Page 20 of The Breakaway

After grabbing my food, I headed for the library. Food wasn’t allowed in the general areas, but snacks were okay in reserved study rooms. I walked in and filled out the sign in sheet, then settled in for the next few hours. I couldn't avoid the house forever, but damn, if I wouldn't try to stay away as long as possible.

I worked on my essay, my composition homework, then left the study room to do some internet searching and check my email. Crystal and Maddie had sent a few about the upcoming hockey invitational.

The Outlaws were defending home champs three years running, but without Logan, did they stand a chance? The tournament was a highlight of the year at Douglas U. The snowy tailgate parties, the packed stands, the epic post-game celebrations . . .

I smiled wistfully, remembering last year. Logan scoring the game-winning goal in overtime. The bonfire by the pond where we drank spiked hot chocolate and laughed until our voices were hoarse. That was what started all of this. Me and him. It was the night he gave me the playlist.

This year promised to be even bigger, but without Logan, it all seemed pointless. What was the fun in sledding down Pratt Hill on cafeteria trays without him? In shotgunning beers in the parking lot before sneaking into the arena? In slow dancing to Journey at the closing banquet?

By the time I walked home, the house was dark and quiet. I flicked on the light, half expecting Rob to be sprawled on thecouch even though I knew from past experience that he should be gone by now.

The door to his room was open. No sounds. I took off my shoes and hung my jacket, straightening my poppy pin on the lapel, and wandered into the kitchen. There was a note on the counter.

Plumber came by. Needs to order a part for the washroom. Won't be fixed for a while. I’ll use the washroom on campus before I come home.

Chapter

Eight

The phone buzzed justas I was slathering a thick pat of butter on my toasted English muffin, and my heart leaped. Logan hadn’t called the night before, and I was hoping this time he’d be less distracted.

“Hello?”

"Good morning, Sharla." Mom's voice sang through the speaker, and my stomach sank. What if he tried to call? We didn’t have call waiting,

"Morning Mom.” I tried to keep my voice down. "What's up?"

"Oh, just calling to firm up plans for your Christmas visit home. We can't wait to see you. When should Dad and I come pick you up from campus? We were thinking the Friday—your classes end on the sixth, right?"

I nibbled the edge of my muffin, considering. A whole month back home felt like . . . a lot. I loved my family, but being under their roof again, in my old bedroom with the N'SYNC posters still tacked to the walls, sounded stifling. Plus, if I left right when classes ended, I'd miss the invitational. Not an option. If I said there was a tournament, Mom would suggest they all come. Again, not an option.

"Actually Mom, I have some responsibilities for an invitational on campus that weekend," I fibbed, the white lie rolling easily off my tongue. I purposely left out the “hockey” part of that statement. "Could you pick me up Monday morning, the ninth, instead?"

Even though Red Deer was only an hour away, it might as well have been an alternate universe. Three weeks of Mom's doting, Dad's awkward jokes, and bumping into people from high school at the grocery store sounded like more than enough. This way, I could ring in the New Year back at Douglas with my friends and, more importantly, be here when Logan returned.

"Well, I’ll have to rearrange some plans, but. Okay. Monday the ninth it is." She only sounded mildly annoyed. I couldn’t ask for more.

We exchanged “love you”’s and I hung up, relieved to have successfully negotiated for some breathing room. I polished off the last buttery bite of muffin and strode over to the sink, feeling quite pleased with myself. Until I looked up and froze.

"Morning, sunshine."

Sunshine.I groaned internally. That was worse. So much worse. I never thought I’d find a day when I preferred the term “shithead,” but lo and behold, it had arrived. I thought I would appreciate him changing his ways and trying to get along, but now it felt like it meant something. Like he was doing itfor me.

Which I knew wasn’t true. He could’ve done plenty for me over the past six months, and he hadn’t. Nothing had changed. It was probably just pity.

Rob slouched against the hallway wall, arms crossed, dark hair sticking up at odd angles like some brooding anime character.How long had he been standing there?

I self-consciously patted my own mop of bedhead as he pushed off the wall and stalked into the kitchen, zeroing in on the coffee maker like a heat-seeking missile. "Responsibilities,eh?" He threw me a knowing smirk over his shoulder as he measured out the grounds. "Funny, I don't remember you mentioning working with the invitational before."

My face heated. “Mmm, I forgot. You’re an angel who would never lie to his parents." I busied myself wiping down the spotless counter to avoid making eye contact.

Rob hummed noncommittally and punched the brew button. The gurgle of percolating coffee filled the silence between us as we circled the tiny kitchen in a strange dance.

He was wearing a shirt. It was inside out and looked like it had been haphazardly yanked on, but still. My brain took in every detail like I was cramming for an exam.Don’t forget to memorize those low-slung sweats and bare feet, they’ll be on the final!

Rob turned and leaned on the counter. He blew out a breath, then glanced at my bedroom door. “Could I, uh . . . “

It took me a second, but finally, his words computed. He needed to use the washroom. “Oh, yeah. Of course. It’s all yours.”

---