Page 31 of The Girlfriend Goal

Coming back to campus after the ski trip felt like returning to reality with a hangover.

Rachel and I had agreed to take things slow, to figure out what we were without the pressure of labels or expectations.

That lasted approximately three days before the universe decided to test every ounce of patience I possessed.

The first sign of trouble came during Monday's team meeting. Coach Stevens was running through playoff scenarios when he dropped the bomb.

"Also, we've got some transfers joining for spring conditioning. Give them the usual Greenfield welcome." He read from a list. "Brad Rogers from Cornell—"

"Brad?" Matt interrupted.

"Yeah," Coach continued, oblivious to my internal panic, "Lacrosse All-American, transferring back to Greenfield for his senior season."

The room went silent. Every teammate who knew about Rachel—which was most of them, because hockey players gossiped worse than old ladies—turned to stare at me.

After the meeting, Matt cornered me. "Tell me that's not—"

"It is," I confirmed.

I pulled out my phone, then hesitated. Rachel and I were supposed to be taking things slow. Was warning her about her ex constituting rushing? Was not warning her worse?

"Just tell her," Matt advised, reading my mind. "Rip the band-aid off."

But I didn't get the chance. By the time practice ended and I made it to the psych building where Rachel had class, she was already gone. A text saying she had emergency soccer stuff kept me from tracking her down, and then I had my own team obligations.

It wasn't until that evening's athletic mixer—a mandatory schmoozing event where all the sports programs pretended to like each other—that everything went to hell.

I spotted Rachel across the room, looking professional and gorgeous in a blazer that made me want to mess up her perfectly styled hair. She was talking to some administrator about funding equity, gesturing passionately in that way that meant someone was about to get schooled.

I started toward her, but a familiar voice stopped me cold.

"Lance fucking Fletcher. Heard you would be here."

"Brad," I acknowledged, turning slowly.

"Making a name for yourself here, I hear. NHL scouts sniffing around." He clapped me on the shoulder hard enough to sting.

His eyes scanned the room and landed on Rachel. Something shifted in his expression, a predatory interest that made my jaw clench.

"Well, well. Rachel Fox. Looking good, babe."

The casual endearment hit like a slap. I watched Rachel's entire body go rigid as Brad approached her, her animated conversation cutting off mid-sentence.

"Brad," she said, voice carefully neutral.

"Missed you," he said, moving into her space with the confidence of someone who'd done it a thousand times before. "Heard you won championships. Always knew you had it in you."

She stepped back, but he followed.

"We should catch up. Grab coffee, like old times."

"I don't think so."

"Come on, Rachel." His hand found her arm, and I saw the moment she froze. "Don't be like that. Water under the bridge, right?"

I moved before I could think about it, inserting myself between them with all the subtlety of a body check.

"Hey," I said to Rachel, ignoring Brad entirely. "We have that thing."

Her eyes met mine, and I saw relief flash across her face.

"With my girl?" Brad asked.

"I'm not your girl," Rachel said sharply. "Haven't been for a long time."

"Semantics," Brad dismissed. "We had something special, Rachel. Worth revisiting now that I'm back."

"We had nothing," Rachel said, but I could hear the slight tremor in her voice. "And I have no interest in revisiting anything."

"You say that now—"

"She said no," I interrupted, my patience finally snapping. "Pretty clearly. So maybe back off."

Brad's expression hardened. "And maybe you should mind your own business. This is between Rachel and me."

"There is no Rachel and you," I said, stepping closer. "There's just you not listening when she tells you to leave her alone."

"Lance," Rachel warned softly.

"Interesting," Brad said, looking between us again. "Very interesting. Tell me, exactly what kind of 'project' has you so protective of my ex?"

"The kind that's none of your business," I shot back.

"Everything about Rachel is my business," Brad said, and the possessiveness in his voice made my hands fist. "We have history. The kind that doesn't just disappear because she wants to play hard to get."

"I'm standing right here," Rachel snapped. "And I'm not playing anything. We're done, Brad. We've been done. Accept it and move on."

"See, that's where you're wrong." Brad smiled, all teeth. "I'm back for good. Plenty of time to remind you what you're missing."

He looked at me then, and I recognized the challenge in his eyes.

"We're leaving," she said firmly, tugging me backward. "Brad, don't contact me again."

"We'll see," he called after us. "Plenty of time to change your mind."

Rachel dragged me out of the venue and didn't stop until we were halfway across campus. When she finally released my arm, I could see her hands shaking.

"How long have you known?" She whirled on me, eyes bright with unshed tears. "How long have you known he was coming here?"

"Hey." I caught her shoulders gently. "Look at me. He doesn't matter."

"God, Lance, you don't understand what he's like. How he gets in your head. Makes you doubt everything about yourself."

"Then tell me," I urged. "Help me understand."

She looked around, then nodded toward a nearby bench. We sat, and she tucked herself against my side like she was seeking shelter.

"It started small," she began. "Little comments about my schedule, how I prioritized soccer over us.

Suggestions that became arguments that became ultimatums. He had this way of making everything my fault.

If I missed his game for practice, I was selfish.

If I studied instead of hanging out, I didn't care about him. "

I stayed quiet, letting her talk while fury built in my chest.

"He isolated me from my teammates. Convinced me they were jealous, that they didn't really support me.

By the end, he was all I had, and he knew it.

Used it." She laughed bitterly. "The night before my biggest game junior year, he picked a huge fight because I wanted to get sleep instead of going to his frat party.

Kept me up until 4 AM alternating between calling me selfish and begging me to forgive him for getting upset. "

"God, Rachel."

"I played terribly. We lost. And somehow he made that my fault too—if I'd just gone to the party like he wanted, I wouldn't have been stressed, wouldn't have let my team down.

" She shook her head. "It took Jared’s intervention and him literally sitting me down with a therapist to realize what was happening. That's how far gone I was."

"He's not getting near you again," I said fiercely.

"You can't protect me from him," she interrupted gently.

"That's not how Brad works. He's too smart for outright threats or violence.

He'll be charming and reasonable and make me look crazy if I complain.

He'll show up at my games, my classes, always with plausible reasons.

He'll text just enough to stay on my mind but not enough to be harassment. "

"Then what do we do?"

She looked at me then, something vulnerable in her eyes. "We?"

"Yeah, we," I said firmly. "You think I'm letting you deal with this alone?"

"We're supposed to be taking things slow," she reminded me.

"Fuck slow," I said. "This is more important than our timeline. You're more important."

Her eyes filled with tears she'd been holding back. "I can't do this again, Lance. I can't let him get in my head. Not when I'm so close to everything I've worked for."

"Then don't let him," I said simply. "He only has power if you give it to him."

"It's not that simple."

"It is, though." I turned to face her fully. "Look, I know we said slow, but here's the thing—I'm already all in. So if you need me to be your bodyguard or just the guy who reminds you every day that Brad is a manipulative asshole who never deserved you, I'm here. Whatever you need."

She stared at me for a long moment, then laughed wetly. "You can't just declare yourself all in during a crisis. That's emotional manipulation."

"It's emotional honesty," I corrected. "And the crisis just made me realize I was tired of pretending I wasn't crazy about you.

I know you have your plan. I know your career comes first. I'm not asking you to change any of that.

" I took her hands. "I'm just saying you don't have to face him alone. Or anything else, for that matter."

She was quiet for so long I started to worry I'd overplayed my hand. Then she squeezed my fingers.

"I really like you," she said softly. "More than I planned to. More than is probably smart. But I need to handle Brad my way. I can't have you going all protective caveman every time he shows up."

"Define protective caveman."

"No fighting. No threatening. No using your hockey team to intimidate him."

"What if they volunteer to intimidate him?"

"Lance."

"Fine," I sighed. "But I reserve the right to glare menacingly from a distance."

I kissed her there on the bench, not caring who might see. She melted into me, and for a moment, everything else—Brad, the distance that would come with Seattle, all of it—faded away.

We walked back to her apartment hand in hand, a public declaration that felt bigger than it should. At her door, she turned to me.

"Want to come up? We could study."

"Actual studying or 'studying'?" I asked.

"Maybe both," she admitted.

But when we got to her room, studying was the last thing on either of our minds. The stress of seeing Brad, the emotion of our conversation, the relief of finally being honest—it all translated into desperate kisses and wandering hands.

"Wait," I said, pulling back. "Is this a bad idea after tonight?"

"Tonight is exactly why it's a good idea," she interrupted. "I need to remember what it feels like to choose. To want someone who actually wants me back, not some version of me they're trying to create."

"I want you," I said simply. "Exactly as you are. Driven and complicated and terrible at accepting help."

"I'm working on that last one," she said, then pulled me back down. "Now stop talking and kiss me."

Later, tangled in her sheets while she traced patterns on my chest, the real world crept back in.

"He's not going to make this easy," she said quietly.

"I know."

"He'll probably try to turn your team against me. Make it seem like I'm causing drama."

"Let him try," I said. "My team knows me better than that. And Matt will set anyone straight who needs it."