Page 103 of Don't Puck His Best Friend
"He's going to get drafted if he keeps this up," I mention to Coach after one particularly impressive game.
"There’s potential for a few guys," Coach says. "Scouts have been asking about you and a few others."
The thought should excite me. Professional hockey has always been the dream. But all I can think about is Harper, and how going pro would complicate everything.
Mid-October, Harper and I are lying in bed on a Sunday morning, lazy and content. Her head is on my chest, my fingers tracing patterns on her arm.
"What are you thinking about?" she asks.
"The draft. What happens if I get picked."
"Cole, you're one of the best players in the conference. Scouts are watching you. You're going to get picked."
"And if I do?"
She props herself up to look at me. "Then you'll go play professional hockey and live your dream."
"What about you?"
"I'll figure it out. Maybe I'll move wherever you end up. Maybe we'll do long distance for a while. We'll make it work."
"You'd really move for me?"
"In a heartbeat." She says it so simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I love you. I want to be where you are."
"What about your career?"
"Marketing jobs exist everywhere. Hockey careers don't." She kisses me softly. "Besides, I'm pretty good at adapting."
"I don't want you to give up your dreams for mine."
"I'm not. I'm choosing our dream. The one where we're together."
I pull her closer, overwhelmed by how much I love this woman. "You're too good for me."
"And you’re good for me."
I smile.
We stay in bed for another hour, making plans and promises, building a future that feels real and attainable. When we finally get up, Harper makes coffee while I start breakfast—a routine we've perfected over the summer.
This is what I want. Not just the hockey or the degree or the successful career. This. Harper in my kitchen, a dog at our feet, a life we've built together.
By the time November rolls around, senior year has settled into a rhythm. Classes, practice, games, time with Harper. It's busy but manageable, stressful but good. I'm exactly where I want to be.
Liam keeps his distance, which is both a relief and a source of guilt. We used to be close—best friends, brothers in everything but blood. Now we're just teammates.
I see him sometimes, at parties or team events, always with a different girl. They never last more than a week or two. He's going through the motions, but I can see it's not real. Not the way what Harper and I have is real.
"You should talk to him," Harper says one night after she notices me watching Liam leave a party alone.
"And say what?"
"I don't know. That you miss him. That you want to fix things."
"Some things can't be fixed."
"Cole, he's your best friend."
