Falling: Chapter 37

If somebody had told me a year ago that I’d be watching my sort-of-boyfriend play ice hockey, for fun and not be complaining, I would’ve laughed in their face. But that’s exactly what I’m doing, and I have the stupidest smile on my face.

I’ve always thought hockey was a cool sport. I even tried it out a few times in middle school, but it was the boys and the typical culture that threw me off sticking with it. There were too many rules that I didn’t understand, and I was too focused on skating to get into it.

After I finished practice, Miles insisted that I come to watch him practice. He’s been having FaceTime calls with my dad, helping him get back into the swing of things, which they’re both loving. It turns out my dad has a lot more knowledge and experience than he’s let on. I think he was nervous that Miles wouldn’t want to take any of his advice, but he’s been more than willing.

The girls and I are sitting behind the bench; Scarlett is on one side of me, her feet up against the board, Kennedy on the other, her legs crossed, drawing on her iPad, and I’m in the middle, strangely very invested in the game. I put my feet up to the board, leaning back as they huddle together while Coach Tucker explains some very confusing tactics to them.

Maybe it’s just because I’ve never seen Miles play in person. Or maybe I’m just finding an excuse rather than admitting that I could watch him here all day as he shouts at people on the team.

He hasn’t regained his captain status yet, but he’s acting like it. He’s barking out orders, getting himself riled up as he takes off his helmet to run his hands through his hair. I never thought this could turn me on, but the more time I spend around him, the more he continues to prove me wrong. It’s getting harder to pretend that everything he does isn’t attractive.

He looks so at home on the ice. It’s like he just belongs there, and I couldn’t be happier for him.

“Are you actually enjoying this?” Scarlett asks, completely horrified.

“I think I am,” I admit, unable to hide the smile on my face.

“Dick-whipped,” Kennedy murmurs, not looking up from the sketchbook she has on her iPad.

“I’m not,” I say back to her, but she shrugs. I turn to Scarlett. “I know Jake is an asshole, but didn’t you ever feel that way about watching him play? I mean, all hockey players are hot without even trying.”

She laughs. “God, no. I didn’t feel anything for him other than the way he did when he was inside me. I never went to see him practice. Those weren’t a part of the terms and conditions of our arrangement.”

“And what exactly was your arrangement?” Kennedy asks.

“The same as it always is,” Scarlett says. “We were just sleeping together, but when he started to parade me around because of my family, I called it quits. That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt when he cheated on me. That fucking sucks no matter who the person is.”

“I’m still really sorry about that. He’s just an awful person,” I say, remembering the way he acted at Sophia’s house for th e interview. The way his slimy gaze has landed on us too many times today. “You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to, you know? If seeing him is hard.”

“It happened a long time ago, Wren. I’m over it but thank you.” She sighs, leaning back in the seat and crossing her arms against her chest. “Besides, I like watching your boyfriend shout at him.”

We all look back to the ice, and Jake pushes Miles in the chest, but he doesn’t fall back. Instead, he pushes back, causing Jake to fall into a few other people on the team like dominoes.

“You better watch your mouth, Callahan,” Miles warns. His loud, deep voice echoes off the walls of the arena, and it runs right through my body.

“What are you gonna do?” Jake retorts. I inch closer toward the boards, trying to see them better. “Your girlfriend’s watching. You wouldn’t want her to see you get your ass handed to you, would you?”

Miles steps closer to him; my heart is racing, but Coach Tucker holds his stick between them, pushing them apart. “You guys better keep it friendly or else you’ll both be on the bench or the second line.”

I can hardly see their faces, but I’m assuming they’re glaring at each other as they skate away, getting ready to do the drills Coach Tucker has asked them to do.

“Also,” I say, turning to the girls, trying to keep my voice low as I resume our conversation. “He’s not my boyfriend. I don’t know what he is, but we’ve never actually talked about real labels.”

“Maybe you should before your manic brain starts to think of every possible thing that could go wrong,” Scarlett says, digging into a packet of M&M’s.

“Believe me, I’ve already started doing that,” I mutter.

“Do you want him to be your real boyfriend?” Kennedy asks.

“I want everything that comes with having a boyfriend. But we’r e both so busy.” I explain. “I just don’t think I’m emotionally and physically available for a relationship right now.”

“But are you physically and emotionally available for a fake one?” Scar asks.

I sigh. “It’s different when it’s fake. There are no real feelings at stake, and we know we have to make it work if we want to get what we want. When that becomes real, there’ll be more dependency and commitment.”

“Wren. I’m sick of you saying that your feelings aren’t real because they are,” Scar says. “You’ve slept with him. Correct?” I nod. “And you somehow find his personality charming?” She grimaces, and I nod again. “And he looks after you, you look after him, and he’s not the worst company to be around?” I nod. Again. “So what are you so afraid of?”

“Of it not working out,” I blurt out. “Of him realizing that I’m not what he wants.”

“I hate to sound like a cliché,” Ken starts, “but isn’t it better to have tried than not to have tried at all?”

“In movies, TV shows, and books, yes. But these are my real feelings, and there’s a very real possibility that if this becomes more serious, he’ll realize that this isn’t going to work out,” I say, feeling the weight drop off me the second the words pass through my lips. “We’re just taking it light and breezy.”

“Ah, yes,” Kennedy says in her posh British accent. “The classic light and breezy. What are you? Advertising a summer drink at Florentino’s? As a romance writer, you couldn’t think of anything better to determine your relationship status?”

We all laugh at that, and I force myself to bury those feelings down for a time when I can actually process them. Competition season qualifiers are coming up soon, and I need to work on perfecting my routine with Darcy.

We watch the team go through their drills, Miles taking the lead once again. I can’t tell if he just enjoys telling people what to do or if it’s actually part of his role .

They start to play a quick game, zipping up and down the ice. It’s hard to keep track of who is who with the amount of gear they have on, so I’m only guessing. Kennedy has finally put down her iPad, and Scar is doing the thing where she’s pretending that she doesn’t care, but I can hear her muttering under her breath every time Miles’s team misses the shot.

When Miles gains control of the puck at one end of the ice, he hardly looks up as he dodges the opposite team, moving quickly and efficiently. He looks so fucking hot as he does it. The other team has basically given up at this point, not even trying to defend his shot. But right before he has the perfect opportunity to get the puck into the goal, he maneuvers closer to where we are sitting and picks up his stick, pointing it right at me, and he winks.

He fucking winks at me.

Dimples popping out and all.

I almost die.

“This one’s for you, baby,” he says before regaining control of the puck again and hitting it straight into the net, right past Harry.

Half of me wants to scream in embarrassment as the rest of the team laughs, and the other half of me wants to get down onto the ice and kiss that stupid grin off his face. Instead, I sit there and smile at him, feeling on top of the world.

When they go back to playing, Scarlett leans into me, whispering, “Whether he did that for show or not, that boy is head over heels for you, babe.”

In some weird way, I think she might be right, and I’m right there with him.