Page 38 of Breakaway Goal

I needed that.

It’s like I’ve been carrying a giant bookbag filled to the brim with thick science textbooks all day long, and I finally just got home to let it drop from my shoulders.

Minutes tick by as I lie in my bed, savoring the feeling of release. Slowly, outlandish fantasies about Rhys start to recede. I remember the first night Jasmine and I spent at the hockey team’s house, and the goal I set for myself that night.

Actually experiencing the kind of things I just fantasized about.

Obviously, though, not with Rhys Callahan.

Maybe with a guy from one of my art classes. Maybe a guy I meet at a party I go to with Jasmine. Or even a guy I strike up a conversation with at a bookstore or a coffee shop.

Okay, that might be farfetched given my social anxiety, but a girl can dream, right? I’m working on turning over a new leaf this semester, after all.

Just days ago, I was excited by the idea.

But now, right after making myself come to thoughts of Rhys, the idea of it happening with anyone else only feels like disappointment.

18

RHYS

Iskate backward as Tuck barrels toward me, swiveling the puck in front of him. As I get close to the empty net behind me, I slow down, letting Tuck’s speed close the distance between us.

My brow is knit, eyes narrow and tense with concentration. I have to keep my attention on the puck, Tuck’s stick, and his body movements to anticipate any sudden dekes or fake outs.

Suddenly, Tuck swivels his hips like he’s going to break to my left—but his skates don’t turn the way they should if he were committing to the move.

Instead of buying it, I take advantage of the split-second he’s off-kilter to surge forward, bodychecking him shoulder to chest and forcing him to lose control of the puck. I snag it and pivot to my right, skating past him with the puck and winning the drill.

I scoop the puck onto the blade of my stick and bounce it in the air as I turn back to Tuck with a satisfied smirk. “You thought a rookie fake deke like that was gonna fool me?”

Tuck’s smile is tight with competitiveness. “We’ll see who looks like a rookie on this next drill, Callahan.” He taps his stick against the ice, signaling for me to pass. “Puck me.”

I roll my eyes as I slide it across the ice. “Do you have to say it like that?”

“We both know that I do.”

We go hard on this drill for about twenty minutes, getting the better of each other at turns.

On the other side of the ice, Lane’s coaching Jamie on some of the finer points of playing defense in behind the net situations. Lane isn’t cleared to take an active role in practice yet, but he can at least put on his skates and watch from a distance as Jamie teams up with Jackson, one of our third-line defensemen, to take on Carter and Sebastian.

Tuck and I are taking a break, leaning on the dasher boards as we shoot the shit, when my gaze latches onto something that pulls my attention away while Tuck’s mid-sentence.

Summer, Olivia, and Maddie just walked in through the stands to watch the practice. And they’re all wearing jerseys.

Of course, Summer is wearing Hudson’s jersey, and Olivia is wearing Tuck’s. But at the moment my eyes fall on them, Maddie’s angled in a way that I don’t immediately see a name or a number. I just see that she’s wearing a Brumehill Black Bears jersey.

Unbidden, the idea that she’s wearing my jersey blossoms in my head, and it makes my heart leap against my chest.

I know she isn’t. She never has. She wears her brother’s jersey. Obviously.

Fuck, though, just the thought of her in my jersey. My number on her chest. My last name on her back. My breath hitches in my throat as I picture it.

It’s a dangerous picture, because I like it way,waytoo fucking much.

Then she turns. Sure enough, the name embroidered on the back is Larsen.

I knew it would be, but still, after seeing reality compared to the image in my mind, I can’t stop my chest from sinking in stupid disappointment.

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