Famous Last Words: A College Hockey Romance (Holt Hockey Book 1)

I hit submit on my final assignment, and I’m done. Winter break starts tomorrow. When I come back to campus, it will be for my final semester of college.

“Yay! She’s finally done!” Eve cheers.

She insisted on coming to the library with me, just like she’s hovered ever since she watched me cry over the guy I always thought I’d be indifferent toward.

“So crazy we’re almost finished with college, huh?” Mary says.

I nod, not sure how I feel about it. Part of me is dreading graduation, leaving Eve and Somerville and everything that’s become familiar. The rest of me wishes it was tomorrow.

I haven’t seen Conor since my birthday, but he’s everywhere. The sweatshirt he left in my room. The way my bed still smells like pine and salt. The excited conversation two guys in my aquatic resources class had about how the hockey team won their game last night and how amazing Hart was.

Partly, I’m glad. Happy for him.

Mostly, I’m bitter. I wish he’d played the worst hockey game of his life. Not only because he was missing me, but as proof I wasn’t the problem. That he could be focused and lose.

But no. According to the guys in my class, Conor scored his first hat trick of the season. Three goals in one game. For the first time since freshman year, I didn’t read the game recap. I’m in the market for a new sport to follow.

“Ready to celebrate at Gaffney’s?” Eve asks.

I nod, hiding how apprehensive I am about it. I’m sure it’s where most people will end up tonight. Finals are over and winter break officially starts tomorrow. It’s the last chance to party and celebrate.

I haven’t gone out once since Conor ended things. Not just to avoid seeing him, but because I haven’t been in the mood. I used studying for finals as an excuse, one I no longer have.

Mary asks me about my upcoming trip to Ireland as Eve drives to Gaffney’s from the library parking lot. I booked my plane ticket a week ago.

Somerville isn’t the only place that has memories of Conor. I’ll stay in Claremont for Christmas, celebrate the holiday with the Garrisons, and then I’m eager to get away. To do something just for me, to push myself outside of my comfort zone.

Gaffney’s is packed, just like I expected it to be. But there’s no sign of Conor or any hockey players, which is a small relief. Maybe they have practice. Maybe he already left for break.

We manage to grab one of the hightop tables. A few of Eve and Mary’s other friends approach, and I spend a few minutes talking to Eric about our aquatic resources final. I’m relieved Eric doesn’t seem to have held our failed date against me.

A waitress comes to take our drink order. I ask for a hard seltzer, since Eve is driving. She promised me she was happy not drinking tonight. Even if she wanted to, we could walk home from here.

Our drinks get delivered right as the hockey team arrives. Fifteen guys, at least, and Conor is one of them. He’s talking with Aidan, running a hand through his hair and ignoring all the heads turned his way. Including mine.

I’m staring, and I don’t want to be. I don’t want him noticing he has my attention. I want to be fine, the way he looks. No dark circles, no ratty sweats. He’s smiling now, punching Aidan’s arm in response to whatever he just said.

All the sound around me gets muffled, like I’m suddenly underwater.

It takes Eve tapping my arm to get me to look away.

“Are you okay? You looked…” Her voice trails, and I know she’s seen what I was paying attention to.

They take one of the long tables near the bar, which remained empty even in the crowded space, like people were waiting for them to arrive. They might have lost one game, but they’re still the most dominant sports team on campus—by far. Even students who don’t follow hockey know exactly who they are.

The blonde waitress is over there now, right by Conor. I look away quickly. Right at Eve. Instead of sympathetic, she has her scheming face on.

I take a long drink and finally answer her question. “I’m fine.”

She leans forward. “Two can play that game, you know.”

“What game?”

“She’s drooling on him, and he’s letting her.”

“He can do whatever he wants.”

“So can you,” Eve tells me.

“You want me to flirt with a guy?”

“Or more than flirt with him.”

“Hook up with someone else? I don’t think I can do that.” The thought of having sex with a guy who isn’t Conor makes me feel nauseous.

“Don’t actually hook up with him. Just sell it. Show that dick what he’s missing.”

I edited out the Garrisons when I told Eve about Conor breaking up with me, and I’m worried she landed a little too firmly on Team Harlow as a result. In her mind, Conor dumped me for hockey because he changed his mind about a relationship. And now he’s here getting drooled over like he never gave a shit at all.

I pretend to stretch and discover Eve’s right. The blonde could be sitting in Conor’s lap, she’s so close to him, and he’s talking to her.

“With who?” I scan the bar.

“Clayton Thomas is here.”

I glance at Mary, who’s talking to a friend a few seats down the table. “What about Mary?”

“Oh, she’s over him. She’s been out on a few dates with David, actually. They seemed to really hit it off.”

I nod, glancing over at where Clayton is standing with a few teammates. Eve’s right; he’s my best option. If I do this, which I haven’t decided I will, he’ll draw the most attention. Affect Conor the most.

He ended things, I remind myself. He chose to walk away.

Clayton straightens from his spot at the bar, then heads toward the doorway that leads to the bathrooms. This is my window, if I want it.

I slide off the stool and hurry after him, catching him in the hallway right before he heads into the men’s room.

“Clayton.”

He pauses, then glances back at me. “Hey, Harlow. How are you?”

I glance over one shoulder, making sure no one else has walked in here. Still empty.

“What did you say to Conor about me?” I ask.

Clayton grimaces. “For context, I was drunk. And I know it was dumb and disrespectful, and I’m sorry.”

If he’s trying to make me less curious about what was said, he isn’t succeeding.

“Okay…”

“I bet a few guys I’d get you in bed by graduation.”

His expression is tentative as he watches me carefully. The bet is news to me, but the rest is about what I expected.

I step closer, lowering my voice. “Want to make it up to me?”

One eyebrow lifts. “Uh, sure?”

“Win the bet.”

Clayton looks shocked. “What?”

“I’m not actually going to have sex with you. But I want you to come over to my table and flirt with me and ask me to leave with you. And then I want you to walk me home. Tell the guys that you won the bet and to pay up, then donate the money to charity or something.”

He studies me. “What are the odds Hart hits me over this?”

I’m not surprised he made the leap so quickly. Conor kissed me at the banquet in front of everyone, then walked past me without a word just now.

“Zero,” I tell him.

“You sure about that?”

“Certain.”

“Can I kiss you?”

I want this to look believable. And this is probably not the healthiest way to get over a guy, but I need for Conor to think I moved on.

He distracts me too. I never expected—wanted—to fall for him, and it happened anyway. I’m trying to protect myself, to make sure I won’t do something desperate like show up at his house and tell him I love him.

“Once. No tongue.”

Clayton grins. “You’ve got a deal.”

“Great.” I duck into the bathroom, pee, wash my hands, and then head back toward my table.

The whole hockey team is still here, which is a relief. The plan with Clayton would be way less effective if they weren’t. Although it seems like most of the senior class is present, so there’s a good chance he’d hear about it anyway.

“How did it go?” Eve whispers when I sit back down on my stool.

I flash her a subtle thumbs up.

She leans forward. “Forget your phone on the table when you leave with him. I’ll call you back over loudly, make sure everyone is looking.”

My best friend is a mastermind.

I nod, watching Clayton walk over this way. He stops at the end of the table, flashing a dimpled grin around.

“Evening, ladies.”

I smile back at him, resisting the urge to glance at Conor. There’s no ideal reaction. Either he’s paying attention to the blonde, not even realizing I’m here. Or he’s looking this way and will notice me paying attention to him.

Clayton leans closer to me. “You wanna get out of here?”

“Wow. You don’t put much effort into picking up girls, huh?”

I keep my voice low, so no one except possibly Eve could hear.

He chuckles. “Oh, I’ve got game, Harlow. Lemme pull a stool up.”

I have absolutely no game when this girl is involved.

I push all thoughts—and memories—of Conor far away. I need to get out of here. Winter break is over a month long. Hopefully my heart will be healed by then, and returning to campus in January won’t hurt this much.

I stand, grabbing my coat from the hook off the table and pulling it on. “No, let’s go.”

I wave goodbye to the other girls at the table. Eve winks at me. And then Clayton is grabbing my hand and pulling me close. I’d forgotten about this part. The scientist in me sees it as an experiment. I haven’t kissed anyone except Conor in months.

Clayton’s warm lips brush against mine. No tongue, like I asked. It’s a soft, gentle press that lasts fifteen seconds. I know, because I count them. Because there’s no thrill, no pulse between my thighs. No reaction and nothing to do, except count.

Conor Hart ruined the number fifteen for me too.

Clayton grins at me. “That was worth getting decked for,” he murmurs to me. Then pulls me toward the door.

“Harlow, wait!” I turn back at Eve’s call. She’s waving my phone around in the air, but she doesn’t bring it to me. I actually forgot to grab it, not just pretended to.

Clayton and I walk back over. I take my phone from Eve, ignoring the eyes I can feel on us. Avoiding looking toward the bar, toward that long table.

Once we’re outside, I exhale. It’s cold out but not raining.

Clayton talks the whole walk back to my house. He has a shortened break because of basketball, but he and some friends are going to Mexico. I nod along as he talks about the resort they’re headed to, glad he’s not asking me questions or flirting with me.

When we reach my house, he offers a wry smile. “I’m guessing that was a one-time kiss?”

I nod.

“I am sorry, Harlow. It was a dumb bet.”

“Donate the money, Clayton. I mean it.”

He laughs. “Yeah. I will. Promise.”

“Have a good break.”

I start up the walk, not expecting him to call my name.

“Yeah?” I turn back around.

“Hart has never suddenly hated me over any other girl. Just sayin’.”

Clayton turns and heads back the way we came before I can respond. Which is good, because I have no clue how to.

The chill starts to creep under my coat, so I continue walking toward the house. I still have some packing to do before leaving tomorrow. I have a final fishing trip with Sam, and then I’m planning to head to Claremont right after.

I check the mailbox out of habit, since we rarely get anything. But there’s an envelope addressed to me sitting inside. I stare at the return address, my stomach twisting into knots.

I forgot I ordered these. And it’s a sick joke, them showing up tonight when I did my best to make him hate me.

I open the envelope and look at the two tickets, my heart crumbling in my chest. I slip them back into the envelope and then head inside. When I check my phone there’s a new message, sent ten minutes ago.

EVE: He definitely saw.

“Have a great break, Harlow. And an amazing time in Ireland.”

I smile at Sam, waving goodbye to the rest of the crew.

“And wish that hockey player of yours good luck.”

The smile gets harder to keep on my face, but I manage. “I will.”

I leave Sam’s boat’s slip and head toward the gangway, the envelope in my pocket feeling like it weighs fifteen pounds.

I bought the two tickets for a professional hockey game in Seattle a few weeks ago. They were supposed to be Conor’s Christmas present, and now I don’t know what the hell to do with them. I’m tempted to burn them. I’ll be in Ireland when the game takes place, so I can’t go with someone else. And I don’t want to. It would be a form of torture, sitting there and thinking about him the entire time.

Not using them is a waste of money. But I don’t even care about that.

I want Conor to go to a pro game, even if it’s not with me. Or have the chance to, if he wants.

I drive to his house on autopilot, the steering wheel slick from my sweaty palms. Park along the curb and release a deep breath when I see his SUV in the driveway. A large part of me hoped I could hand these off to Aidan or Hunter.

My steps are rushed up the front walk. Now that I’m here, I’d love to get this over with as fast as possible. I hit the doorbell, watching my breath hover in the morning air.

Aidan opens the door.

“Hi.” I shift awkwardly, keeping my cold hands in the pockets of my parka. “Is, uh, Conor here?”

He nods, and I curse in my head.

My stupid pride won’t let me slink off. I don’t want Conor to think I’m embarrassed to face him, especially after what happened last night. I’m sure Aidan isn’t going to tell him he found the tickets in the mailbox or something. Conor will know I dumped these and ran.

“Can I come in?” I ask.

Aidan’s typical grin is totally absent.

I’m not sure how much Conor has shared with his friends about us. They saw us together at the banquet, our first and final appearance as a couple. Since then, we’ve reverted to our former behavior of acting like we have restraining orders out on each other. They all saw him avoid me at Gaffney’s last night. Saw me leave with Clayton.

In answer, Aidan opens the door wider.

I walk into the front hall, glancing at the pile of bags by the bottom of the stairs. I have no idea what Conor is doing for winter break. If he’s going anywhere. The hockey team has a much shorter break than the rest of the student body, but they still have a week off.

“HART!” Aidan shouts.

A few seconds later, there’s a muffled “What?” from upstairs.

I rub a finger along the edge of the envelope in my pocket, deliberating if I should just screw my pride, hand it to Aidan, and leave.

He ended it, I remind myself for the thousandth time.

If it were up to me, I would have given him these under very different circumstances.

“Harlow is here!”

I exhale, both relieved and concerned that my escape door just closed. Now that Conor knows I’m here, I really can’t leave.

Hunter leaves the kitchen a minute later, holding a plate with a sandwich on it and eyeing me curiously. “Hey, Harlow.”

“Hi.”

An awkward pause follows. “You guys doing anything fun for break?” I ask.

The guys exchange looks, like they’re not sure if they should be talking to me, which is in no way reassuring.

Hunter replies first. “Just headed home to see family.”

“My folks have a place in Vail,” Aidan tells me. “Headed there to carve up some powder.” He hesitates, then adds, “Hart is coming too.”

“Oh,” is all I can think to say.

Pounding steps announce Conor’s arrival.

“Have a good break,” Aidan says, then walks quickly into the kitchen. Hunter heads upstairs with his sandwich.

My heart’s trying to climb out of my chest, it’s beating so fast.

Seeing him here is way worse than it was at Gaffney’s. We’re alone, instead of in a crowded bar with lots of other people. We’re in his house, standing somewhere he’s stripped me because we were too impatient to get upstairs. And he’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants that show off all my favorite parts of his body.

Suddenly, I’m sweltering.

Conor’s expression is completely smooth as he stops a couple of feet away. Purposefully blank.

“Hey, Hart.” I’m the one who showed up here, so it seems fair I talk first.

“Something wrong?” No pleasantry, cutting right to the chase. It’s what I expected. What I asked for. And still, it burns.

“I’m not pregnant, or anything like that.”

There’s a twitch in his expression, and that’s the only reaction. God, do I wish I could shove those words back in my mouth.

I’m nervous. I’m so, so nervous, knowing what he must think of me after last night. Knowing we’re over, and this might be the last time we ever talk. Knowing I love him, and he doesn’t love me back.

I clear my throat. “Sorry. Bad joke. I just stopped by to give you these.”

I pull the envelope out of my pocket and hold it out to him.

Conor studies the address, then glances at me. “Am I supposed to open it?”

“Um…Yeah, sure.” I shove my hands back into my pockets, twisting my fingers together nervously behind the barrier of the fabric as he opens the envelope. “I checked your schedule, and you guys don’t have a game that night. So hopefully you can go with…someone else. And if you can’t, or you don’t want them, you can just sell them or give them away or whatever…whatever you want.”

Conor is staring at the two tickets, his expression still unreadable stone. Then, he holds them out to me. “You use them.”

“I, uh, can’t. I’m going to Ireland for a couple of weeks. I won’t be here. And…I got them for you. So, Merry Christmas, I guess.”

I turn toward the door, intent on getting out of here as quickly as possible.

“Wait.”

My spin back is slow.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek, watching Conor jog back upstairs holding the envelope. A minute later he’s back, minus the envelope, holding a paper grocery bag.

“Here.” He holds the bag out to me. The knuckles on his right hand are red, one of them split.

“What is it?”

“Your Christmas present. Presents, actually.”

The fist around my heart squeezes tighter. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.” He holds my gaze, like maybe he’s silently recalling the last time I said that to him as well.

“Should I, um, open them?”

Conor shrugs. “I didn’t wrap anything.”

I pull a shirt out first, the green material soft against my fingers.

“It’s the band we—”

“Yeah, I remember.”

It’s a shirt for the band we saw together, the one I wanted to get merch from but didn’t have any cash on me.

“How’d you get this?” I ask.

“They have a website.”

He took the time to look it up and order me this, and I’m dangerously close to crying. Because I’m so mad at him, for being this perfect and this wrong. For making me love him and then not letting me.

The box in the bag is a pair of ice skates. They’re my exact size, and I know they’re for the lessons he promised me.

“Guess I’ll have to make do with an orange cone after all.” The thought in my head slips out.

Conor’s jaw clenches, like the memory of us in his dad’s driveway is as uncomfortable for him as it is for me.

It’s funny, how you appreciate the good times with someone so much more once you’re on bad terms with them. Rather than forget them altogether, like you want to, your brain taunts you with what you should have appreciated more at the time.

“Thank you,” I tell him.

“Have fun in Ireland.”

“I heard you’re going skiing.”

“Oh. Uh, yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck, glancing toward the kitchen. I’m worried I got Aidan in trouble.

“Okay. Well, bye.”

I turn toward the door again. This time, Conor says nothing to stop me. He watches me fumble with the knob, then hurry out of his house. I rush toward my car, holding my bag of gifts, trying to figure out how that brief encounter was both so meaningful and so empty.