Page 55 of Practice Makes Perfect (Pine Barren University #2)

thirty-three

LINC

I perch on the edge of Em’s couch, every muscle in my body coiled so tight I might snap. My leg bounces like I’ve mainlined espresso, and my palms are slick with sweat. The fact that the last time I sat here was one of the hottest hook-ups of my life isn’t helping my concentration.

Em stands across the room, arms locked across her chest like a shield. Her face is carefully blank, but I know her better than that now. The slight tightness around her eyes betrays her—she’s hurt, she’s angry, and she’s waiting for me to explain why I nuked everything good between us.

I can’t sit still. I spring up from the couch and pace the small living area, my shoes making soft thuds against the floor. My hair is already a disaster from game sweat and skate sweat, made worse by the twenty times I’ve run my hands through it tonight.

“You have nine minutes left,” Em says, her voice clipped. “Lea wasn’t kidding about the timer.”

That breaks through the fog in my brain. “Right. Okay.” I take a deep breath. “I fucked up, Em. Massively.”

Her eyebrow inches upward. The silence stretches between us like a rubber band pulled too tight. “That’s it?” she says, finally.

“I was already emotionally on tilt when I saw you at the game,” I blurt out, the words tumbling over each other.

“Coach called me into his office right before second period, and I found out my mother—” I pause, the bitter taste of betrayal fresh again.

“She emailed him. Behind my back. About making me co-captain.”

Em’s carefully constructed mask slips, confusion rippling across her features.

“My co-captaincy—the position I thought I’d earned—she engineered it. She suggested it to Coach because it would ‘look good to NHL scouts.’” I spit the words out, pacing faster now. “Like I was some product she was marketing, rather than someone who deserved to earn that sort of thing.”

“That’s why you left the game?” Em asks, her voice softening slightly.

“I told Coach to go fuck himself.” I shrug. “Then I walked out and saw you, and you were talking about meeting your family, and it was just—God, Em, it was like the final straw. Everything was caving in. My hockey career, things with my parents… everything just felt like a house of cards.”

I force myself to stop pacing, to really look at her. Her eyes are wide, absorbing my words.

“You could have said or done anything in that hallway, and I would’ve reacted like an asshole,” I continue.

“It wasn’t you. It wasn’t even about meeting your family.

It was me, completely falling apart under pressure, and not realizing that you were the life raft that could have helped to keep me afloat. ”

“So your brilliant solution was to dump me in a hallway?” Her voice is quiet, but cuts like a blade.

“No, my solution was to run away from everything—which was the stupidest possible choice.” I take a step toward her, then hesitate.

“Instead of talking to you, I took all my anger and confusion and dumped it on our relationship. And, worse, I dumped it on you, a person who had nothing to do with any of it.”

Her shoulders soften almost imperceptibly. “That was hours ago. Where have you been since then?”

“At some random community rink, skating circles until my legs gave out. Then my dad found me.”

Em nods, waiting for me to continue.

“I told him everything.” My voice cracks. “Including about you, Em, and how much I love you.”

Her expression softens slightly, but she doesn’t move.

“I love your quick wit, your determination, the way you light up when you dance,” I say. “I love that you gave me your trust even when it terrified you.”

She bites her lip, and I see the conflict in her eyes.

“I fucked up,” I continue. “But if you’ll let me, I want to make it right. And if this has caused too much damage, if you want to walk away, I understand. Well, not walk away, because it’s your dorm, and that would leave me here with Lea. And, well, she’s in a mood, but you get the point.”

She lets out a small sound that might almost be a laugh.

I take another cautious step toward her.

“The thing is, I’m not perfect. I’m going to mess up again.

But I swear, I will never run from you again.

I will always talk to you and always be honest, even when it’s hard.

” I spread my hands. “That’s all I’ve got.

That’s me—imperfect, occasionally an idiot, but in love with you. ”

Em’s arms slowly uncross.

She looks at me for what feels like years, her eyes searching mine.

Then the timer Lea had set pings.

“Lea’s timer just ran out,” she says finally.

My heart sinks. “Right. Should I?—”

“But I think I can give you an extension.” She takes a single step toward me. “I mean, you flew all the way here from Idiotville. The least I can do is hear you out.”

The faint glimmer of hope in my chest expands. I’ve still got a chance.

Em smirks, the corner of her mouth lifting just enough to give me a dangerous spark of hope. “Especially because it’s you who’s finally speechless. That’s a first.”

I open my mouth, then close it again. It feels like her turn to talk.

“You want to know what actually hurt?” she says, taking another step closer. “It’s that you didn’t trust me enough to help you through it.”

The truth of her words hits me square in the chest.

“After everything—” Her voice catches. “After everything, you still didn’t think I was strong enough to handle your problems. You treated me like I was fragile.”

“Em, no?—”

“Yes,” she cuts me off. “You shut me out completely. Do you have any idea how that feels? To watch someone you love hurting and have them push you away?”

I swallow hard. “I wasn’t thinking?—”

“No, you weren’t.” Her eyes lock with mine. “And you know what’s really ironic? This whole time, you’ve been helping me become stronger, more confident. You’ve been my rock. But when you needed support, you didn’t even give me the chance to be yours.”

Something shifts inside me—admiration mixing with shame. “You’re right,” I admit. “And honestly? I’m proud of you.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Proud? Of what exactly?”

“Look at you.” I gesture toward her. “My idiotic behavior could have sent you spiraling. But here you are, standing up for yourself, calling me on my shit.”

Em blinks, looking momentarily surprised.

“That’s growth, Em,” I continue. “Real growth. And I’m terrified that I almost damaged that progress.”

“Yeah, well. Turns out I’m tougher than I thought.” She fidgets with the hem of her shirt. “I still love you, you idiot. But you don’t get to shut me out.”

My heart hammers against my ribs. “So where does that leave us?”

Em sighs, wrapping her arms around herself again. “With conditions.”

“Name them.”

“First, you’re still meeting my family. That’s non-negotiable.” Her gaze is steady, unwavering. “My grandmother’s already planning the menu.”

I nod. “I was thinking of stealing some fancy French wine my dad keeps for special occasions. Think she’d like that?”

“Shameless bribery. She’ll love it.” Em takes a deep breath. “Second condition: no more running away when things get difficult. You talk to me. We figure it out.”

“I promise,” I say, meaning it more than I’ve meant anything in my life. “I want to be there for you, Em. And I want to let you be there for me. I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of not being enough,” I admit. “Not good enough as a captain, not good enough as your boyfriend, not good enough for the NHL. I’ve spent my life trying to live up to everyone’s expectations, and when I found out my mom had been pulling strings, it was like—like the floor dropped out from under me. ”

Her expression softens. “You know that’s not how I see you, right? I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be honest.”

“I can do honest.” I take a tentative step forward. “Honestly? I love you. And I want the chance to make this up to you.”

That finally breaks through. The defensive posture she’s maintained since I arrived melts away. She closes the distance between us, reaching for my hand, which I give her.

“You’re still an idiot,” she says, tugging me closer.

“An idiot who loves you.”

“Yeah.” She smiles up at me. “I love you too.”

When our lips meet, it feels like coming home.

She tastes like blue raspberry Slurpee with a hint of vodka, and I’m desperate to hold onto this moment, to prove how sorry I am with every touch.

My hands frame her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks as I pour every ounce of regret and love into the kiss.

When she pulls back, her eyes are bright. “So,” she says with a mischievous smile. “What exactly are you planning to do about the team situation?”

I groan, resting my forehead against hers. “Grovel. Extensively. And hope Coach doesn’t punish me with endless laps around campus.”

“I’ll help you figure it out,” she promises, fingers tracing patterns on my chest. “But I think we have more immediate priorities at the moment.”

“ Oh? ” I raise an eyebrow, even as my pulse quickens.

“Mmm. Proper reconciliation requires a thorough makeup session.” She steps backward toward her bedroom, pulling me with her. “If you want…”

“I thought you’d never ask,” I murmur, following her eagerly.

As Em leads me toward her bedroom, her hand warm in mine, Lea’s door cracks open. She pokes her head out, wielding her phone like a weapon.

“Do I need to go to war, Em?” Lea asks, her gaze flicking between us with the intensity of a tennis referee. “The cavalry’s one text away.”

Em shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “I think the execution can wait for the time being.”

Lea sighs dramatically. Her expression shifts to something wickedly mischievous. “Guess I’ll need to turn my music up. Way up.” She raises an eyebrow. “Or maybe I should call Dec over and we can have a competition to see who can be louder.”

“Please don’t,” Em groans, her cheeks flushing.

“No promises,” Lea singsongs before disappearing back into her room.

Em turns to me, embarrassment and desire warring on her face. “Maybe we should be… quiet? ”

I lower my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I make no guarantees where you’re concerned.”

I laugh, even as Em tugs me away from her roommate’s threats and toward the promise of reconciliation. Second chances don’t come around often in life, and this one feels like the most important thing I’ve ever won—better than any game, any title, any trophy.

And I’m not about to fumble it.