the shoulder as I pass her on the way to the locker room.

Sage Owens has been the team's athletic trainer since my freshman year. She’s tough, knowledgeable, and well respected.

She’s not only the youngest coach, but she’s also the first female head strength and conditioning coach in the NCAA.

I rub at my neck while rolling my head side to side. “Just the usual amount of soreness,” I lie.

Her eyebrows furrow with suspicion, so I add, “I think I slept wrong last night. I got a new pillow and I don’t think it’s quite broken in yet.” That must not be a thing because her face doesn’t let up.

“Recovery tomorrow.” She points a finger at me, and I know she means business because her rural accent gets thicker depending on her level of seriousness.

I give her a two-finger salute and a sarcastic “Aye aye, Captain.”

“Scoundrel,” she murmurs with an eye roll before heading back down the hall.

Half the guys are already out of their gear. I hear Parker say something about Rowdy’s, but it’s Maverick who catches my attention.

“No way. I asked Alvarez,” he says.

“Coach?” Silas asks.

“Nah, the kid.”

Silas nods his head. I toss my jersey in the laundry before sitting on the bench beside Mav.

“What do you think the deal is there? Coincidence?” I ask.

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask about his family tree.” He shrugs. “I just asked which teams he’s been talking to, and he said there hasn’t been a game this whole season that a scout hasn’t been at specifically for him.”

“Awe, he’s this year's Noah Kingston. That’s cute.” Silas teases me as he heads back toward the showers.

“Why am I the only one who cares if Leo is the Coach’s kid?” I ask, throwing up my hands.

“Because you’re the only one trying to sleep with Leo’s maybe sister.” Maverick’s head bobbles and he throws his towel at me.

After my shower, I head out to meet my dad, somewhat dreading dinner because I’m still just so fucking tired.

All I want to do is take that nap that I’ve been dreaming of for two weeks.

As I head down the hallway, I catch Coach Owens smiling and talking to the Alvarez kid.

Before I’ve even made it to them, Coach Alvarez joins their conversation.

Sage smiles and waves goodbye to them both, and when Coach brings the kid in for a hug, I see it clear as day.

I come from a hockey family.

The dark hair, dark eyes, round button nose—even their dimples match when he smiles up at the man I know must be his dad.