Offside: Rules of the Game Book 1
Offside: Chapter 12

The week was well underway, and I hadn’t heard from Bailey yet. Maybe I never would.

“You saw her again, didn’t you?” Tyler asked, pulling on his black undershirt. We’d hardly seen each other since the game on Saturday. He had been practically living on campus, working overtime on a group project for one of his accounting classes. Unlike me, his dedication to high performance on the ice also extended to his grades.

“Who?” I fought a yawn. Breakfast skates were brutal. Six a.m. was too early to be awake, let alone on the ice.

“The girl from XS. James’s sister.”

“How do you know that?”

“I saw you go up to her after the game, dumbass. Is that why you bailed on our place? And on meeting us at O’Connor’s?”

Avoiding his probing gaze, I grabbed my stick from the rack. It was trashed from the game on Saturday. I scraped it across the black rubber flooring near the doorway, removing any leftover tape residue from the bottom edge of the blade.

“Kind of.” I secured the black cloth tape to the heel of the blade and methodically wound it around, working over to the toe end. “It’s a long story.”

It really wasn’t. By the time I dropped Bailey off at home, it wasn’t even ten, and my friends were expecting me to meet them. But I wasn’t in the mood to get shit-faced at a pub while yelling to be heard over loud music. Maybe I was too sober to see the appeal. I got halfway there and made a detour for home instead, which marked the first time I’d stayed in on a Saturday in my entire college career. It wasn’t that bad, actually. And for once, I was in great shape for Sunday’s dryland training.

He smirked. “I bet.”

“Nah, not like that.” I ripped the tape off from the roll and rubbed the end down with my thumb so it laid flat against the blade.

“Why not? Couldn’t close?”

I shook my head, carefully smoothing the tape. “That wasn’t the point. We were hanging out as friends.”

“You. Friends with a chick.” He laughed, sliding a foot into one of his skates. “Right.”

“Why not?”

“Do you want the reasons in alphabetical or chronological order?”

“Hilarious.” I placed my stick back on the rack by the door. Sitting down on the bench, I grabbed my skates from my equipment bag and loosened the laces. “How was O’Connor’s, anyway?”

“Fine. Same old.” He reached over, attaching his skates to his red and white leg pads. “But speaking of female ‘friends,’ Kristen was pissed you didn’t come.”

I tightened my skates, glancing back up at him. “Why? I didn’t have plans with her.”

“She seemed to think otherwise.”

“I haven’t even talked to her since spring.” It had been well over four months, almost five. We weren’t a thing. Never had been. This was why repeat hookups were a bad idea.

And after what Kristen had done, she’d guaranteed there would be no encore.

Ty shrugged. “I never said chicks made sense. Just letting you know.”

I made a mental note to avoid her. Or to continue to, anyway.

“By the way…” He angled closer, lowering his voice. “Word has it there will be a couple scouts at the game on Saturday.”

I glanced around to see if anyone else was listening. They were too engrossed in some story that Justin, a sophomore defenseman, was telling. It involved a raw steak and male nudity. I didn’t want to know any more than that.

“How’d you hear about that?” I asked.

“I have eyes and ears everywhere.”

It was true. Ty was freakishly in tune with the goings-on of NCAA hockey; injuries, scouts, who was signing with whom. “I’m giving you a heads-up in case the intel is correct. I’m not telling everyone, though, so keep it between us and Ward.”

“Roger that.” We were playing New England U this weekend. They were having a hot start to the season so far, but maybe that was a positive; I generally played better against strong competition.

“Make sure you don’t choke.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said, standing up. “You’re a peach.”

“Anytime.”

After class, I headed to Starbucks downtown to meet my mom for coffee. She’d been called into the city last minute on a work emergency. Funny how she managed to come in for that but rarely ever to see me. I should have been used to it by now, but the sting never fully went away.

I walked up to the corner where she’d taken a table and two chairs next to a fireplace. She’d already ordered us both coffees. “Hey, Mom.”

She stood and wrapped me in a big embrace infused with her familiar floral perfume. “How are you, honey?” She held me out at arm’s length, inspecting me for a moment before releasing me.

“Good. How about you?” I pulled out the small metal chair and sat. My knees pressed up against the underside of the tabletop. The whole set, made for average-sized people at most, was about two sizes too small for me.

“Oh, keeping busy,” she said. “Work has been hectic, and Rick got a big promotion last month.”

“That’s great.” I tried, and failed, to sound like I meant it. My stepfather, Rick, and I weren’t exactly poker buddies. We had never gotten along. I was sure he would have greatly preferred if I didn’t exist. But he made my mom happy—mostly, at least—which was what ultimately mattered to me.

“How’s school?”

I avoided her eyes, pretending to be suddenly fascinated by the label of my drink. “It’s going.”

“How’s hockey?”

“Good.” She would know more if she ever came to my games. They lived roughly an hour away and hadn’t made it to one of my games since my freshman year. I wasn’t asking for every weekend, but once or twice a season would be nice. Sometimes our away games were even closer—but still, nothing.

Maybe it reminded her too much of my father.

“You know, it’ll be ten years in April,” she said, like she was reading my mind.

My throat tightened. “I know.” Well aware that my dad has been dead for a decade, Mom. Did she think I’d forget?

There was a weighty pause.

“Would you like to do something to commemorate the date? I could fly Sera down for the weekend…” She trailed off.

Would I? Honestly, not really. Did that make me a bad person? I wasn’t sure.

I always remembered April twenty-first—I just did it in my own way, which started with getting obliterated the night before. The timing worked out well because exams were usually wrapping up and everyone else was looking for an excuse to party. It was a win-win: numb the pain for the evening and feel too sick the following day to function, let alone have feelings.

My coping skills were top-notch.

“We could do a small memorial service for him,” she added. “Plant a tree in his memory.”

This tree suggestion was so left field for her. Although she was making an effort, which was a nice change of pace. But we weren’t a touchy-feely family by any stretch; we barely celebrated birthdays. Maybe she was back in counseling—the idea had therapist written all over it.

“I’m good with whatever you two decide. It would be nice to see Sera if she can get away.” Though I strongly doubted my sister would want to fly in from Arizona to stick a twig in the dirt.

She patted my hand on top of the too-small table. “It’s important to talk about him and remember him, you know.”

I stiffened and clenched the to-go cup, the cardboard collapsing slightly beneath my grip. Drawing in a breath, I tried to quell the irritation brewing in my gut.

“I know. I do.” I remembered him fine.

How he taught me how to skate; That he taught me how to shoot, how to deke, how to lift the puck; I remembered putting on his jersey and sprawling out on my parents’ bed to watch him play on TV.

And I remembered that the reason he was on that fucking helicopter was because he was trying to make it home for my hockey tournament.

When I arrived home a few minutes past five, Siobhan was in the kitchen, stirring something in a gigantic stainless pot on the stove. I wasn’t sure we even owned a pot that big, but maybe she’d brought it over. At this point, she was essentially our fourth roommate.

Siobhan glanced over as I came in the door. “Hey, stranger.” She took a spoonful of sauce and blew on it before she took a taste. Then she frowned and shook her head, snatching up a spice shaker from the granite counter. Whatever she was making smelled delicious, like garlic and Italian spices mixed with heaven.

“I miss one Saturday night, and you’re all acting like I defected to the other side in a war.” I opened the fridge and pulled an apple out of the produce drawer. “Where’s Ward?”

“He’s washing my car.”

Weird chore for him to take on, but sure. They’d been dating—or doing whatever they did—since May, and I stopped trying to make sense of their dynamic not long after. Shiv fed us a lot and was cool in general, so I couldn’t really complain.

“I’m making spaghetti,” she said. “It’ll be done in half an hour or so.”

“Nice.” I tossed the apple and caught it, lingering in the doorway to the kitchen. “Maybe you could give me some advice.”

“You’re right.” She stirred the sauce, then gave me a once-over. “That shirt and those pants don’t work.”

“Not that.” I glanced down at my jeans and black T-shirt. “But ouch. And good to know.”

“I was kidding. You live in jeans and tees, Carter. You’re safe from the fashion police. What was it?”

I hesitated. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up.

“Wait.” She set down the wooden spoon and narrowed her dark blue eyes. “Is this about that girl you’ve been talking to?”

Oh my god. How did everyone know?

“You know what?” I shook my head, backing out of the kitchen. “Never mind. I don’t even know what I’m asking, anyway.” I honestly didn’t. How to make someone text me? That was literally impossible. All I could do was wait, like I had been, while slowly going crazy…like I had been.

Not that I was into her as more than a friend.

A really hot friend.

Dammit.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“You didn’t,” I grumbled.

She tilted her head, studying me. “You know, this is a good look on you. It’s pretty adorable.”

“What?”

“You’re smitten,” she said. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell the guys.”

“No, I’m not.” I tore away from her gaze, sinking my teeth into the apple.

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say.”

After eating dinner with Dallas and Shiv, taking another shower, and wasting more time than I should have looking up sports stats, I reluctantly cracked open my laptop so I could work on my history paper. It wasn’t due for a month, which would normally mean I wouldn’t even look at it for roughly twenty-nine more days. But maybe scrambling at the last minute wasn’t an optimal strategy as far as my grades were concerned.

As soon as I opened Word, my phone lit up beside me. Lightning quick, I grabbed it. I should have ignored it and focused on the assignment, but maybe it was important.

Bailey: Hey, it’s Bailey.

Bailey: I never thanked you for taking care of me that night. You didn’t have to do that.

Chase: Well, I kind of did. But I didn’t mind.

Bailey: I’m sure you were happy to see that we lost again tonight.

Chase: Didn’t know, but ouch. The streak continues.

Bailey: You’re crushing us in the standings. Gonna need you to throw a couple games at this rate.

Chase: Sure, I have a price. It’s probably not even that high.

Bailey: I’m afraid to ask.

Chase: How are things? Any more weirdness?

Bailey: Eh, they’re so-so.

Chase: Well, you know who to call.

Bailey: Ghostbusters?

Chase: Or me. But maybe an exorcism would help break your losing streak.

Bailey: You’d better hope the tables don’t turn, chippy.

Chase: Don’t worry, they won’t.

I stared at my phone with a stupid grin plastered across my face. Maybe Shiv was right. Maybe I was smitten. But I had no idea what to do about it.