Page 9

chapter nine

sarcasm and i are besties

“ I don’t know how to say this, Rhodes.”

Okay, then don’t. Seriously, Coach, save your breath. Let’s both enjoy the slightly sweaty atmosphere of your office. In fact, can I just leave? Because I have this weird, gut-deep feeling that I know what you’re about to nag me about, and honestly? Not in the mood. I’ve spent the last two nights with a kitten on my head. Why? Because Maple—the tyrant she is—has decreed it her royal throne.

Annoying? Sure. But did I pout and take about twenty pictures anyway? Alsoyes. What can I say? I’m a cat guy. Judge me if you must.

“Finn?”

Right. Right. Paying attention. That’s what I was supposed to be doing. Iblinked hard, dragging my focus back to Coach.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, scratching the back of my neck. “I’m operating on threehours of broken sleep—”

“And what do you want from me, Rhodes?A bottle and a bedtime story?” Coach leaned back in his chair, the green leather screaming under the strain. “This is exactly why we needed to talk. Professor Sawyer hasn't stopped bombarding me wit h complaints about you, saying he’s not happy with your attitude since the summer—”

Excuse me?

“Attitude? Attitude?" I sat up straighter,arms thrown wide.“No offence, but that’s a bold accusation for someone who hasn’t personally witnessed my radiant enthusiasm every Tuesday and Thursday at nine o'clock in the morning. I’m practically the human embodiment of a smiley face when I walk into his class. Him on the other hand? He looks like he's going through his second divorce in six months and hasn't found a good outlet for all his emotions yet."

Burtons face pulled, his head knocking to the side. "He is, actually."

Ah. Oookay then.

I shrugged. "Exactly! He's miserable and clearly wants everyone else whose happy with their life to suffer too. The guy's a sadist." Before Burton could shut me up, I shook my head. "Look, if I didn’t want to be there, I wouldn’t be. That’s how electives work, Coach.”

“Finn—”

“No, no, hear me out.” I leaned forward. “Do I love struggling to cobble together acoherent paragraph in a language I barely grasp? No. Is it hard? Absolutely. But the difference between ‘I can’t do it’ and ‘I don’t want to do it’ is… well, huge.” My hands raked through my damp strands of hair before looking back at Burton. “He’s got it wrong. I want to be there. I just… suck at it.” I settled back into my chair, nodding with my brows raised. “Big difference.”

Bur ton sighed like I’d personally drainedthe life force from his soul. But hey, atleast I felt better. Sort of.

“Well, just because you don’t want to suckat it doesn’t mean you don’t still , you know… suck at it,” He said, with the kind of brutal honesty that could only come from a man in an ill-fitting track jacket.

I rolled my eyes. “Have you consideredtrading careers to be a motivational speaker?”

“Your grades, Finn,” he pressed, leaningforward like this was some big revelation. “You’re not a fourth-grader so I don’t need to spell it out for you. You know the drill. If they fall any further, and you don’t get your act together—”

“I’m out. Yeah, I know.” I waved him off,like this was old news. Which, spoiler: it was.

Still, hearing it again didn’t exactly feelgreat. Maple could’ve delivered that line with more tact, and she doesn’t even speak.

The wall I’d been building to protect myself, the one I’d piled higher andhigher so I wouldn’t have to face what was coming, was starting to give way. I could feel it, each brick loosening, threatening to crumble and bury me under the weight of everything I was trying to ignore. And this was just the beginning.

If I didn’t figure this out, if I couldn’tsomehow ace the finals at the end of the semester and deliver my oral like I’d been fluent since the day I was born then it was goodbye to the scholarship. To hockey. To everything I’d worked for.

The Quebec Knights weren’t just a dream—they were the dream. And the thought of standing on the sidelines while it all slipped through my fingers because I couldn't roll my r's the right way? It made my chest ache in a way I couldn’t joke away.

Burton cleared his throat, his voicequieter than usual. “I can’t lose you outthere, Finn. You’re a shoo-in for captain next year. You’re my fire in the third period when the other team’s running on fumes. And…” He paused, his hands clasping together tightly. “I know it means a lot to you. I know what this game has given you, with your background and all.”

Something in me cracked, and I couldn’t stop it. I nodded, my throat tightening, afraid that if I opened my mouth, it wouldn’t be words that came out—it would be everything I’d been holding in.

The truth was, I didn’t know what I’d do if I lost this. I didn’t know how to findanother dream, another path that could get me anywhere near where I wanted to be. Hockey wasn’t just what I loved—it was a way of protecting everything, and everyone I loved.

It was my way up.

And the thought of losing it? It scared me more than I could ever admit outloud. But what scared me even more—what left a knot twisting in my stomach—was the image of myself twenty years down the road if I didn’t pull myself together.

I saw him.

I sucked in a breath, the air in the roomsuddenly feeling thicker than it had anyright to. “I know. And I’ll try. I promise.”

Bur ton shook his head, his expressionsofter but no less determined. “Don’tpromise me, Finn. Promise yourself.” He jabbed a finger in my direction, like he was trying to poke the words into my soul. “You’re better than this. So much better. Just remember why you’re doing it—and who you’re doing it for.”

“I will, Coach,” I said quietly, meaning itthis time.

“And in the meantime,” he added, his tonelighter, “ever heard of a tutor? Fineinvention, really. They help you when you suck—”

“Alright, just because I dish it outdoesn’t mean I can take it.” I groaned, but asmall grin tugged at the corners of my mouth.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Go on. Game starts in twenty, warm-up in five. Try not to drag yourself onto the ice looking like a zombie.”

For a second, I blinked, startled.

Right. Game tonight. Kind of important.

Not that I was worried about my headbeing elsewhere. I could play half-asleep, and I’d still bet on us winning. Our team was that good. The kind of good that could coast through a game even if half of us were on the bench, and the other half were hungover.

But as I headed for the locker room,Coach’s words stayed with me. Rememberwhy you’re doing it—and who you’re doing it for.

The knot in my chest eased, just a little. Maybe tonight’s game would clear therest of —

“Ooh,” a soft, delicate voice murmured as someone bumped into my chest. “Ohcrap, I’m sorr—oh.”

Oh.

That was all it took. One syllable. Onedisappointed tone. One electrified moment when the air seemed to crackle with her presence, and I knew exactly who it was.

The shock hit me like a slap as my eyesfound her.

Rory never came to the games lastyear—probably because of me, and I didn’t blame her. Not after what happened. That was why I didn't believe her when we found her skates last week. That’s why I’d done a double take when I spotted her up in the stands the other day, sitting the rest of our rebel alliance like it wasn’t a big deal. Like last year didn’t exist. Like she didn't have some secret hatred for the ice.

Or me—

“Finn?”

Myattention swung back to her as my browsshot up. “Hmm?”

She gave me a look, those brown doe eyesnarrowing. “Are you… okay?”

I nodded way too fast. “Oh yeah. Totallyfine. Completely okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Her smile tightened in that distant,indifferent way that wasn’t her. Not theRory whose smile made her cheeks pop, and the shimmer that sat on top sparkle. Like an angel.

“Oookay then,” she said, already turning to walk away.

And that was when I noticed it.

“ Um, Rory?” I called after her, and shepaused, turning back with a wary lookthat told me she already knew what I was about to say.

Before I could ask why she was suddenlyswapping her usual soft pink aesthetic for a green and white Lions cheerleading uniform, she cut me off. “Don’t even say anything.”

I raised my hands in mock surrender,trying not to smile. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

Her eyes turned to slits. “Yes you were.”

“Was not.”

“ Yes , you were.”

“I wasn’t.”

"You—" Her hand flew to her face, eyes squeezing shut as she sucked in a sharp breath.

Man was she adorablewhen she was annoyed.

And okay, maybe I was going to saysomething.

But the fact that she was talking to me,giving me anything at all—even if it was annoyance? I’d take it. After a year of barely getting so much as a glance, I was ready to cling to every second of this. Just like how I was hanging off every word she uttered to me last week up in the attic.

“Actually,” I said, leaning on my bestinnocent tone as I leant agaisnt the boards guarding the rink, “I was going to say thatyou look really nice.” Her expression softened, just a little. “But since you interrupted me, I’m sorry to say that compliment has now expired. You’ll never get to hear it again.”

Her eye roll was—God help me—theprettiest thing I’d ever seen. “Darn." Her arms folded. "Whatwill I do without gratification from a man?”

I grinned. There she is.

And while I had her, standing infront of me and willing to give me more than barely a glance, I took a stepcloser, remembering what I'd promised myself, remebering how I'd bottled it and ran last time I had her this close, and breathed, “Look, I’m sorry—”

“Finn.” She sighed, taking a step back.

My head shook. “No, I should have saidit a long time ago—”

“Exactly.” Her voice was so quiet I almostdidn’t hear the crack. “I can’t do this right now—”

As she went to turn away, my hand fellinto hers, my grip soft, and her stare locked on me again.

I swallowed hard, forcing out the truth. “I thought maybe sayingit—anything—might make it easier to breathe. Because honestly? Not saying it has been killing me.”

She shrugged at my attempt to saysomething meaningful, like shaking offraindrops from an umbrella. “And how am I supposed to believe that? If it was killing you, why wait so long to say anything to me? This isn't the first time we've been alone since being back, so don't say you've never had the chance.”

Her voice wasn’t sharp or angry, but itgrazed me just as deep.

I met her gaze, the weight of her hurt slamming into me. “You know I feelawful about how I treated you that night, right?”

Her head shook slowly , her eyes dropping to the green and white cheerleaderuniform before flicking back to me. “No,” she said softly. “But right now I’m not really sure I know anything.”

I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but stopped myself. She wasn’t ready to hear it. Not yet. Thewords were right there, clawing at my chest like they’d tear me apart if I didn’t get them out, but I swallowed them down anyway. If I said the wrong thing now, I’d only make everything worse. And I’d already done enough of that.

But this? Having her this close? Having her voice melt in my ears? It was a start.

My eyes flicked to the pleated skirt and crop top, trying to redirect the crushingweight between us. “What’s with the uniform anyway?” I asked softly, trying to keep my tone light.

She shrugged. “I’m helping a friend. And the school’s paying its cheerleadersnow. I could use the money.”

Her voice dipped on that last part, like she didn’t want to admit it.“Oh,” I murmured, my chest tightening.“How come?”

It was a thought she could have shot lightning from her eyes they snapped to mine that quickly. And this time,when she rolled them, there was firebehind it. Not the playful spark I loved seeing, but something fierce.

“Why do you care?” she shot back, her arms lifting by her side. “Is this some sympathy thing? Are you worried I’m gonna break like some pathetic little teacup?”

“ No, Rory, I don’t—”

“Because I’m not a teacup,” she cut meoff, her voice cracking. The sound of itwrecked me.

I nodded quickly, desperate to reassureher. “I know you’re not.” I stepped closer, even though I wasn’t sure if she’d let me. “You’re the strongest person I know—”

“Why didn’t you talk to me this much lastyear?”

The question hit me like a slap. My breath caught, and all I could do was stareat her, frozen.

I counted the golden flecks in her eyes,each one a little sparkling pond that Iwanted to drown in over and over again until she was all the air I needed. I traced the hidden smile lines on her face, the shadows of dimples that I could think about for hours. Her appley cheeks and their constant blush that only made it harder and harder not to admit that I had already fallen for this girl.

And all I could think was, you don’tdeserve her. She asked you out, and you sat there in silence.

You embarrassed her.

You made her feel like nothing.

“I don’t know,” I whispered finally, thewords tasting bitter on my tongue. Itwas pathetic, and I knew it. I wanted to fix this—fix us—but I didn’t even know how to mend something this delicate.

Her face didn’t change. No softening, no flicker of hope. Just disappointment. It hit me square in the chest, and I felt it settle there like a weight I couldn’tshake.

I w atched her eyes dull, as though the light hadlost its power. “Figures,” she muttered, and the finalityin her voice shattered something inside me.

She gave me one last look—just enough tolet me know exactly how much I’d hurt her—and then turned away.

Ten minutes later, and I was still stuck in that hallway with her—mentally, atleast. Her words played on a loop in my head, her voice breaking just enough to tug at something raw in me. But in reality, I was here, helmet on, stick in hand, smack in the middle of the lineup and ready to skate out.

And right before the lights dimmed, I made myself swear not to glance toward the cheerleaders. One look ather, and I’d be useless out here.