Page 6 of Facing the Line

“Oh.” The woman smiles, green eyes—the wrong color—giving me a once-over. Her gaze catches on my Frozen Four t-shirt. “You’re on the hockey team. Jonas, right?”

“Uh, yeah.” I stick out my hand to be polite, and she shakes it, then doesn’t let go.

Her voice takes on a flirty purr. “I’m Jen. I love hockey players.”

Really? Because I’d guess what she loves is the clout that comes with hanging out with collegiate athletes or the potential of future payouts. Is she weighing my options, trying to decide what I can give her?

There’s a chance I could get signed with an NHL team. Do I want that? I didn’t enter the draft when I was nineteen because,well, I wasn’t good enough. But playing at Harrison the last two years, I’ve gotten better. Thanks to high-caliber coaching and strong teammates, I’m good. Really good. I’ve caught the eye of a few scouts. There’s buzz about me. It’s weird. I never thought I’d be recognized by girls on campus. It’s something other guys would kill for.

But do I want to play professional hockey? Or do I want a nursing job? That’s what I’ve always planned on, always saw for myself when I was younger. I thought it was a calling, that I should serve my community like my parents.

An athlete’s salary could provide financial stability for my family. I don’t know what my sister Emma is going to do after high school, if she will live with my parents forever. Wouldn’t it be nice if I gave them some options?

The thing is, I’m not sure I can have both. Nursing is one of the toughest degrees at Harrison, and not to brag, but the program only accepts about twenty-five percent of applicants. It’s intense. And so is hockey. It might take me five years to graduate, and if I’m going to focus on going pro, I don’t know if I should stay here for that extra year for a degree I won’t use. Not like I know how I’d pay for it, either. My hockey scholarship is the only reason my family and I can afford the out-of-state tuition.

But I got into a top fifty nursing program. I passed the first part of the HESI exam. In my gut, I know I’d make a great nurse. Shouldn’t that count for something?

All this flashes through my mind as Jen smiles and traces her thumb along my palm. Whatever she wants, I’m not it.

I extricate my hand, trying to be nice. “Enjoy the games this year. I’ve gotta go, though.”

I salute her—who does that?—and turn around, heading back to my dorm.

Maybe this Cinderella thing has gotten out of hand. That’s what I call my mystery girl in my head. The girl I met at the hotel after the Championship, when we talked, connected, and shared the best kiss of my life.

And then she left without leaving anything behind. No name, number, or glass slipper. I searched every face on campus when we got back in April, but I haven’t found her yet.

Am I obsessed? Maybe a little. But I’m not creepy. Next time I’ll stop before I grab a stranger. At least it hasn’t progressed to carrying around a shoe or putting up flyers on campus. I know I didn’t imagine the chemistry between us. I’d like to talk to her again, spend time with her. A lot more time, if I’m being honest.

So while I won’t tell Evan—my best friend and the only person who knows about Cinderella—about today’s mishap, I still have hope. Harrison boasts over 40,000 students. Sure, it’s like finding a needle in a haystack. But I know she’s a hockey fan. Maybe I’ll see her at a game this year.

That puts some pep in my step. Cutting across the grass, I let myself into Hockey Hall, the nickname for my dorm. It’s apartment-style, with four bedrooms and four bathrooms in each unit, centered around a living room and kitchen. Right across the street from the hockey arena, it’s a convenient spot for all my teammates to live.

I take the elevator to the third floor and use my key code to let myself in.

And stop short. My heart pounds and my palms get sweaty. Am I hallucinating?

Because perched at my kitchen table is Cinderella.

Her blonde hair gleams in the afternoon light. Her blue eyes widen as they meet mine, as surprised as I feel.

My roommate Hunter peeks his head out from the refrigerator. “Oh, hey, Jonas. Have you met my sister Hadley yet?”

Sister. My feet are frozen on the doormat.

He keeps talking, unaware of my reaction. “Hadley, this is Jonas. One of my roommates. He’s on the hockey team.”

Hunter’s sister. That explains why her eyes were so familiar. Why didn’t I make the connection before? Hers are the exact same shade of vibrant blue as his. Her hair is blonde where his is brown, but I see the similarities now. They both have the same straight nose, the same strong jaw.

Things happen in slow motion. Hunter gives his sister a glass of water. Hadley doesn’t speak, doesn’t unglue her gaze from mine, and the tumbler slips through her fingers and shatters on the ceramic tile.

The sound breaks the spell.

“Shit,” Hadley whispers as we all drop to the ground. She reaches for the largest shard of glass.

“No, don’t—” I try to stop her, but she sits back on her heels, blanches, and holds up bloody fingers.

“Don’t touch it,” I finish, not fast enough. “You might get hurt.”

---