Page 31 of Lose You Twice

Not Wren.

I look away, annoyed with myself for hoping she was in the group just so I could see her.

“I know,” I say again.

Dane is quiet for half a beat. He hears too much for a guy on the phone.

“How’s the captain part going?”

“It’s good. We’ve got a strong room. Guys are bought in. Freshmen are adjusting.”

“And the newer transfer, Richards? How’s he fitting in?”

I look back toward the rink even though Coleson isn’t there.

“That one is a very large work in progress.”

“That means pain in the ass.”

“Can’t really argue with that. He’s talented, but he definitely doesn’t jive with the team just yet. I’m hopeful we can get there, but I guess time will tell.”

“Fair enough.” His voice softens slightly. “You still on track to graduate?”

“Yeah. Business requirements are done after this term if I don’t fail Strategic Management, which would be embarrassing enough that I’d have to change my name. Can’t say I’m excited to write a fifteen-page market analysis for my final while trying to win a championship.”

“Good. Finish the degree. Finish the season. Then we move our focus to Seattle and getting you on our ice.”

The words should settle me. Excite me, even.

Sometimes they do.

Seattle is the plan. The next step. The thing I’ve worked toward since I was old enough to understand that hockey could be more than early mornings and bruises, and my dad flooding the backyard so I could skate until my toes went numb. Being officially drafted to Seattle at the end of this season means all of this—the blood, sweat, and tears I’ve shed for this sport—has been worth something.

So why does the thought of leaving suddenly feel like another thing I haven’t learned how to do right?

“You still there, Mercer?” Dane asks.

Clearing my throat, I remember that I’m in the middle of a conversation. “Yes, sir.”

“I’ll let you get going; I know you have other things to do. But one last thing, Kai,” he says. “You don’t have to arrive in Seattle already perfect. We signed you because of who you are, not because we expect you to become a machine.”

My throat tightens in a way I don’t appreciate.

“I know,” I say.

This time, I try to mean it.

We hang up as I approach the business building. I stand there for a second, phone in my hand, letting Dane’s words sit uncomfortably under my skin.

I have class in seven minutes, film in three hours, treatment before that now, a quiz due tonight, and a future in Seattle that gets closer every day.

There is a list. There is always a list. The list is manageable. The list makes sense.

Wren Calloway is not on the list.

Which is probably why I can’t stop thinking about her.

By the time I get back to the apartment that evening, I’m running purely on caffeine, protein, and whatever stubborn chemical your body produces when it refuses to collapse.