Page 16

Brogan

There’s something about Molly’s Café on a Saturday morning that brings out the best—and the absolute weirdest—in this town. News travels faster than Molly can refill a coffee cup, and there’s no such thing as a private conversation when you’re within shouting distance of the pie case. If you’re a Foster, everyone’s got an opinion about who you’re dating, who you should be dating, and whether or not your eggs are runny. And if you’re Brogan Foster—well, let’s just say the whole town’s been waiting for you to trip over your own heart. Today, as word drifts from booth to booth about water towers, bar coasters, and supply closets, I just sit back, sip my burnt coffee, and enjoy the show.

Playlist: Barbie Girl by Aqua

I’m supposed to be thinking about hockey, stats, my stick curve, the fact that Franklin’s breathing down my neck about the next road trip. But all I can picture is Joely pressed up against the supply closet door, hair messy from my hands, cheeks flushed, whispering my name like it’s the only word she knows. I’ve had a stupid grin glued to my face since I left home, and it’s not because of the eggs Benedict in front of me at Molly’s. It’s JoJo. Always JoJo.

Shep’s across the table, inhaling pancakes like he’s got an endorsement deal with carbs. He’s babbling about some new TikTok trend—something about eating lemons and not blinking—but his words are white noise in my head. All I can focus on is the way my phone buzzes in my pocket, a little lifeline from Joely.

JoJo: Hope you survived karaoke.

I have to bite back a smile, because damn it, she’s going to be the death of me. I tap out a quick reply under the table.

Me: Still alive and kicking.

The coffee here tastes like scorched earth, but this morning even Sorrowville’s hangover looks a little brighter. There’s this weird buzzing under my skin—like hope and panic had a one-night stand and now I’m stuck with their mutant love child.

Shep finally pauses to breathe, syrup in his beard. “Dude, you’re spacing out. You good?”

“Fine,” I lie, shoveling a forkful of eggs into my mouth. “Just tired.”

He grins, leans in like he’s about to drop state secrets. “Bro, you look like a guy who got lucky and is too humble to brag. Which is disgusting, by the way.”

I choke, almost spit out my coffee. “Jesus, Shep.”

He just winks. “I’m not blind. You and JoJo, huh? About damn time. The guys have a bet going. Gage says you’re gonna blow it.”

I roll my eyes. “Gage eats pizza rolls for breakfast. I’m not worried.”

The bell over the café door jingles, and a couple of the old-timers shuffle in, arguing about whether the Slammer’s last win was skill or dumb luck. Molly wipes down the counter, shooting me a look that says she knows everything, which, honestly, she probably does.

My phone vibrates again. This time it’s a picture—Joely’s feet propped up on her coffee table, her toenails painted bright coral. Stenciled on her big toes are my number 29. The caption reads: For luck. Try not to suck tonight, Foster.

I tuck the phone away, heart doing this weird lurch that has nothing to do with caffeine. I feel… good. Hopeful. Like maybe, just maybe, the universe is finally giving me a shot at something more than hockey and half-baked dreams.

Shep starts up again, this time about some guy who tried to grill steak on his engine block. I laugh, more relaxed than I’ve been in months, not realizing that the ground under my feet is about to shift. For the first time in a long time, I let myself believe maybe things can be easy.

That’s before she walks in.

Lucinda makes an entrance like she’s skating onto the ice in a miniseries no one asked for. The bell over Molly’s door rings out, sharp and high, and every guy in the place looks up. Not me. I keep my gaze glued to my coffee mug because I know trouble when it smells like strawberry lip gloss and desperation.

We hooked up. Once. Three years ago, in a moment of pure loneliness and stupidity—young, dumb, and chasing the wrong kind of comfort, I let Lucinda drag me into the back of her mom’s SUV behind the arena. It wasn’t love, or even close. I just wanted to see her new tits, and she wanted something more—something I never offered, never promised.

I never should have fucked her. Ever since, she’s been hanging around, texting at all hours, showing up at games in my number, desperate for a repeat. But I don’t want Lucinda. Not then, not now. She was a mistake I made in the dark, and I’ve been trying to outrun it ever since.

She heads right for us, hips swaying like she’s dodging blue liners, all smiles and big eyes. “Brogan, babe! There you are.” She slides into the booth next to me, ignoring the fact that Shep’s sitting on the other side and I didn’t exactly invite her.

Shep raises his brows but grins, the goofball. “Hey, Lucinda. You want some pancakes? Brogan can’t eat them. He’s got a gluten-free soul.”

“Too fattening.” Lucinda snorts, shaking her head, but her eyes are locked on me. “I saw what went up on the water tower last night. The number? The heart?” She leans in, syrupy sweet. “Guess I couldn’t keep my feelings under wraps any longer.” Her lips curve as if she’s letting me in on a secret—one that never belonged to her.

Shep perks up, confused. “Wait, you painted that? I thought—”

Lucinda cuts him off, nails tapping the table. “Who else would do something like that for Brogan?” She bats her lashes, then drops her voice. “He knows I’ve always had a thing for grand gestures.”

My stomach twists. For a second, I think about Joely—her face flushed, her hands always busy, her way of showing love in little, quiet ways. But Lucinda’s looking at me with so much confidence, so much practiced ownership, I almost doubt what I saw, what I thought I knew.

Shep snorts, mouth full of pancake. “Only grand gesture I ever saw you make was sneaking out the back door when it’s time to pay your tab.”

Lucinda leans in, lowering her voice. “Don’t play dumb, you two. The coasters? ‘I heart your dumb face?’ That was all me. And the rock with your number painted on it? Easy. The water tower—let’s just say, heights don’t bother me.”

She says it with a wink, like we’re sharing some inside joke. My gut twists. I want to laugh it off, but she’s got this confidence, like she’s holding cards nobody else has seen. Details she shouldn’t know. Details Joely never bragged about, never would.

Shep stares at her, chewing slowly. “You climbed the water tower? No offense, Lucinda, but JoJo’s always been the daredevil. A tomboy all the way when you’re worried about breaking a nail. I mean, remember that summer Joely bungee jumped off Virgil’s shed for a fifty?”

Lucinda smiles—sharp, catlike. “I’m full of surprises, Shep. Besides, you think I don’t know Brogan’s number is twenty-nine? Or that he scored his first hat trick on February 13th, 2016 against Duluth? Power play percentage last year was sixty-seven. Sorrowville record. I know everything about him.” She rattles it off like she’s reading my Wikipedia page, not a fan who was actually there. “I know his game, and I know when he needs a little pick me up.”

Shep whistles, eyes wide. “Damn, you been studying or something?”

Lucinda leans even closer to me, voice honey-thick. “That’s what you do when you care about someone. You remember the little things. The big things. You go out of your way to make them feel special.” She lays a manicured hand on my arm, all fake sweetness. And everywhere her fingers touch, I feel nothing.

My stomach pitches like the floor’s dropped out from under me. Joely never said a word about stats, about hat tricks or records. She just… showed up. Did the small stuff. Was herself.

Now, I’m starting to wonder if I got it wrong. If maybe I wanted it to be Joely so bad, I just saw what I wanted.

Lucinda leans back, triumphant. “Anyway, I’m glad you liked everything, Brogan. I just wanted you to know who’s got your back.”

Shep grins, but his eyes flick to me, uncertainty shadowing his smile.

For the first time all morning, the eggs taste like nothing.

Shep squints at Lucinda like he’s trying to read the fine print on a bottle of cough syrup. “I still can’t believe it.” He scratches his head, looking at me like I should know the answer. “I mean, JoJo’s the only one in Sorrowville who’d graffiti something without spelling ‘ass’ in the middle. No offense.”

Lucinda laughs, a sound so sugary it makes my teeth ache. “I have my ways, Shep. Just because I didn’t announce it to the whole bar doesn’t mean I didn’t put in the effort.”

Shep tilts his head, grinning. “Okay, so if you did the coasters, how come they all look like JoJo’s writing? You ever seen Lucinda’s penmanship, Brogan? It’s like a ransom note from a left-handed toddler.”

I snort, but it comes out flat. The memory of those dumb coasters—her loopy hearts, the silly faces, the way Joely would hand one to me with a little smirk—burns bright and sharp. Could Lucinda really be behind all that? Why would she bother? She was always hovering around, yeah, but she never cared about the little stuff. Not really.

Lucinda waves him off, cool as ice. “I just wanted it to look authentic. That’s what makes a grand gesture special—when it feels personal.”

Shep makes a face. “That’s… weirdly strategic for a love note. JoJo just does stuff. She’s not exactly a planner.”

Lucinda shrugs, feigning innocence. “You’d be surprised what I’m capable of, Shep. People only see what they want to see. I’m so much more than just a pretty face.”

I hate to break it to her, but people aren’t looking at her face.

There’s a beat where Shep glances at me, clearly hoping I’ll jump in and set the record straight. My mind reels. I’m replaying every moment—the rock, the paint, the coasters, Joely’s shy smiles and quiet glances. I thought I knew her. Thought she’d gone out of her way to show me I mattered. But Lucinda’s got answers for everything, and it’s making me feel like an idiot.

Shep isn’t finished, though. He grabs a napkin and a pen from the holder. “Alright. Let’s see it. Write ‘Foster is a dork’ like you did on the coasters.”

Lucinda rolls her eyes but obliges, scribbling the words in bubbly letters. Shep holds it up to the light. “Eh… Not bad. But JoJo always draws a little heart under the ‘s’. See?” He points. “That’s her move.”

Lucinda just smiles, like the whole thing’s a game she’s already won. “Maybe I picked up a few of Joely’s tricks over the years. I do spend a lot of time at Power Play, you know.”

Shep shrugs, not convinced but not sure what else to say. “Yeah, well, I still think you’d chicken out at the top of the water tower. Your jeans are too tight to climb a ladder and not fall off.”

Lucinda leans in, dropping her voice. “You never know what people are willing to do for the right person. Even wear leggings.”

Her eyes lock on mine, and for a second, I see something hard and sharp flicker there—ambition, maybe. Or desperation. My stomach lurches.

Shep goes back to his pancakes, muttering something about handwriting analysis and how his mom can always tell when he forges her signature. I want to laugh, but all I feel is this knot tightening in my gut.

I look at Lucinda, really look, and wonder if I’ve missed something big—if I’ve been so caught up in what I wanted that I didn’t see what was right in front of me. Maybe I’m just another dumbass hockey player, fooled by a pretty face and a sweet lie.

For the first time since last night, I’m not sure which way is up.

Lucinda leans in, lowering her voice so only I can hear. “You know, one more thing, Brogan. I was at Power Play last night. Stayed till close. Saw a lot.” Her lips curve, glossy and mean. “Saw you slip into the back with Joely. Thought maybe you’d want to keep that quiet, huh?”

The words hit like a puck to the sternum. My skin goes cold. I don’t move. I can’t. Did anyone else see? Did she see everything? Did the whole town see?

She glances at Shep, who’s busy drenching his pancakes in syrup, oblivious to the landmine that just went off. Lucinda turns back to me, voice soft but slicing. “Brogan, you gotta be careful. I mean, it’s one thing to blow off steam—but you know what happens when people start talking. And they always talk in Sorrowville.”

My eyes narrow. “I don’t know what you think you saw…”

She lets that hang in the air, then dials up the concern, all wide eyes and feigned innocence. “I just—look, I get it. Joely’s fun. She’s sweet. But you’ve got a lot riding on this season. Your contract. Your reputation. If you’re serious about your career, you need to think about who’s really on your side.”

I force a swallow, fighting the urge to bolt. “Joely wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. You don’t know her.”

Lucinda sighs, shaking her head with that pitying look that says she knows better. “Babe, sometimes the people we trust the most are the ones who mess us up the worst. If she cared about your career, would she really hold back how much she believes in you? Or does she want you to fail so that she can live out some childish crush she’s had since grade school?”

I want to argue, to tell her she’s full of shit, but the doubt’s already sinking in, cold and heavy. Joely’s face flashes in my mind—the shy smile, the way she said my name last night, the way she looked at me like I was the only guy in the room. But Lucinda’s words worm in, nasty and sharp. If Joely cared about my game, wouldn’t she do anything to help me?

Lucinda presses on, relentless. “I’m just saying, Brogan. You deserve someone who wants you to win, not just someone who wants to be seen with you. You need someone who puts your career first. Someone who’s actually got your back.”

She squeezes my arm, her nails digging in just enough to let me know it’s not really comfort at all. “I’ve always looked out for you. Just think about it. I’ll see you again at karaoke tomorrow night.”

She leans back, finally letting the tension break. I’m left with my heart in my throat and my stomach twisted up in knots. Shep finally looks up, oblivious. “Dude, you want some more coffee? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

I can’t even answer. All I can do is stare at the empty plate in front of me, the world suddenly tilted, every good thing I thought I had with Joely now tangled up in shadows and doubt.

With a wave, Lucinda finally slips away, her perfume trailing behind like the world’s most toxic aroma. She doesn’t say goodbye. She doesn’t have to. The bomb’s already dropped, and I’m still sitting in the shrapnel, picking pieces out of my skin.

I stare after her, feeling like I just lost a game I didn’t even know I was playing.

Shep’s halfway through his third pancake and finally notices I haven’t moved. “Dude. Seriously. You look like you just ate bad shrimp. You okay?”

I force a shrug, but it feels brittle. “Yeah. Fine. Just tired.”

Shep eyes me. “You sure? I mean, Lucinda’s always had it out for JoJo. You know she’s—” He makes a swirling motion by his temple, classic Shep. “—not playing with a full roster despite her full rack. Don’t let her get in your head, man.”

But that’s exactly what’s happening. The words loop and spiral, louder than any locker room chirp. I start replaying last night—every touch, every laugh, every damn thing Joely ever did for me. It was her, right? The coasters, the rock, the water tower. That look in her eyes. But now all I can see are Lucinda’s perfect nails, her perfect memory for stats, her voice in my ear: If she cared about your game…

My appetite’s gone. I push my plate away, stare down at the scratched Formica, and try to breathe through the ache clawing up my chest. The café feels smaller, the air heavier, like everyone’s suddenly looking at me, wondering if the golden boy’s about to blow it—on the ice, off the ice, everywhere.

Shep nudges my arm, his voice softening. “Listen, Brogan. I know you. You get in your head, you start second-guessing, and then you spiral. Don’t let some drama queen rewrite your whole story, okay? JoJo’s always been your girl. You know that. Not only does she have your back, she doesn’t need to be showy about it.”

I want to believe him. God, I do. But I keep replaying Lucinda’s words—her certainty, her smug little smile, the way she made it sound like Joely’s love was a problem, not a gift. What if she’s right? What if I’m just a distraction for Joely, just another hockey guy in her endless parade of regulars? What if all this hope I’ve been holding onto is just me seeing what I want, not what’s really there?

My phone buzzes again. This time it’s Joely.

JoJo: You going to be at karaoke?

I stare at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard, unsure how to answer. She’s the only person who’s ever made me feel like more than just a stat on a sheet, more than just a Foster brother, or a Slammer forward. But what if it’s not real? What if I’m just another dumbass falling for a story that was never mine?

My thumb hovers a few seconds, but then I type out a reply.Me: I’ll be there.

Shep throws a couple bills on the table and stands. “Come on, man. Let’s go shoot pucks or something. Or you can just stand there and look pretty while I hit you with snowballs.”

I manage a half-hearted grin, but inside I’m a mess. “Yeah. Sure.”

As we step out into the cold, I know I can’t just let this sit. I have to talk to Joely. I have to know the truth—even if it guts me. Because right now, I’m not sure what’s worse: losing her or realizing she was never really mine in the first place.