Something akin to pain flashes on her face, and suddenly I’m reminded of Brenna’s insinuation that Hazel has feelings for me. There’s no way that can be true, though. Wouldn’t she have given some indication of it in all these years? Before Brenna planted the idea in my head, it hadn’t crossed my mind, because Hazel never once acted like she was into me.

“That’s a big deal,” she says quietly. “Being in love for the first time. This entire thing is monumental whether you want to admit it or not.”

“I wouldn’t call it monumental.”

“You’re in a relationship. Relationships are huge.”

Christ, I wish she’d stop using words like huge and monumental. “It’s really not the big deal you’re making it out to be,” I say awkwardly. “We’re just going with the flow right now.”

My friend snorts. “The mantra of fuckboys everywhere.”

“I’m not a fuckboy,” I return with a dark scowl.

“Exactly. You’re not. Which means this isn’t about going with the flow. You’re in this. You’re dedicated to this girl, and that is a big deal, because you’ve never been in a real relationship.” She sips her coffee again, watching me over the rim. “You sure you’re ready for this?” she asks, her tone light.

My palms are unusually damp as I pick up my own coffee cup. “I can’t decide if you’re purposely trying to freak me out,” I say dryly.

“Why would you be freaked out? I’m simply asking if you’re ready.”

“Ready for what exactly?” I ask, then release a clumsy laugh and hope she didn’t notice how confused I sounded just now.

She’s right—I haven’t been in a real relationship before. I’ve fucked a lot of women. I’ve had some flings that lasted a few weeks or months. But I never developed deep feelings for anybody until Brenna. I never wanted to say the L-word to anybody until Brenna.

“Jake.” There’s a note of pity in her voice, which gets my back up. “Relationships are work. You realize that, don’t you?”

“What, you’re implying I’m incapable of working hard for something?” I roll my eyes and point to my chest. “Hello, going to the NHL over here?”

“Which raises another issue,” Hazel says. “And tell me, how is that going to affect this relationship? She’s a junior. She has another year at Briar. And you’re going to be in Edmonton. How exactly is this going to work?”

“People make long-distance relationships work all the time.”

“Yes, they do, but those are even harder. Now we’re talking about twice the work. Twice the effort to try to make the other person feel like they’re still a priority for you even though they’re in another country. And now we’re at our next issue—how can she possibly be a priority when you need to be focusing on the new job?”

An itchy sensation crawls up my spine. Hazel raises some good points.

“Which brings me to my last concern,” she announces, as if she’s presenting a thesis titled Why Jake Connelly Will Make A Shitty Boyfriend. “Hockey is your life. It’s all you’ve ever cared about. You’ve worked your ass off to get to this point. And I still have reservations about Brenna. Despite what you think, I still think she had an ulterior motive when she got together with you.”

“You’re wrong,” I say simply. At least that’s the one thing I’m certain about. Everything else…not so much.

“Fine, maybe I am. But am I wrong about the fact that you spent, what, seventeen years concentrating on hockey and preparing for this moment? You’re about to make your professional hockey debut. I guarantee that a long-distance relationship will distract you, and it’ll frustrate you, and you’ll end up spending an inordinate amount of time thinking about this girl and obsessing and assuring her you still love her when she reads articles or sees pictures on the blogs of you and whatever puck bunny throws herself at you that week.” Hazel shrugs, cocking a brow at me. “So I repeat, are you ready for this?”

35

Brenna

I’m just grabbing my coat in the entryway when Jake walks into the apartment. I hadn’t even realized he was on his way home, so his sudden appearance startles me. “Jeez!” I exclaim, laughing in relief. “You scared me.”

His gaze softens. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“How was practice? Is Pedersen royally pissed?” I still feel awful that Jake was late this morning. Obviously it’s not entirely my fault—it takes two to tango-bang. But if I’d remembered he had morning skate, I would’ve made a point to shove him out of bed.

“Yeah, he was none too pleased. Worked me extra hard, but I deserved it.” Jake shrugs out of his jacket and hangs it up. Then he rakes both hands through his hair. “I take it you haven’t gone to see your dad yet?”

“No. I was actually on my way out now.” I texted Dad to let him know I was coming, and his response was I’ll be here. With my father, that could mean I’m here and ready to talk, or I’m here to yell at you some more. It’s really a crapshoot.

“Do you need to leave right this second or do you have a minute to chat?”

I refrain from furrowing my brow. Chat? And why does he keep running his hand through his hair? Jake’s not usually so fidgety. Anxiety flutters in my stomach. “Sure. I’ve got a minute. What’s up?”

He heads into the living room, gesturing for me to follow. I do, but I don’t feel great about it. Because now I’m noticing the slump of his shoulders. He’s lacking his usual confidence and that worries me.

I allow the concern to surface. “What’s going on?” I ask quietly.

“You know I was late for practice today,” he starts.

Didn’t we just go through this? I study his troubled expression. “Right. You were late, and…?”

“So it was a disservice to my team.” His long fingers comb through his hair again. The dark strands are becoming increasingly rumpled. “We’re one game away from potentially playing in the Frozen Four. Two games away from potentially winning the whole damn thing.” He bites his lip. “I can’t afford to be late for practice.”

Guilt floods my body again. “I know. I guess what we can take away from this is…no more morning sex?” I offer in a lame attempt at a joke.

Jake doesn’t even crack a smile.

Uh-oh.

I lower my butt onto the arm of the couch. He remains standing.

“When the playoffs first started, I told everybody on the team they had to make sacrifices. I told Brooks he couldn’t party. Told Potts and Bray they couldn’t drink. Enforced a drink limit on the other guys.” He gives me a pointed look. “Forced McCarthy to end it with you.”

My stomach continues to churn.

“And they all did it without question. They put the team first.” He shakes his head, clearly miserable. “I used to put the team first, too. But I’ve completely lost my head since I met you.”

I’m starting to feel sick. I don’t need to be clairvoyant to know where this is heading, and I can’t fucking believe it.