Puck Drills & Quick Thrills (CU Hockey 5)

Thankfully after tomorrow, this whole thing will be over.

West nudges me on the way to the door. “Come on, boyfriend. Let’s show off how hot you are.”

At least someone thinks so.

When I was growing up, Wilson was the kind of town that never changed. The same family-run stores on Main Street, the same events taking place every weekend, and the same faces, gossiping about the same old nonsense everywhere you turn.

Even twenty years later, progress has been slow around here. The throwback to my teen years doesn’t help with nerves, and as we follow the same route that I used to take to school, my palms start to prickle with sweat. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself that things are different now, I can’t stop that weight of overwhelming helplessness.

After the incident with my broken nose, it took my entire time in college to build up my confidence. It’s amazing that mere minutes are enough to wipe away all that progress.

West pulls into the parking lot, and my gaze snags on a welcome banner over the gym doors. I can just make out people moving around inside.

“Shit.”

He switches off the car and turns to me. “Repeat this: I am a badass motherfucker, and I give zero fucks what these people think.”

“I care entirely too much about what these people think.”

“You’re missing the point of this game.”

When I finally look over at him, I feel like I’m going to throw up. “Help?”

Instead of the sympathy I need, he chuckles. “If shit hits the fan, we’ll buy a bottle of vodka and go back to the hotel to get trashed.”

“I didn’t think you wanted to drink in case you need to rush home?”

“I don’t. That’s how confident I am we can do this.” He throws me a grin. “Now come on, hot stuff. No more hesitating.”

West jumps out of the car, and I sluggishly follow him. My gut is in knots, and the only thing that gets my feet moving is that tiny glimmer of hope that maybe these people have grown up, and the sight of West with me will be enough to impress them.

Needing their validation this badly isn’t healthy, I know that, but it feels like the final piece I need to move on. To look them in the eyes and have them know they didn’t beat me.

I square my shoulders and pick up the pace.

“There we go,” West says approvingly, then catches me completely off guard when he throws his arm around my shoulders.

Lust smacks me so hard in the face I quickly step away, and when he gives me a questioning look, I manage to get out, “Don’t want to look like we’re trying too hard.”

“I’m a touchy-feely guy. That’s how I am with friends, let alone boyfriends.”

It’s not how I am though, and the last thing I need when I’m already on edge is to be distracted by how hot West is. He’s right about the touching thing though, so I reach over and take his hand. “This okay?”

His fingers link through mine. “I can make it work.”

Holding his hand does nothing for the way his presence burns over my skin, but it does help anchor me. It’s a reminder of Colchester and home, and that after this weekend, I will never have to see these people again.

We reach a booth that has been set up at the entrance where Rachel McCreedie is marking off names. She says goodbye to the people ahead of us before turning her smile on me.

“Hello, ah …” She looks from me to West and back again. “I’m sorry, I seem to be blanking.”

Of course she is. It’s not like we shared four classes together. I try to hold back a sigh and wonder if anyone will actually remember me.

“Jasper,” I tell her, and she glances down at the list. “Eckstein.”

“Okay—oh!” Her mouth drops comically. “No way.”

“He got hot, right?” West says.

Rachel shakes off her shock, looking guilty as she hurries to hand me a name tag. “I’m so sorry, I … I didn’t recognize you. Go on in.”

“Thank you.”

West nudges me as we enter the gym, leaning closer to my side. “Did that feel amazing?”

“That I’m so easily forgotten? Not so much.”

“Excuse me, she didn’t forget you. She knew exactly who you were when you said your name.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“I mean, we can, but you’d be wrong. Her surprise makes me want to know what you used to look like.” He indicates a giant projector screen, hanging over the gym, with a slideshow of photos playing. “And looks like I’ll get my wish.”

“Don’t hold your breath. There wasn’t a single photo of me in the yearbook, so I doubt you’ll see one up there.”

He cringes, and I feel like asking him to imagine how I felt when I realized. I hated photos, avoided them usually, but I distinctly remember a few being taken, and when I’d flipped through that book …