Page 43 of Don't Puck His Best Friend
But knowing what the smart choice is and actually making it have always been two very different things for me.
I pick up my phone, stare at both message threads, and realize I’m in deep, deep shit.
19
The Party
Cole
Iarriveatthehouse on Maple Street fashionably late, which in hockey terms means I actually bothered to shower and change clothes before showing up. The place is already buzzing with post-game energy—beer bottles clinking, music thumping loud enough to rattle the windows, laughter spilling from every corner of the house.
We won tonight, 4-2, and the victory has everyone riding high. I can feel it in the air, the celebration that comes after beating a rival team on their home ice.
I gravitate toward the kitchen, comfortable positioning myself on the fringe of the chaos. It’s my usual spot at these things—close enough to participate, far enough from the center to avoidgetting pulled into whatever drama inevitably unfolds when you put twenty-something athletes in a house with unlimited alcohol.
A cluster of teammates has gathered around the kitchen island, still rehashing the big plays from tonight’s game. Marcus is doing an animated recreation of his second-period hit that sent their star forward sliding into the boards, complete with sound effects that make everyone laugh.
“Did you see the look on his face?” Marcus asks, grinning. “Kid probably saw his life flash before his eyes.”
“Clean hit,” Sirus adds, popping the cap off a fresh beer. “Refs couldn’t call it even if they wanted to.”
I join in the conversation, offering my own perspective on a few plays, but my eyes keep scanning the room. Looking for familiar faces, checking out who showed up, noting the usual party dynamics. It’s habit more than anything else—years of being the responsible one have trained me to keep track of where my teammates are and what kind of trouble they might be getting into.
I notice Liam across the room, leaning against the wall with his phone in his hand. He glances around once, checking to see who’s watching, then slips away down the hallway toward the back of the house.
I file it away—not suspicious, just noting it. Liam’s always been the type to have multiple conversations going at once, and it’snot unusual for him to step away to take a call or answer texts. Probably coordinating with whatever girl he’s seeing this week. Might not even be mystery girl anymore.
“Cole!” Sirus appears beside me with two drinks, one for himself and one for me. “Thought you weren’t coming tonight.”
“Changed my mind. Figured I should make an appearance.”
“Good call. These guys need a designated adult to keep them from doing anything too stupid.” He takes a sip of his beer, then grins. “Speaking of which, Maddie’s not here. She said something about trying to drag Harper along, but I guess that didn’t work out.”
The mention of Harper’s name does something to my chest that I’m not ready to analyze too closely. I’ve been thinking about her more than I probably should since Wednesday night—replaying our conversation over dinner, the way she looked when she beat me at that board game, the soft surprise on her face when she kissed me.
“Too bad,” I say, keeping my tone casual. “Would’ve been nice to see her again.”
Sirus nudges my shoulder with his elbow. “So? You two going out again?”
I shrug, not quite ready to admit out loud how much I’m looking forward to seeing Harper again. “Maybe. We’ll see how it goes.”
“Dude, she’s perfect for you. Smart, funny, not impressed by the whole hockey thing.” He grins. “Plus Maddie likes you, which means you’ve got an in with the family.”
Before I can respond, Liam reappears from wherever he disappeared to, looking like he just scored the game-winner. His hair’s slightly mussed, there’s a satisfied grin on his face that suggests his detour was worth whatever time he spent on it.
“Trouble?” I ask, using the nickname for the mystery girl.
Liam just shakes his head and laughs, that particular sound that means he’s pleased with himself about something. “Not her tonight, man.”
“Another one?”
He doesn’t answer, just leaves for a drink. I can’t tell if he was getting action or doing something he shouldn’t have been.
I watch the hallway for a minute, expecting to see some girl emerge looking equally satisfied, but the only person who comes out is a brunette I don’t recognize. She’s pretty in an understated way—dark hair, wearing jeans and a fitted top that suggests she’s not trying too hard to impress anyone.
Maybe that’sTrouble, and he’s lying to me to keep her to himself.
She heads toward the front door without looking back, and I notice she doesn’t seem particularly interested in sticking around for the party atmosphere. Smart girl, probably. These things can get out of hand pretty quickly.
