Page 129 of With the Assist

“Avery has sworn off hockey players, and she has damn good follow-through.”

The words don’t seem to settle Grayson at all. He mutters under his breath and walks off, but I don’t pay him any attention. My sole focus is on the woman who is sliding her arms around my neck.

We sit comfortably, watching the chaos unfold around us, stealing glances at each other and exchanging grins that make me feel like a kid with a crush.

When the noise swells and the lights dim for the countdown, she finally speaks.

“I’m happy you said yes to this arrangement,” she whisper-yells into my ear over the music.

I blink. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I know it’s almost over, but I’ve had more fun than I’ve had in a long time.”

For a second, the bar drops away. She’s on a bigger field. Bigger stage. Everything she’s been grinding toward. And I’m supporting her from the stands.

The fantasy cracks when I remember that I won’t be there to see it.

“Wes,” I say, and it comes out shaky. “I…”

“No, please don’t feel like you have to say anything.” Her smile breaks open. She has no idea what I want to say to her.

At the last second, I chicken out. “I’m having fun too.” I pull her into a hug without thinking.

She exhales against me, tension leaving her shoulders. Then she drops her arms, her careful distance returning. It’s not rejection, but it still stings.

I understand it. I hate it a little anyway.

I know what this costs her. I’ve seen the pressure in her house and in the way her father watches her as if every game is a verdict. I will not be the one to ask her to choose me anyway.

The countdown starts. The whole bar turns toward the screens, and the DJ starts shouting numbers like a general calling troops.

Ten.

This feels like a clock running down on more than a year.

Nine.

My mind nags on the staged breakup and going back to separate routines.

Eight.

I try to picture not texting her first after a game. It’s hollow.

Seven.

I try to think of having my freedom back and doing whatever I want.

Six.

She steps closer on her own.

Five.

Her palm rests flat against my chest. She can definitely feel my heart hammering.

Four.

I touch her jaw, slow enough that she can pull away. She doesn’t