Page 8 of Breakaway Goal

“So, overall,” the guy with the notebook is saying, “you’re optimistic that this won’t be a Larsen-free season for the Black Bears?”

I put two and two together: they must be journalists from the student paper interviewing Lane for the year’s first issue.Hockey is massive on campus, and the paper loves to run as many stories about the Black Bears as they can.

“Extremely optimistic,” Lane answers in his signature team captain voice. “I’m also optimistic that this won’t be a championship-free season, either. If not for this damn leg,” he playfully pats his right leg that he broke in the middle of the Frozen Four championship game last April, “we would’ve bagged it last year. There’s no way I’m leaving Brumehill College without hoisting that trophy over my head.”

That’s exactly what readers of the student paper are going to want to hear. Competitive pride beats in my chest at his words, because they’re exactly how I feel, too.

We had an incredible season last year. Everything was clicking. If not for Lane’s injury, I’m positive we would have won that championship game. Just standing here, my blood pumps thicker with determination.

It’s senior year for me, Lane, Hudson, and Tuck, and I know each of us is dying to go out on top.

“Alright, last question. Not hockey related,” the girl from the paper adds with a grin. “If you had to pick, which of your single teammates would you be okay with dating your sister?”

Lane laughs at the question—but I stiffen. The fine hairs on the nape of my neck stand up, and there’s an unsettled feeling in my stomach.

“None of them,” Lane answers jocularly.

Instantly, I feel my jaw muscles ticking. A bitter taste seeps into my mouth.

“Come on,” she urges, “you can’t think of even one?”

Lane responds with a good-natured chuckle. “No way.”

I tell myself he’s just giving them the right answer, the answer that’s going to make for the most amusing exchange when it’s printed. Lane always knows the right thing to say in any circumstance, after all. Always knows how to play his role.

Or … maybe he really feels that way. Maybe he instantly recoils at the idea of any player on the team dating his sister.

Me included.

Hell, there’s no maybe about it. That’s exactly what he thinks. And forget aboutme included—more like me at the top of the list.

Even though we’re best friends, he knows my background. What kind of neighborhood I come from. What kind of family I come from. He doesn’t want a guy like that for his sister. Hell, who would?

Frankly, it’s good to be reminded of that fact every now and then. It keeps my imagination from running away with me.

Lane stands up from the couch, beaming his pearly white team captain smile at the two student journalists. He shakes their hands and walks them to the door.

“Oh, Rhys!” he exclaims as they step past the couches.

I lift my chin. “Hey, bro. Just got back from my ride.”

Lane bids the two from the paper goodbye and closes the door behind them. It only stays shut for about two seconds before it flies open again, and Tuck and Hudson enter. They must be coming back from a run, because they’re both drenched in sweat.

Tuck, sweaty as he is, immediately steps uncomfortably close to me. I arch an eyebrow and flatten my lips at him.

“Rhys, who smells worse, me or Hudson?”

All I can do is blink at him mutely.

“Tuck,” Hudson groans, rolling his eyes.

“Come on, Rhys,” Tuck urges. “Me and Hud have money riding on this.”

“No, we don’t,” Hudson deadpans. “And stop calling me Hud.”

“Yes we do!” Tuck argues. “I bet you ten dollars that I don’t smell as gross as you when I’m sweaty after a workout!”

Hudson crosses his beefy arms over the sweat-stained front of his shirt. “And I never took the bet because it’s a ridiculous thing to even talk about, much less bet over.”

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