Collide: A Hockey Romance

SLEEPING ON THE bus is a rarity when your teammates are impossibly annoying.

The three-hour bus ride back from Princeton has my head in knots. Quarterfinals, semifinals, and the tournament have been my only focus for the past three weeks. It paid off because winning regionals means there’s only one more game until the Frozen Four in Boston.

The only downside is that we’ll be up against Yale. And although we’ve beaten them once, they’re not to be underestimated. After a loss to them, Kian gets so drunk that he makes decisions he’ll regret for years. Tabitha was his last post-Yale mistake, and the year before he was suspended for streaking across Michigan’s campus. The aftermath never went over well with Coach, so he’s understandably desperate for this win.

When we hop off the bus and head into the locker room, Coach hands me a paper.

“You’re done with community service.” Today he allows a smile to sit easily on his face. “As much of an idiot you are for taking their fuck-up on your shoulders, I’m glad you stuck it out. Your research partner had a lot of good things to say about you. And so did I.”

I skim the paper. “They’re clearing it from my record?”

“Yes. But there will be a notice in your sealed file. If you or the boys even think of doing something like this again, I’ll make sure you never play again.”

“I won’t.” That is for damn sure.

He nods, pausing to pick up a towel from the floor and tossing it at an unsuspecting Kian. “Clean up around here, Ishida. This place is a fucking mess.”

Kian collects the dirty towel and tosses it in the bin. “I haven’t talked during practice for an entire month, and he still won’t relieve me of laundry duty.”

“It’ll happen soon enough, buddy. Only up from here,” I say, just as a jock strap flies past his face.

Kian’s death glare has our goalie backing away. He uses a hockey stick to toss the rotten thing in the bin, and I laugh. “You should be the last one laughing, Mr. Community Service.”

“Actually, Coach just handed me this.” I show him the paper that exonerates me.

“No fucking way. You’re done? I’m happy for you, man.”

“You should be. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for you and Dylan.”

“Hey, we said we were sorry. Plus, I think this is more than enough punishment.” He points to the large hamper. I agree. Having to launder those items was much more severe than teaching kids how to play hockey and working with a girl who’s the best thing to ever happen to me.

Dylan and Eli toss their things in the bin, saving Kian the job of collecting them.

“You just watch,” Kian says, “He’ll be begging me to speak when he realizes how boring it is around here.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” says Dylan. “Or, actually, do.”

“Watch it, or I might just forget to do your laundry.”

Dylan flips him off as we exit the building. “Is anyone heading to Boston tonight?”

I make a face. “For the Harvard party? Hell no.”

“I’ll come with you,” Eli offers.

I look at him as if he’s spawned a second head. The last place Eli Westbrook wants to be is at a party, especially one in Boston. “You want to go to Harvard? Didn’t you send their defenseman to the hospital?”

“It was a broken clavicle. He’s fine now.”

“Let me guess. You sent flowers to his hospital room and kissed his booboos?” Dylan taunts.

“No. I just paid for his medical bills.”

We’re laughing when we’re halfway through the parking lot, and I hear my name float behind us. I turn to see Donny Rai, dressed in a black sweater over a white collared shirt and perfectly pressed gray trousers. I gesture for the guys to go ahead.

“You look too happy to have gotten the news,” he notes, and his face fills with pleasure.

This can’t be good. “If it has something to do with you, you can save your breath.”

“As much as I love talking about all my achievements, this is much more entertaining. There was a break-in at the psychology building just before spring break. Turns out it’s being investigated, and there are a few suspects. In fact, they’ve made a list of Dalton students who could be responsible.” He stares at me as if I should care. “Would suck if they got caught.”

“What does this have to do with me?” I ask.

“You’re right, it has nothing to do with you. Unless you know whose ID I found on the floor of the building entrance.” He holds up a Dalton student ID.

Summer Preston. Fuck.

“Even someone like you might understand that breaking and entering is grounds for expulsion. Or worse.” The fucker is smiling, content with my reaction.

“You snitched?”

“I’m dropping by the dean’s office after my debate meeting. Just thought I’d do a good deed so you two can say your goodbyes.” His good deed is as transparent as plexi.

I jog to my truck, passing the guys. “Think you guys can hitch another ride?”

They exchange looks. “Yeah, no problem. Is everything okay?” asks Eli.

“It will be.” Before they can ask more questions, I’m speeding out of the lot. On the drive to the administrative center, I realize I am so embarrassingly in love with my girl that I’m certain if she knew the things running through my mind, she would laugh at me. It’s the kind of love that makes you do shit like run straight to her dorm after an exhausting ninety-minute game or power down an entire house full of people. Illogical and impulsive.

Now, I’m on my way to do another illogical and impulsive thing, or at least that’s how she would see it.

I barrel inside the administrative center, straight to the front desk. “I’d like to speak with Dean Hutchins,” I say, startling the secretary.

She assesses me. “I’m sorry, we can’t—”

“It’s about the break-in.” I cut her off.

Hesitantly, she calls to ask about a last-minute meeting and then looks at me. “You have five minutes.”