AT TWELVE I took up swimming solely to piss off my dad, but by some miracle, I fell in love with it.
My mom would take me to competitions and my dad would try to entice me with a new pair of ice skates. It never worked, but I stared at those skates for hours after. Lately, when that sour taste in my mouth becomes heightened, the cold water takes me far away from the thoughts.
Mehar Chopra, one of the athletes on the Dalton diving team, let me borrow a key to the facility to use after hours. If you aren’t an NCAA athlete, you aren’t allowed to use it, but luckily for me, I helped her pass her statistics final last year, and we’ve been friends ever since.
Finishing my last lap with burning arms and cramping calves, I pull out of the water before the afternoon rush. After changing out of my wet bathing suit, I check my phone.
Dad – Two Missed Calls.
A call from him always sends me into this spiral where I wonder if I’m a shitty daughter who’s holding a dumb grudge, or if my silence is valid. His first call came early this morning and I ignored it until now. Until I see the text from him that reads, Give your dad a call, Sunshine.
I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until I’m lightheaded. Speaking to him would ruin a perfectly good day, so I ignore the text too. I finish drying my hair, and my phone rings so incessantly, I already know who it is. There’s only one person who doesn’t understand what a missed call notification is for.
“Sometimes I think I’m mistaken that I have a daughter in college because I’m sure my kid would at least call me.”
“We talked yesterday, Mom.” Divya Preston has the propensity to exaggerate. I fight the urge to fake a disconnect as I head over to the cafeteria for lunch.
“That’s too long,” she says stubbornly. “Your father said you haven’t returned his calls. He hasn’t heard your voice in months.”
My mother has the propensity to make my ears bleed, too. “He can listen to my voicemail.”
“Your radio silence is not appreciated, beta.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “You can’t blame me for not wanting to talk to him.” I’ve been away from home since I was eighteen, with the occasional travel back for the holidays. However, I stopped going home then too, because seeing my dad pretend we were a happy family left a bitter taste in my mouth.
“I don’t, but he’s making an effort to have a relationship with you. Your sisters have seen that change in him. You can at least try.” It took him ten years to want to try. “He loves you, Summer.”
Her words curdle like milk in my stomach. My father can’t even say the word love, let alone feel it in any capacity, at least not for me. He loves my mother in every meaning of the word. I grew up with their love suffocating the room, while I yearned for a morsel. Except I realized that it didn’t belong to me. Not to the baby they had at eighteen who almost derailed my father’s hockey career. Definitely not the oldest daughter who has too much to say and isn’t afraid to want better for her sisters.
“I’m sure,” I mutter as I pay for my food.
“How about dinner? We can swing by Bridgeport. I’ll make your favourite sweets.”
She knows my weakness for her gulab jamun. “It’s my last semester, I can’t just take a break in the middle of it.”
“Fine, then during spring break.”
“Sure,” I say in acquiescence. “I’ll call you later, Mom.”
“Talk to your father!”
By the time I make it to class, there’s only one empty seat at the top. The walk across campus and now to the top of the sweltering lecture hall, has me huffing and puffing. It’s the four hours of sleep and the empty tea box that has my mood a lot hotter than usual. I’m barely hanging on as we get to our break with two hours still to go. The pencil in my hand is moments from snapping when someone pulls out the chair beside me.
“Hey, Summer,” Kian Ishida chirps, sitting way too close.
I glance at him. “Hi.”
“You’re gloomy for someone with that name.”
“Haven’t heard that one before.” I turn away, but Kian’s gaze continues to warm my face.
“Can we talk?”
I look up at his sincere expression and tone down my irritation. “Sure.”
“So, I heard about your assignment. If Aiden doesn’t help with your project he’ll be on probation, and considering you study sports you should know how much it would suck for the captain to be gone.”
I raise a brow. That guy seriously won’t quit. First the dorm, now sending his friends to me? “What are you, his lackey?”
“Teammate, best friend. Either or.” He smiles, not even slightly offended. “Seriously, I know he’s an idiot but if you could reconsider.”
“You just called him an idiot. Why would I want him on my project?”
“Cause he’s your only shot to get into the program.” How the hell does he know that? My plan to create an alternate proposal failed. I knew it when Shannon Lee came fuming out of Langston’s office after trying to get her to take back the ultimatum. I tossed my alternate proposal in the trash and got the hell out of there. “How do I know that? I have my ways, Sunshine.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Sorry,” he apologizes. “Look, you’re super smart and you can totally figure out something else, but we need this. The team is ready to help in any way.”
I perk up. “The whole team?”
“Yes, as long as you let Aiden in. He’s a good guy and you’ll find that out soon enough.”
“Are we talking about the same guy? Because the one I met insulted my career and told me he wasn’t my research experiment.”
He winces. “It sounds a lot worse when you explain it like that, but his intentions are pure.”
“You can save that for his best man speech.”
“He’s a genuine guy,” he argues.
“And let me guess. He saves cats from burning buildings in his spare time?”
His lips twitch. “Look, he might be intense at first but he’s the nicest dude you’ll ever know. Coach is pissed at him for the parties, but those weren’t his fault. Since he’s been captain he makes sure we stay within our limits. The only reason he loosened up is because the guys were having a hard time at home, and he didn’t want them to lose a place where they could forget about all that.”
He must see my softening gaze because he continues. “He would kill me for telling anyone this, but he’s the same guy who got a job freshman year to pay my fees when my dad died. I would’ve lost my spot here when I left for Japan, but he told me I got financial aid.”
The murmur of the class stops, and our heads turn to Professor Chung who resumes the lecture.
“Think about it?”
My eyes move to Kian again, and I find myself nodding. My focus is shot, so I spend the rest of the lecture finishing my proposal. Just ten minutes after the lecture I’m pulling into the hockey house driveway.
As I climb the steps, Eli Westbrook walks out the front door. The only reason I know his name, despite my stance to not know any college athletes, is because at one of the parties last year he made sure everyone got home safe. That included him personally driving home at least thirty students. One of them was a very drunk Amara who swears she fell in love with him that night.
“Hey, is Aiden here?” I ask.
Eli’s head tilts with curiosity when he sees me. “He should be. Come in.” He unlocks the door. “Upstairs, first door on the left.”
The house is unexpectedly tidy considering they host frequent parties. The faint smell of sweat and alcohol is still fresh in the air, but I suppose that’s soaked into the walls.
When I knock, I step back but hear nothing. Impatience riddles me, so I knock harder. Then again, briefly halting with hesitation, before easing the door forward.
Aiden’s room is bathed in shadows from the glow of a flickering candle. Who would have thought the captain studied by candlelight?
“I’ve been waiting for you all day,” a sultry voice purrs.
I freeze, my gasp catching in my throat.
Naked. So, so naked.
A girl lies on Aiden’s bed, whipped cream covering the apex of her thighs and nipples, a bowl of strawberries sitting on the nightstand. When I make a garbled noise, her eyes find mine and she screams, sending me scrambling backwards to hit a dresser.
“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” I rush out. Just as I’m going to bolt down the stairs, I bump into someone. A very hard, warm-chested someone.
I stumble back to see Aiden staring at me, concern marring his striking features. He looks irritatingly perfect with his sharp bone structure and full lips. “You good?” he asks.
My eyes are still wide and I have to physically remember to blink them. “Fine,” I squeak.
He looks to his bedroom door. “Were you in my room?”
“Thursday,” I state, ignoring his question. “Our first session We’ll meet at the rink.”
His entire face lights up. “I’m in?” He takes a step forward like he’s about to hug me but stops when I take one back. He clears his throat. “What changed your mind?”
Kian’s little speech had a lot to do with it, and when I look at Aiden I know Kian wasn’t lying. There’s something about his eyes that makes me believe it.
“Your desperation,” I say instead.
“Pity? I’ll take it.” He beams.
I purse my lips to keep from smiling. “Don’t get too comfortable, you’re on thin ice.”
His expression grows tight like he’s annoyed at the comment. But when his bedroom door creaks our attention shifts to the girl, melting whipped cream not doing a great job of staying in place.
Aiden rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish look. The tips of his ears go a little pink and I’m fascinated that Aiden Crawford feels even slightly embarrassed. The girl’s really pretty and completely naked. You’d think he would be parading around the fact that he’s constantly getting laid.
Before he can give me an explanation I don’t want, I bolt down the stairs.
THURSDAY ROLLS AROUND, only for me to regret each step I take toward the cold rink. On the secluded ice, I hear the swish of a puck hitting the net.
Aiden is so focused he doesn’t notice me by the ice waving at him. The raw talent is visible in the way he moves like he’s not breaking a sweat. The contour of muscles in his back ripple under his tight shirt.
“Aiden!” I call but he doesn’t turn.
So I try again, louder this time. Still no response.
I had allotted one hour for our meeting and a second over will mean barely catching up on the sleep I’ve lost this week. Groaning, I do the one thing I didn’t think I ever would again. I trudge over to the spare equipment room and grab a pair of beat-up skates. They’re too tight, and my ankle feels all wrong. The simple act of tying the laces makes my chest swirl. I desperately push away the memory of putting skates on for ten years of my life to skate with my dad.
I glide onto the ice with a rusty form, as Aiden speeds through drills.
“Hey,” I call when I get closer, though he only sends another puck flying. Fed up, I tap his shoulder to get his attention. “Crawford!”
When he spins, I’m standing way too close because his elbow hits my shoulder, throwing me off balance. I scream and fall to the ice, my back taking most of the brunt, and my head being spared from hitting the ice. The thought of my skull cracking causes a shiver to roll up my spine. There was a video circulating last year of a Dalton figure skater cracking her skull on the ice at the Olympics. Since then, even stepping foot on Dalton rinks without a helmet meant getting your head chewed off by staff.
“Shit. Are you okay?” Aiden asks, pulling out an earbud. “I didn’t hear you.”
“Fine,” I mutter, still lying flat on the ice.
His concern dampens when he hears my tone. “If you don’t know how to skate, they keep cones for the kids right over there.”
“Very funny. I can skate just fine.” I wipe ice from my thighs. “I could probably beat you in a race.”
He’s looking down at me with amusement. “Beat me? You’re literally still on the ground from falling.”
He offers his hand but I scramble up on my own. When I regain my balance, I stare into his eyes. “Scared?”
“For you? Yeah.”
I shoot him a blank look.
“You’re serious?” he asks, his tone disbelieving.
I nod.
“What’s the bet?”
“That I win.” An overstatement that I regret as soon as I voice it. I’m confident, not stupid, but right now his smug face is challenge enough. Even if I may not be able to walk tomorrow.
“I only play for stakes.”
Seriously, is he some kind of gambler? “Fine. If I win…” I think for a bit, then smile. “You have to agree to anything I suggest during our sessions without complaint.”
His jaw hardens and I smile knowing I have him. “And when I win, you’ll tell Coach I was so great, your research is complete early.”
My jaw drops. There was way too much work to do. Too many questionnaires and assessments to complete. There is no way I could produce accurate results on my own. “But that’s not possible.”
“Scared?” He throws my words back at me.
I grind my teeth to stop myself from making an insolent comment. I almost deny him, but his cocky smirk makes me clench my fists and remember exactly why I don’t like hockey players. “Fine. I’m going to win anyway.”
His low chuckle ghosts over my skin. “And they say I’m cocky.”
“Confident,” I correct.
That makes him smile wider, and I ignore it to skate to the boards. “Straight shot to the other end?”
“Yeah,” he says but he still doesn’t put his back against the boards.
“Ready—”
“Helmet.”
“Huh?”
“Put on a helmet or we’re not doing this.”
“You’re not wearing one,” I accuse. “Is your massive head made of steel?”
“I can manage not cracking my skull open. You, on the other hand, I’m not so sure.”
I scoff. “Well, too bad because I don’t have one.” I should really put one on. After attending that brain dysfunction seminar last semester, I know better than to compromise my brain health.
Aiden turns to grab something from behind the net. “Here.”
I stare at the helmet in his hand. It’s not a cage and instead a visor they wear for some practices. “How is my head going to fit in your helmet?”
“Better than slamming your bare head on the ice.”
Reluctantly, I take it from him and pause before allowing it to touch my hair. “Just so you know, you’re ruining my hair-wash schedule.” He gives me a blank look as if my hair health is of the least importance to him. On my head, the helmet hangs loosely providing very little protection. It’s on the verge of tipping off.
“Tighten it,” he says pointing to the buckle.
“I did.” I forcefully tug on the strap.
He lets out a breath and skates to stand just a few inches from me. He’s so close that I can smell his clean scent as he towers over me. How he manages not to smell disgusting is beyond me. If the locker room is any indication of how bad hockey players can stink, he’s an anomaly.
I’m staring right at him when he straightens the helmet. His eyes are almost hypnotizing and I can hear the chant in my head to look away. The green looks hazel around the edges, with specks of gold scattered throughout. When he brushes my hair out of my face, I snap out of it.
“If you pull on the left strap, it gets tighter,” he explains, tugging on it. “Should fit right under your chin.” He secures it as much as he can. “Good?”
I nod.
He skates backwards. “On three.”
We push off the board after the countdown and shoot across the ice. He’s fast. Insanely fast. I start to wonder why I thought I could win against a D1 athlete. Especially since the last time I skated was years ago. My legs burn from only a few strides. My eyes aren’t doing a great job of focusing on the finish line. Instead I watch him move like lightning, and that’s when I trip on a divot in the ice.
The squeak that leaves me must reach his ears because I hear the scraping blades before I hit the ground. Again.
I’m reminded that head protection is very necessary, especially when my helmet cushions the blow when I fall. Other than my very fragile pride, I think I’m fine when Aiden kneels beside me.
“Fuck, that seemed bad. Are you hurt?” His cold hand slides to the back of my neck to lift me up. “What day is it?” he suddenly asks.
There’s no way I hit my head hard enough to need a concussion check. I’m mostly worried about how soaked my new leggings are. “I don’t have a concussion.”
“Humor me.” Traces of concern bleed through his calm voice.
“Thursday.”
As he’s asking the questions, I realize that he technically hasn’t won yet. And neither have I lost. Biting down the smile that begins to bloom at the thought, I let him lift me off the ground.
“Where are you right now?” He continues when I stand.
“Staring at your big ass head,” I say before I turn and bolt, using every muscle in my body to my advantage.
Aiden calls after me before his skates scrape the ice. Fast. My body burns, but I’m so close I can taste the damn boards. I don’t look back, afraid that even one look will cost me.
