Page 22 of Trick Shot (Bainbridge Hockey #4)

Pete

I ’m so fucking exhausted I’m surprised I’m still standing upright. To be fair, I’m leaning on the counter at Drip while Theo makes my coffee, so I can’t take all the credit.

The past few days have sucked all my energy away.

Less than twelve hours after Ollie tried to interrogate JT about the rumors of his romance with Coach’s niece, a couple of the guys decided our rickety staircase would make a great ski slope.

Our ancient, creaky steps caved under the pressure, literally.

Miraculously, no one was seriously hurt, but it got dicey there for a bit.

I stood powerless on the first floor watching as the steps fell and the adjoining landing shook.

When JT’s door opened and Coach’s niece stood frozen with a stricken look on her face, I legit thought he was either going to pass out or try to jump up and save her.

Mickey came to the rescue, though, because as batshit crazy as that guy is, he has a heart of gold, and he loves JT like a brother.

As if that weren’t enough drama, JT wasn’t just hiding the fact that he’s dating Coach’s niece.

By the time graduation rolls around, our star goalie and his girlfriend will be brand-new parents.

That is, if he survives the season and Coach’s menacing glare.

Yesterday’s practice was brutal. I’m not sure what was worse, all the extra drills we were running or the death stare emanating from Coach’s eyes directly into the net.

On my way home from practice last night, things went from bad to worse.

Leo called when I was about two minutes away from Gramma’s.

As soon as I heard his voice, I knew something was wrong.

Ma had been watching TV, but when she got up to get herself some water, she fainted.

I have to give my brothers credit, though.

She was pretty out of it after she fell, so Henry called an ambulance right away, and Leo called me once the paramedics were on their way.

I met them at the hospital and when we were told she was in stable condition, I sent the boys home to get some rest. I couldn’t sleep, though, and that’s not just because hospital chairs could double as torture devices.

My mind was racing with worries, and it still is.

They pumped Ma full of fluids and ran a zillion more tests, but there’s nothing conclusive.

I’m worried as hell that her cancer is back, and so is Ma, but the doctors kept asking her if she’s in perimenopause and if she’s getting enough iron.

They’re keeping her another day or two for observation and to run even more tests. Gramma switched me out and the boys will sit with her for a bit after school. All I want to do is take a nap, but I have class in an hour, so sleep will have to wait.

Theo slides my drink across the counter, along with a muffin. “You look like you could use the sugar boost,” he says, and I laugh.

“Thanks,” I say. “Let’s hope the chocolate muffin and the cookies-n-crème-ucino are enough to keep me awake for the next few hours. ”

“When the mid-day crash hits, come back here. I’ll put a muffin in the back with your name on it.”

I smile my thanks and head to a table so I can crack open my laptop and review my notes for my test in Genetics. I’ve taken two sips of my drink, one bite of my muffin, and read about five sentences when my senses go on alert.

I could close my eyes right now and it wouldn’t matter.

Somehow, without even looking at the door, my brain knows Claire is here.

I can’t stop myself from watching as she saunters up to the counter and picks up her to-go order.

I can see she’s got earbuds in and she must be deep in thought because her gaze is trained on the ground as she makes her way over to the tables.

That has to be the only explanation for why she takes the seat across from me, because when she looks up just long enough to see that I’m her seatmate, her eyes go wide.

Ouch. That’s a bruise my ego did not need this morning. For half a second, I wondered if she chose to sit here because maybe she considers us friends now. The look of horror she’s sporting tells me I’m way off base, but that tracks. When it comes to Claire Fowler, I’m off my game.

Her eyes dart around and since there are a few open spots, I’m surprised when she doesn’t get up and find another place to have her breakfast.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” she asks, as though the words cost more than she wants to pay. “I won’t be long. I have a meeting to get to, but?—”

“It’s fine,” I say, waving her off. “We shared a lot more than a café table in Florida, so I don’t think sitting next to each for another twenty minutes or so is going to kill us.”

My joke falls flat and Claire lurches forward as a couple guys from the basketball team stroll past our table and one of them loses his footing and bumps into her chair. She reaches a hand out to steady herself and nearly knocks our drinks over in the process.

“The hell?” she mutters, looking back and sighing when she sees Aaron Dennis’s retreating form. “Sorry, did I spill your drink?” she asks, adjusting her seat.

“Our drinks are fine. Are you okay? What the hell was that?”

Now she’s the one waving me off. “It’s nothing. I’ve just had a shitty twenty-four hours.”

“Same,” I say, lifting my drink in a toast.

Claire just stares at me and I’m not sure if she’s horrified at my attempt at conversation or if she’s seeing what I just noticed. We have the exact same drink order.

“You have good taste in coffee,” I say, checking out both cups to see that one’s a little less full than the other. “I’m almost positive this one is mine, though.”

She nods and takes a sip of her drink before opening her to-go bag and pulling out an egg and cheese sandwich. She starts scrolling on her phone like we’re two strangers who are forced to share space in a crowded coffee shop, but we sure as hell aren’t strangers and an empty table just opened up.

“So, how’s your semester so far?” I ask.

Maybe I’m being a dick. She’s obviously listening to music and trying to tune the world out, but there’s something that keeps drawing me back into her orbit.

I want to know what’s going through her mind.

I want to know if she felt a connection with me back in Florida because no matter what we called our brief time together, I can’t get her off my mind.

She pulls her earbud out of her left ear and blinks up at me, which is the universal sign of ugh , you’re interrupting me, but go ahead and speak .

I have two younger brothers and I’ve done over a hundred observation hours in middle school classrooms. I am well-versed in the fine art of interpreting facial expressions.

“You’re really asking me how my semester is so far?” she says with a mirthless laugh. “It’s been craptastic, Pete. A real shitshow, and it’s only just started.”

Claire will never be mistaken for a member of the Optimists Club, but this is extra surly, even for her. “Damn,” I say. “I hope it gets better. Maybe you’re just missing all that Florida sunshine?”

She looks at me like I’m too stupid to breathe and she has no idea how I’m keeping myself alive. “Lack of sunshine is not the problem.”

“O-kay,” I say, wishing for some inexplicable reason that I could wipe the look of defeat off her face.

She’s as beautiful as always in a pair of leggings and a BU hoodie, but she looks like life has punched her in the dick.

It’s a look I see on my face all too often and I hate that she’s going through something right now.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her if she wants to hang out sometime.

My brain must be scrambled from a lack of sleep because nothing about Claire’s demeanor tells me she wants more of this, and yet I can’t help but remember the look of utter contentment on her face when I held her in my arms.

“What?” she asks. “Why are you staring at me? If you have something to say to me, just say it.”

“We should hang out sometime.” Even before the words leave my mouth, I know they’re the wrong ones but sleep deprivation has robbed me of any kind of filter.

She squints at me and then grabs hold of my drink cup, as if to inspect it. “Did Theo lace this with something? Did you? Are you just being a dick?”

“What? No to all of that,” I say, taking my cup from her hand.

Our fingers brush against each other and I kid you the fuck not, I feel a spark.

A zing. Or maybe she’s wearing one of those buzzer rings just so she can shock me.

The set of her shoulders and the glare in her eyes tell me I might be onto something with that buzzer theory.

“Then what the fuck do you mean that you want to hang out? Is this a trap? Did your friends put you up to this?”

What the hell is she talking about? “Uh, it’s not a trap. It’s a date. Or a thing. Or whatever. We don’t even have to label it, but I don’t know, Claire, what we had in Florida was good, right? No,” I correct myself, “it was better than good. It was scorching.”

“What are you saying? You want to keep fucking me?”

I wince at her words because while I will never turn down the privilege of having Claire in my bed again, I wouldn’t say we were just fucking. “I want to see you again,” I say, because it’s the truth.

“Why, Pete? We’re not friends.”

She pops a bite of sandwich into her mouth and dusts her fingers off.

Her casual dismissal triggers my frustration, even though she’s said those same words to me dozens of times.

Maybe staying up all night has eaten up my store of patience or maybe I just can’t believe she’s this unaffected by the time we spent together.