Page 34 of Almost Ours
“I swear, he’s made a career out of cheap shots,” Shane muttered, shaking his head. “God, remember that game in Sudbury? When you fought him after he slashed Matty behind the play?”
I didn’t answer.
Shane grinned, nudging his pint in my direction. “Place went nuts. You were like a damn freight train. I think the bench cleared just to keep you from killing him. I still don’t know how you didn’t get fined for that.”
My jaw tightened.
“That wasn’t even your worst fight. Man, you lived in the sin bin,” Shane went on fondly. “Didn’t matter if it was a shove, a chirp, or someone looking at you sideways–you’d just drop the gloves before the refs even knew what was happening. And nine times out of ten, you didn’t just win the fight. You ended it.”
I gave a tight smile, keeping my eyes on the screen as Bennett skated to the penalty box like he owned it. The crowd continued to jeer, yet all I heard was the blood pounding in my ears.
“I can’t believe Bennet’s still out there,” Shane said, his tone shifting from amused to serious. “You could still be out there, too. If it wasn’t for…” He trailed off, letting the sentence hang. We both knew how it ended, and neither of us said it out loud.
My jaw flexed. “Yeah. Well. I’m not.”
He studied me for a second, like he was debating whether to push then thought better of it.
The truth was, I didn’t need him to say it. I saw it every time I thought about it–about the split-second that changed everything.
And maybe that was the real reason I walked away. Not just because of Kyle. But because the part of me that thrived on thefight–the part that wanted the blood, the roar, the chaos–was never going to quit until it broke someone else… or me.
I took a long drink of my beer, hoping it would dull the edge clawing up my chest.
That version of me–the one who threw punches just to feel something–was someone I tried hard to leave behind. Every now and then, though, especially in places like this, it clawed its way back up like it had teeth.
Winterfest was in full swing–orat least it would be in a couple of hours. For now, it was organized chaos as vendors, volunteers, and community members hurried around, setting up booths, stringing lights, and arranging displays.
“Harper!” Benny’s dramatic voice cut through the crisp morning air like a siren. “This is a disaster. A complete and utter disaster!”
I turned away from the small stack of sugar cookies I’d been arranging on the table to see him standing a few feet away, arms flailing as he squinted at the grey sky.
“What now?” I asked, trying–and failing–not to laugh.
“It’s going to rain!” he exclaimed, his hands flying to his head. “I can feel it in my bones. Mybones, Harper!”
I glanced up at the clouds, which, admittedly, did look a little ominous, but so far, not a single drop had fallen. “Benny, it’s not going to rain. The weather report said clear skies.”
“Do you think I trust a weather report over mybones?” he shot back, glaring at me as if I were personally responsible for the potential precipitation.
“Maybe your bones need to take a chill pill,” I teased, earning a scandalized gasp.
“Do you hear her?” Benny said, spinning dramatically toward Nina, who had just arrived with a box of decorations in hand. “She’s mocking me in my hour of need!”
Nina rolled her eyes but grinned. “Relax, Benny. If it rains, we’ll just move everything under the tents. Problem solved.”
Benny let out a deep, shaky sigh, muttering something about the world conspiring against him as he began rearranging cupcake trays for the third time.
I leaned closer to Nina, lowering my voice. “Is he always like that?”
“Every Winterfest,” she replied with a laugh. “He means well, though.”
The morning went on as Nina and I continued setting up the booth, doing our best to follow Benny’s increasingly dramatic–and often contradictory–directions. Between hanging signs, arranging baked goods, and repositioning decorations for the fourth time, we managed to get everything in place. Benny fluttered around us like a stressed out event planner, muttering about drizzle and wind and crooked tablecloths, while Nina and I exchanged amused glances and tried not to laugh too loudly. Despite the chaos, there was something oddly comforting about it all. The shared purpose, the laughter, the low hum of anticipation buzzing through the air as Winterfest slowly came to life around us.
I stretched onto my tiptoes, trying to hook that last string of lights onto the corner post of the booth. The wind tugged at the banner, and the plastic chair I was standing on wobbled just enough to make my heart skip. I reached again, almost there–
“Need a hand?”
The voice came from just behind me, low and familiar. I froze, then slowly glanced down to find Ryan standing at theedge of the booth, one brow slightly raised, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.
