daijavu

A knock sounded against the open door.

"Alive?" Avery popped her head in.

CJ didn't bother looking up.

"Barely."

Avery wandered inside carrying a bowl of popcorn.

"I figured."

She flopped onto CJ's bed without invitation, making herself comfortable. "You've been hiding in here for like three hours."

"I've been writing."

"I know." Avery looked at the laptop. "...How's that going?"

CJ sighed.

"I've rewritten the same paragraph six times."

"So... terrible."

"Correct."

Avery tossed a piece of popcorn into her mouth. For a minute neither of them spoke. The music filled the silence. Then Avery frowned. "...Wait."

CJ looked up. "What?"

"I know this song."

"So?"

"You don't listen to this."

"I can."

"You don't."

"I literally am." CJ gave her a flat look.

Avery sat up a little straighter.

"No..." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "This isn't your playlist."

CJ looked back at her laptop. "It could be."

"It isn't."

"It could be."

"CJ."

"What?"

"You alphabetize your playlists."

"...Organization is important."

"You title them things like 'Morning Skate' and 'Study Music.'"

"They're descriptive." CJ argued.

"They're categorized."

"Organization is useful."

"They're aggressively organized."

CJ reached for her coffee. "I fail to see your point."

"My point..." Avery climbed off the bed. "...is that this playlist you’ve been playing is chaos."

CJ nearly laughed.

"What does that even mean?"

"It means..." Avery rounded the desk before CJ realized what she was doing. "...who made the playlist?"

CJ instinctively angled her laptop away. "No one."

"CJ."

"What?"

"Show me."

"No."

"Show me."

"No."

"Why are you being defensive?"

"I'm not being defensive."

"You physically turned your laptop away from me."

"...Coincidence."

Avery laughed. "Oh my God."

"What?"

"You’re totally hiding something."

CJ stared. "...No."

"You are."

"I’m not."

"Then show me the playlist."

CJ sighed dramatically. "You're exhausting."

"I've been called worse."

Another sigh.

Finally, CJ rotated the laptop just enough for Avery to see the Spotify window.

The title sat at the top.

Songs Dean Complains About

Avery blinked.

"...What."

CJ immediately reached to turn it back.

Too late.

Avery had already seen it.

She looked slowly from the laptop...

...to CJ...

...back to the laptop.

"...Garrett."

CJ took a sip of coffee. "Maybe."

"You liar."

"I never said it was mine."

"You literally did."

"I implied."

"CJ!"

A laugh escaped her despite herself. "It wasn't technically a lie."

"It was spiritually a lie." Avery pointed dramatically at the screen.

"'Songs Dean Complains About?'" She burst out laughing. Avery folded her arms. "So."

"So?"

"He made you a playlist."

"He sent me one."

"Mhm."

"And..." CJ looked back at her article. "...I listened to it."

Avery waited. CJ kept typing. Or pretending to.

"...And?"

"And what?"

"Did you send one back?"

Silence.

Avery's smile grew. "CJ."

"No."

"You hesitated."

"I was thinking."

"You were lying."

"I don't lie."

"Fine. You were editing."

CJ finally looked over. "I sent him one."

Avery slapped a hand over her mouth.

"I knew it."

"It isn't a big deal."

"It is absolutely a big deal."

"It was just music."

"You don't 'just music' people."

"I do."

"No."

Avery pointed toward the laptop. "You don't even let people borrow your headphones."

CJ frowned. "That's because people have disgusting ears."

Avery ignored her. "You made Garrett Graham a playlist."

"I shared songs."

"You curated songs."

"Same thing."

"It is absolutely not the same thing."

CJ leaned back in her chair. "I don't know why you're making this weird."

"I'm making it weird?" Avery laughed. "You're exchanging personalized playlists with the captain of the men's hockey team."

"They're not personalized."

Avery stared at her.

"CJ."

"What?"

"What's the playlist you sent him called?"

CJ's silence answered before her mouth did.

Avery's eyebrows climbed.

CJ rubbed a hand over her face. "It was a joke."

"I'm sure it was."

"It was."

A long pause.

Then, quietly -

"...Think Before You Pass."

Avery blinked. Then smiled. Not teasing. Just... soft.

"CJ."

"What?"

"That's actually kind of adorable."

CJ immediately shook her head. "No."

"It is."

"It was hockey-related."

"Mhm."

"He liked it."

"I'm sure he did."

CJ looked down at the playlist again. She remembered Garrett texting her ten minutes after she'd sent it.

Sparky: This is either coaching or friendship.

She'd answered without thinking. Why can't it be both?

He'd only replied by hearting her message. But for some reason… That had made her smile more than it should have.

****

“Who’s Baby?” Dean glanced down at Garrett’s phone that was sitting next him on the bench. They were about to start practice and Garrett was retaping his stick. At Dean’s words, he immediately glanced at the phone that Dean was now holding in his hand. Fuck. How am I going to explain this?

“No one?” He meant it to come out as a statement, unfortunately that was not the case.

“Hm… ‘Baby hockey stick emoji.” Logan reads looking over Dean’s shoulder. “I wonder who that is…”

And by the widening grins on both their faces, Garrett knew they weren’t wondering for long.

“It’s not what you think.” Garrett sighed, thinking how he was going to tell his friends it was an inside joke and definitely not a pet name.

“Oh, so this isn’t CJ Sullivan?” Dean said, unconvinced.

Garrett rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "...It’s Sullivan."

Dean and Logan shared a look. The kind of look that immediately made Garrett regret admitting anything. Dean slowly lowered himself onto the bench beside him, still holding the phone hostage.

"So..." Dean began carefully, "How long before you started calling her ‘baby?’"

Garrett reached for his phone.

Dean leaned away. "No."

"Dean."

"Nope."

"Give me my phone."

"I'm conducting an investigation."

Logan folded his arms, looking far too entertained. "I think we should let the detective work."

Garrett let out a long sigh. "I hate both of you."

"We know," Dean replied. "Now explain why the captain of the women's hockey team is saved as..." He squinted dramatically at the screen. "'Baby'... with a hockey stick."

Garrett pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's an inside joke."

Dean gasped theatrically. "Oh my God."

"What?"

"You have inside jokes."

Garrett stared at him. "...Yes?"

"That's how it starts."

"It is not."

"It absolutely is."

“We’re just friends,” Garrett said, sounding more certain than he felt. “You know I don’t do relationships. You can have inside jokes with friends.”

And it was true. Wasn't it? He and CJ were friends. They texted. Talked hockey. Sent each other clips from games. Argued over music. She chirped him relentlessly and he gave it right back.

That was friendship. It just... happened to be the first friendship he'd had with a girl in a long time that felt this easy. He frowned slightly. When had texting her become part of his day?

He didn't even think about it anymore. If something funny happened at practice, he caught himself wondering how she'd respond before he even reached the locker room. If he saw a ridiculous hockey video online, he sent it to her without a second thought.

If she texted while he was in class… He answered. Usually immediately.

The realization settled somewhere uncomfortable in the back of his mind. Huh. He wasn't sure when that had started. Or why it felt so... normal.

“So CJ knows she’s Baby?” Logan asks skeptically.

Garrett’s head snapped up. He opened his mouth, then closed it.

Coach’s whistle blew signaling the start of practice, and thank god because Garrett didn’t know how to tell them that she absolutely does not know… and she’d probably kill him if she did.

****

CJ was halfway through interviewing a sophomore for her feature writing assignment when her phone buzzed against the table. She didn't have to look at the screen to know who it was.

Over the past few days, Garrett had somehow become a constant presence in her phone. A text before class. A meme after practice. A hockey clip at midnight with Look at the weak-side winger attached. Questions that started about hockey and ended with arguments about music, movies, or whether Christian Bale was the best Batman.

She kept telling herself they were just friends.

Friends texted.

Friends had inside jokes.

Friends sent each other playlists.

That was normal.

So why did her stomach do that stupid little flip every time his name appeared on her screen?

CJ kept her attention on the student sitting across from her.

“And you said the program started during your freshman year?” she asked, clicking her pen.

The student nodded, launching into another explanation.

CJ listened, took notes, asked follow-up questions - everything she was supposed to do. But she was painfully aware of the phone sitting face-down beside her notebook.

Ignore it.

She did.

For the remaining three minutes of the interview, she didn't touch it.

The second the student stood and thanked her, CJ smiled politely, gathered her notes, and waited until they disappeared down the hallway.

Then she grabbed her phone.

Too quickly.

That annoyed her immediately.

She wasn't someone who got excited about texts. She wasn't fourteen. She had deadlines, practice, classes, and a team to captain.

And yet the moment she opened their message thread, a rush of anticipation unfurled low in her chest.

Seriously?

She stared at the screen for a second before reading the message.

Sparky: Important question.

Despite herself, the corner of her mouth lifted.

Because with Garrett, important question could mean anything from a breakdown of a power-play entry to a debate about whether cereal counted as soup.

And the worst part?

She wanted to know which one it was.

Baby🏒: Scale of one to ten? How important?

Sparky: Eleven.

She leaned against a brick wall outside the humanities building.

Baby🏒: Proceed.

His answer came immediately.

Sparky: Pineapple on pizza.

CJ closed her eyes. Unbelievable.

Baby🏒: That's your eleven?

Sparky: This friendship depends on your answer.

She stared at the screen. Friendship. Not flirting. Not anything complicated. Friendship. The word settled somewhere unexpectedly warm. She typed before she could think too much about why.

Baby🏒: It's acceptable.

Three dots.

Then -

Sparky: Acceptable?

Baby🏒: I didn't say good.

Sparky: You're impossible.

A beat.

Baby🏒: Yet you keep texting me.

CJ smiled to herself. Checkmate.

****

Garrett stared at his phone. He had absolutely no comeback because she was exactly right. He did keep texting her. Constantly. Without really deciding to and without wondering if she even really wanted him to. Somewhere over the past couple days, she'd quietly become part of his routine.

Wake up. Text Sullivan.

Practice. Text Sullivan.

Class. Text Sullivan.

Eat. Text Sullivan.

See something funny. Text Sullivan.

It wasn't effort anymore. It was instinct. And for reasons he couldn't quite explain… That thought didn't scare him. It made him smile.

****

The low hum of the refrigeration system echoed through the empty arena, blending with the occasional groan of the boards settling under the cold. The overhead lights reflected off the untouched sheet of ice, turning it into a mirror that stretched from one end of the rink to the other.

Garrett loved empty rinks. There was something about them that stripped hockey back to what it was supposed to be. No crowds. No noise. No expectations.

Just ice.

He adjusted the strap of his equipment bag over his shoulder and nudged open the heavy rink door with his hip. Cold air spilled into the hallway. His skate guards clicked against the floor as he stepped inside.

Perfect.

Exactly what he'd been hoping for.

Extra ice.

Extra reps.

No distractions -

"...Mom, I know."

Garrett stopped.

His eyes lifted toward the ice.

Sullivan stood near the far-side boards in full practice gear, helmet resting on top of the dasher beside her. Her dark hair was pulled into a low braid that hung between her shoulder blades. One gloved hand rested lazily on the boards while the other held her phone up to her face.

FaceTime.

She hadn't noticed him yet.

"...No, I'm eating enough."

A woman's voice crackled softly through the arena speakers.

"Cora James Sullivan."

Garrett blinked. Cora James? He couldn't help the tiny grin that tugged at his mouth. Of course she had a name that sounded like it belonged on the cover of a novel.

CJ sighed.

"Mom."

"Don't 'Mom' me."

"I had breakfast."

"Coffee isn't breakfast."

"It came with a muffin."

"That's not better."

"It had blueberries."

Garrett bit the inside of his cheek. Somehow, hearing Sullivan argue with her mother about breakfast was infinitely funnier than it should've been.

The woman laughed. "You're impossible."

"I learned from the best."

Garrett couldn't help himself.

"Hey, Sullivan."

CJ's head snapped toward the entrance. For the briefest second, genuine surprise flashed across her face. Then recognition. Then something else. Something that looked suspiciously like... happiness? It was gone almost immediately, replaced by the familiar deadpan expression she'd perfected.

"Graham?" She looked around the empty rink. "What are you doing here?"

Garrett lifted one shoulder. "Practice."

He held up his stick. Then started removing his skate guards, intending to join her on the ice. "Thought I'd steal some extra ice."

CJ glanced toward the schedule posted near the ice entrance.

"... So you didn't know I reserved this hour."

It wasn't a question. He looked at the sheet. Sure enough.

Reserved Ice 4pm - C.J. Sullivan

He laughed softly. "...Guess I didn't."

Before either of them could say anything else -

"Who's that?"

Garret promptly joined Sullivan on the ice. Garrett looked toward the phone. A woman with CJ's eyes smiled from the screen.

CJ visibly winced. "...Mom."

"What?" her mother asked innocently. "I asked who the cute hockey player is."

CJ closed her eyes. "...Mom."

Garrett couldn't stop smiling. He skated closer to Sullivan. "I'm Garrett."

The woman's face lit up.

"Oh!" She pointed excitedly at the screen. "You're Garrett!"

Garrett’s head tilted to the side like a confused puppy. "You've heard about me?"

Sullivan's head whipped toward the phone. "Mother."

"What?" she asked, entirely unapologetic. "You've mentioned him."

"I have not."

"You absolutely have."

"I absolutely haven't."

Garrett folded his arms, thoroughly enjoying himself now.

Her mother looked between the two of them. "You have."

"I haven't."

"Cora James."

"Mom."

"You said he copied one of your plays."

CJ looked horrified. "...That does not count."

"It counts."

"Mom."

"You said-"

"I am ending this call. Love you."

“Wait-”

Sullivan ended the call quickly. Garrett laughed.

CJ groaned loudly enough for it to echo through the rink. "This is a nightmare."

Silence settled over the rink.

She lowered her phone slowly.

Neither of them spoke.

Then Garrett lost the battle. A laugh escaped him. Not a chuckle. A genuine laugh.

CJ pointed a gloved finger at him. "Don't."

"I'm trying."

"No, you're not."

"...I'm really not." And he continued laughing.

Sullivan sighed and Garrett rested both forearms on the boards trying to compose himself..

"So..."

She narrowed her eyes. "So?"

"Cora James."

She groaned again. "Stop it."

"I don't know." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Cora James has a nice ring to it."

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"Very."

He smiled.

"It explains CJ." He shrugged. "I've been wondering about that ‘J.’"

Garrett set his stick against the glass.

"So..."

She already looked suspicious. "What?"

"I interrupted your reserved ice time."

"You did."

"I feel like I should apologize."

"You probably should."

"I'm not going to."

"I figured."

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth despite herself. Garrett noticed. He noticed because he was beginning to catalog every version of her smile. The amused one. The sarcastic one. The tiny one she tried to hide.

This one...

This one only happened when she forgot to keep a straight face.

She pushed away from the boards with one easy stride.

"This is my reserved rink time..." She pointed at him with the blade of her stick. "...Sparky."

Garrett frowned. "There it is again."

She skated backward effortlessly, keeping her balance without even thinking about it. "You still haven't watched it."

He blinked. "...No."

CJ looked at him like he'd personally offended cinema. She crossed her arms. "'Oh?'"

"I got busy."

She gave him a look. "Too busy to watch a movie?"

"...Maybe."

"You text me every day."

"...Also true."

"And yet somehow..." She gestured vaguely toward him. "...no movie."

Garrett smiled sheepishly. "In my defense-"

"There isn't one."

"I was going to say I forgot." Garrett felt himself smiling again.

“Sure.” She said.

"So..." He nodded toward the empty sheet of pristine ice. "Am I getting kicked out?"

CJ looked at him. Then at the empty rink. Then back at him. This hour had always belonged to her. An hour where she didn't have to be captain. Didn't have to talk. Didn't have to think about anyone except herself and the ice beneath her skates.

She guarded it fiercely and never shared it. Not once. But Garrett wasn't waiting for an answer like someone expecting permission. He was waiting like someone willing to leave if she wanted him to. That mattered. More than he realized.

CJ tapped the toe of her stick against the ice once. "You can stay."

Garrett's eyebrows lifted. "Yeah?"

She nodded toward the gate.

"But if you're staying..." A familiar competitive glint settled into her eyes. "...you're working."

Garrett smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that."

She pushed off, carving a wide arc around him before stopping with a spray of ice that dusted the toes of his skates.

"You ready?"

"For what?"

She gestured toward the empty sheet. "You wanted to practice."

"I did."

"Then practice."

Garrett blinked. "...Helpful."

"I thought so."

He chuckled, setting a puck down. "You always this encouraging?"

"No."

"Just with me?"

"Especially with you."

Something about the way she said it made him laugh again. God, she was fun.

For the next fifteen minutes, they barely spoke. They didn't need to. They moved from drill to drill almost instinctively.

Garrett worked on quick-release shots while CJ circled the zone, firing pucks from impossible angles that somehow still found corners.

Occasionally one of them would pause.

Watch.

Offer one sentence.

"Lower your hands."

"You're opening your hips too early."

"Hold it half a second longer."

No egos.

No defensiveness.

Just hockey.

Garrett found himself adjusting immediately whenever she pointed something out.

CJ scooped a loose puck off the wall and settled it onto her forehand.

She looked over at Garrett. "Come here."

He skated toward her. "What?"

She nudged the puck across the ice until it rested against the blade of his stick. "Protect it."

"...That's the drill?" He glanced down.

"Yep."

"From you?"

"I'm taking it."

He laughed. "That's not much of a drill."

"It is if you're bad at it."

He looked up. "You're chirping before we even start?"

"I believe in setting expectations."

Garrett shook his head, smiling. "I've created a monster."

"You met one." She backed away three strides, lowering into her hockey stance. Her stick rested lightly on the ice. Weight centered. Eyes locked on the puck. Not on Garrett. On the puck.

"Ready?"

He widened his stance instinctively. 

"Always." The word had barely left his mouth before she exploded toward him. Fast. Much faster than he'd expected. Her first move wasn't for the puck. It was for his eyes.

She jabbed once with her stick toward his forehand. A fake. He reacted exactly how she'd hoped. His hands shifted just enough. She immediately changed direction.

Garrett pivoted, turning his back to her as he carried the puck toward the corner boards.

Smart. Use his body. Shield the puck. Force her to reach. He could practically hear every coach he'd ever had applauding the decision.

CJ smiled to herself. Good decision. Wrong opponent. She didn't chase the puck. She chased him. One powerful stride then another.

Garrett felt her closing the gap behind him. He widened his base, leaning into the boards to protect the puck.

She's going to lift my stick, he thought. Or maybe poke it loose. He braced for quick hands.

Instead -

THUD.

Her shoulder drove squarely into his upper arm and chest.

Not dirty.

Not reckless.

Just...

Perfect.

Every ounce of force traveled through her legs, up through her hips, and into the hit. Garrett's shoulder smacked against the glass with a loud crack that echoed through the empty arena. The boards rattled. The puck skipped six feet away.

For a split second...

He simply blinked.

She...

She just checked me.

Before he'd even fully processed it, CJ had already stepped through his space, collected the loose puck in one smooth motion, and accelerated toward the slot. She never looked back.

Garrett turned just in time to watch her snap a wrist shot over the imaginary goalie's glove.

Ping.

The puck rang cleanly off the back bar.

She circled the net once before gliding backward toward him with the faintest hint of a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth.

"You dropped your shoulder."

Garrett stared at her. "You hit me."

"You play hockey."

"You hit me."

"You said that already."

"I wasn't expecting you to actually hit me."

She shrugged. "You wanted to practice."

"I thought we were doing puck protection." Garrett argued.

"We were."

"That felt personal."

"It wasn't." She tapped the blade of her stick against the ice. "It was tactical."

Garrett couldn't help it. He laughed. A real laugh. The kind that bent him forward slightly. "You've been waiting to do that."

She didn't even try to deny it. "A little."

"Since when?"

She pretended to think.

"The moment you said, 'Cora James.'"

He barked out another laugh.

She skated another lazy circle around him.

"I figured if I warned you..." She shrugged. "...you would've braced."

"I would've."

"Exactly."

"So you sucker-punched me."

"I shoulder-checked you."

"Semantics."

"Hockey."

He rubbed the spot where she'd caught him.

It would probably bruise tomorrow. Honestly… He hoped it did. Because it had been a good hit. A really good hit.

He'd watched enough film on CJ to know she played physically. Seeing it from the stands and feeling it were two completely different experiences. She hadn't pulled up. She hadn't eased off because he was bigger. She hadn't second-guessed herself because he was Garrett Graham.

She'd recognized the correct play...

...and made it.

Without hesitation.

Without apology.

Something warm settled in his chest.

Respect.

Pure, uncomplicated respect.

He looked at her and grinned.

"I've got one question."

She rested both gloves on the top of her stick.

"What?"

"If we're keeping score..."

She tilted her head. "We weren't."

"We are now."

"...Why?"

"Because I owe you one."

Her smile widened into something unmistakably competitive.

"Oh."

She dropped another puck onto the ice between them.

"I was hoping you'd say that." She backed away, eyes already narrowing with anticipation. "Come earn it, Graham."

Garrett pushed off after her, laughing under his breath.

For the first time in weeks, hockey didn't feel like something he had to be great at.

It just felt...

Fun.

And somehow, that was entirely CJ Sullivan's doing.

****

CJ had just zipped her equipment bag when she reached for her phone. Except… It wasn't hers. She frowned at the lock screen. A picture of the Boston Bruins’ logo. She stared at it for a second before letting out a quiet laugh.

"...Seriously?"

She looked down at her own clothes. A faded gray cropped Montreal Hockey T-shirt she'd picked up from the clearance rack years ago because it was soft enough to sleep in and black yoga pants. Her damp hair clung to the back of her neck, still dripping onto the shoulders of her shirt.

CJ didn't think twice before pushing open the locker room door and making her way to the men's locker room hoping to catch Garrett before he left with her phone.

"...Seriously?" she'd muttered to herself.

Apparently, two Division I hockey players with excellent hand-eye coordination couldn't keep track of their own phones.

She nudged the door open with her shoulder.

"Graham, I think we swit—"

The rest of the sentence disappeared.

Garrett looked up from his locker.

He'd clearly just stepped out of the shower.

A white towel hung loosely in his hand, another tossed onto the bench beside him. His brown hair was still damp, darker than usual, water beading at the ends before dripping onto his shoulders.

And...

He wasn't wearing a shirt.

CJ's brain stalled. For one impossibly long second, she simply... looked. She'd seen Garrett in hockey gear, Briar sweats, and his everyday clothes. She'd watched him throw his body into checks and absorb hits without a second thought. None of that had prepared her for this.

Hockey had carved him rather than simply made him muscular. His shoulders were broad, tapering into a lean waist, every inch of him defined by years of skating, lifting, and repetition. His chest wasn't bulky so much as solid, built for power instead of appearance.

Her eyes dropped before she could stop them.

Oh.

His abdomen was all clean lines and hard muscle, each ridge of his abs clearly defined beneath lightly tanned skin. The obliques along either side disappeared beneath the waistband of his athletic shorts, and there wasn't an ounce of softness anywhere.

He looked...

Ridiculous.

In the most unfair way imaginable.

She found herself wondering - not for the first time - how much time he actually spent training. Morning lifts. Afternoon practices. Games. Conditioning. It all showed. Not in an intimidating, bodybuilder sort of way. In the way only years of elite hockey could produce. Strong. Fast. Built for movement.

Then her brain caught up with her eyes.

Oh my God. I'm staring. Not glancing. Not noticing. Staring. Heat climbed her neck with alarming speed. She'd spent years teaching herself to notice details. Edge work. Passing lanes. Shooting mechanics. Apparently that skill translated alarmingly well to shirtless hockey players.

Look somewhere else. Anywhere. His face. The ceiling. The floor. Literally anything.

She forced her gaze upward. Huge mistake because he was already looking at her.

One eyebrow lifted. There wasn't an ounce of arrogance in his expression. Just quiet amusement. Like he'd noticed exactly how long she'd frozen and was politely pretending not to make a big deal out of it. Which somehow made the whole situation worse.

Garrett fought a smile. "You okay?"

His voice snapped her back into her body.

She blinked once. Twice.

Then held up the phone between them like it explained everything.

"I..." She cleared her throat. "You took my phone."

Garrett frowned, looking down toward the bench beside him.

He picked up the phone resting there. A sleepy golden retriever filled the lock screen.

He laughed.

"...Well." He looked back at her. "That’s definitely not my dog."

Finally, CJ laughed too. The embarrassment eased just enough for her lungs to remember how to work.

Garrett chuckled, stepping closer. "I guess we weren't paying much attention."

"You were telling a story."

"You were laughing."

"I was being polite."

"Ouch."

She rolled her eyes, relieved the conversation had returned to familiar territory. They exchanged phones. Their fingers brushed briefly. It wasn't intentional - barely even noticeable.

Yet somehow it lingered for half a heartbeat longer than it should have.

CJ pulled her hand back first.

As Garrett slipped his phone into his pocket, his eyes drifted over her outfit. His expression changed immediately.

He pointed at her chest. "...Absolutely not."

CJ looked down.

The faded script across her cropped T-shirt read: MONTREAL HOCKEY

She suddenly remembered that the Montreal Canadiens and Boston Bruins were rivals. Oops.

She looked back up innocently. "What?"

"Montreal?"

"...Yes."

"The Canadiens?"

She nodded once. "I know who they are."

Garrett looked genuinely offended. "Sullivan."

"What?"

"Take it off."

Silence.

His own words registered.

His eyes widened.

CJ slowly folded her arms. "Are you trying to get me naked, Sparky?"

Garrett groaned immediately, dropping his head. "I walked right into that."

"You really did."

"I meant the Canadiens logo."

"I know." She smiled, enjoying his embarrassment far more than she should have. "But that's significantly less funny."

Garrett looked back up, shaking his head. "I don't know why I keep giving you opportunities like this."

Garrett looked away for a moment to grab his shirt. Then turned back to CJ to say, nonchalantly, “You should still take it off though.”

CJ rolled her eyes before turning around to leave. She called over her shoulder, “In your dreams Graham.”

previous part

She liked that about studying. It was the same reason she liked hockey. Or at least, it was the reason she told herself she liked hockey.

A problem presented itself. You solved it. Or you didn’t, and you adjusted until you did. No ambiguity. CJ flipped to a fresh page in her notebook and wrote a header at the top in precise block letters.

She was about to continue when footsteps in the hallway broke through the quiet. CJ didn’t look up immediately. People passed study rooms all the time. Students drifting between classes, conversations muffled through walls, the occasional burst of laughter quickly swallowed by the library’s atmosphere.

But these footsteps slowed and stopped right outside her door. CJ’s pen paused mid-air. A beat passed and then the door pushed open. She looked up. Garrett Graham stood there like he wasn’t entirely sure whether he belonged in the space or had just decided he did. Hoodie still on from outside. Backpack slung over one shoulder. Hair slightly damp at the edges like he’d come straight from somewhere without bothering to fix it.

For a second, he didn’t say anything. Just took in the room and then her. CJ blinked once.

“Lost?” she asked.

His mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “Not anymore.”

She studied him for a moment longer, pen still in hand. “You look like you have a purpose,” she said.

“I do.”

“That’s new.”

That got the smile this time - small, unguarded.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

CJ tilted her head slightly, considering him the way she considered everything. A passing thought flickered through her mind that she didn’t bother acknowledging for more than half a second. He didn’t look like someone who asked permission often.

“Depends,” she said finally.

“On what?”

“On whether you’re about to distract me or actually contribute something useful.”

He stepped inside anyway. “I’ll try to keep it useful.”

“Try harder,” she said, but there was no heat in it.

The door clicked shut behind him. And just like that, the room felt different. Not louder or smaller. Just… occupied in a way it hadn’t been before.

CJ watched him for a second as he shifted his backpack off his shoulder and set it down near the chair across from her.

“You’re here… in my study room,” she said.

“I was in the area.”

“Oh really?.”

“I go to school here too.”

That earned a faint exhale from her - almost a laugh, but not quite committed enough to be one. She gestured vaguely toward the chair across from her.

“Sit if you insist on crashing my study session.”

He sat. And for a moment, neither of them spoke. CJ tapped her pen once against the edge of her notebook again, then flipped it slightly so the page was still visible but not fully on display.

Garrett’s eyes dropped to it anyway. Of course they did.

“You always study like that?” he asked.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re building a case.”

CJ looked down at the page, then back up at him. “That’s because I am.”

That made him pause thoughtfully. Like he was recalibrating how to interpret her.

Outside the room, the library continued its steady hum - distant footsteps, soft pages turning, the occasional chair scraping against tile. Inside, Garrett leaned back slightly in his seat, one arm resting loosely on the table like he’d decided he wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

CJ noticed that, but didn’t comment on it. Instead, she clicked her pen once.

“Alright,” she said. “You’ve got five minutes before I go back to work.”

His eyebrow lifted. “Five minutes?”

“That’s generous.”

A faint grin returned.

“Then I’ll make them count.”

The silence settled back into the room after CJ’s five-minute warning, but it didn’t feel like a dismissal. More like a challenge.

Garrett leaned forward slightly in his chair, elbows resting loosely on the table. He didn’t take out a laptop. Didn’t open a notebook. Just sat there like he’d decided whatever he came here for mattered more than pretending to be productive.

CJ noticed. “You’re not actually here to study,” she said.

Garrett exhaled a small laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes.”

“That’s insulting.”

“It’s accurate.”

That got a quiet huff of amusement out of him. CJ turned one page in her notebook but didn’t write anything. Her attention had already shifted, even if she didn’t fully acknowledge it yet.

“So,” she said, tapping her pen against the margin, “are you going to tell me why you’re here, or am I going to have to guess?”

“I was hoping you already did.”

“I have several theories.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“It is.”

Garrett nodded once, like he believed her. But he knew she was joking… Maybe.

CJ studied him for a second longer than necessary. He looked different outside the rink. Less sharpened. Less engineered. Still composed, but not performing anything. It made him harder to read. Which, annoyingly, made her more interested.

“You want more critique,” she said finally.

“That’s one theory,” he agreed.

CJ narrowed her eyes slightly. “It’s not the only one?”

“No.”

“Then what’s the other one?”

Garrett paused. Not long. “I wanted to see if you actually meant it,” he said.

CJ tilted her head. “Meant what?”

“That you see things other people don’t.”

There it was again. That tone. Likely he was actually interested in what she had to say.

CJ set her pen down slowly. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

“I’m starting to notice that.”

A beat passed between them.

CJ leaned back slightly in her chair. “You came in my study room to test my credibility?”

“I came in here because you gave me a critique I didn’t get from my coaching staff.”

That made her pause. She didn’t respond immediately, which was rare. Instead, she looked at him like she was adjusting a variable she hadn’t accounted for. Garrett waited her out. He wasn’t rushing her.

That was new. Most people filled the silence around CJ like it made them uncomfortable. Garrett didn’t.

“I’m not your coach,” she said finally.

“I know.”

“And I’m not trying to be.”

“I know that too.”

“Then what am I supposed to be doing here?” she asked.

Garrett leaned back slightly, considering her.

“That’s the thing,” he said. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be doing anything you’re not already doing. I like your honesty.”

That last sentence came out more like a confession. And that almost made her smile. Almost. She resisted it.

“You’re weirdly okay with criticism,” she said.

“I asked for it.”

“Most people say that,” she said. “Then get defensive the second you actually give it.”

Garrett nodded once. “Hm.”

“That wasn’t a denial.”

“It wasn’t.”

CJ studied him more closely now. There was something disarming about how little he seemed interested in defending himself. Not passive - just… open to correction in a way most elite athletes weren’t.

“Alright,” she said. “Then answer me this.”

“Shoot.”

“Why hockey?”

That got his attention in a different way. His posture shifted slightly, like the question had weight.

“Why hockey?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

He exhaled through his nose, thinking. CJ didn’t rush him. That was part of it. She wanted the real answer, not the rehearsed one.

Finally, he said, “Because I was good at it before I knew how to be anything else.”

CJ nodded once. That tracked.

“And now?”

A faint flicker crossed his face. Not discomfort. Something more complicated.

“Now it’s kind of… everything.”

CJ didn’t respond right away. That answer was more honest than she expected. She tapped her pen once against the table again.

“That’s a problem,” she said.

Garrett smiled faintly. “Yeah?”

“It narrows your margin for error.”

He didn’t argue. He just said, “What about you?”

CJ blinked once. It wasn’t a deflection. It was an actual return question.

She leaned back slightly. CJ didn’t answer right away. Not because she didn’t have one. Because she had too many versions of the answer, and most of them weren’t things she usually let out where people could hear them.

She looked at Garrett for a moment - really looked. The way he sat there in her space like it didn’t intimidate him. Like nothing really did, except maybe things he couldn’t control.

That part she understood. Her pen hovered over the page.

“I chose hockey,” she said finally.

Simple. Clean. The version people usually got. But Garrett didn’t move like he was satisfied with simple.

“That’s it?” he asked.

CJ exhaled softly through her nose. Of course not. Her eyes dropped briefly to the edge of her notebook, where the different colors of ink bled into each other in organized chaos.

Control, she thought. That was always what she said first. Not because it was a lie. Because it was only half the truth, and half was safer.

She shifted slightly in her chair. “I liked control,” she added.

Garrett didn’t interrupt. He just waited. That made it worse in a way. It was harder to hide behind the usual exits.

CJ’s gaze drifted unfocused for a second. Control hadn’t started on a rink. It had started in a house where she learned very early that control was something you borrowed when you could and survived without when you couldn’t.

A father who decided things loudly. A presence that filled rooms before she ever stepped into them. Expectations that didn’t feel like guidance so much as gravity. You didn’t argue with gravity. You adjusted around it.

Her fingers tightened slightly around her pen. So she learned to control what she could. Her body. Her time. Her output. Hockey had been the first place that made that feel real instead of theoretical.

And even that hadn’t been the beginning. There had been figure skates first. She remembered them. White, stiff, too pretty in a way that already felt wrong on her feet. The way they pinched at her ankles. The way she was supposed to glide, to turn, to be light.

Her mother had thought it was a good idea. “Grace,” she’d said once, like it was something CJ should grow into. CJ had hated the word before she even understood it.

One afternoon, maybe an hour into pretending she was meant for spins and edges she didn’t care about, she’d seen them.

A group of hockey players on the far rink. No music. No choreography. Just chaos that made sense.

Stops that sprayed ice like explosions. Collisions that didn’t look like mistakes. Movement that had weight in it. Real weight.

One of them had crashed into the boards and laughed like it didn’t matter. Like falling was just part of getting somewhere faster.

CJ had stopped skating. Just… stopped. Her coach had called her name, but she hadn’t responded. She was only eight at the time, but she knew something with absolute clarity. That’s where I belong. 

Back in the study room, CJ blinked once and pulled herself forward again. Garrett was still watching her. Not impatient. Just there, listening and waiting like he understood exactly what she meant.

She let out a quiet breath.

“I liked control,” she repeated, steadier now. “Hockey was the first place I could actually get it.”

A beat. Then, quieter, “Not even in my own home.”

The words came out and immediately he knew she didn’t mean to say them. Her eyes widened before she looked away. She stared out the window a moment before shifting her gaze back to him. The words had landed in the space between them and stayed there.

She didn’t offer more and she didn’t need to.

Garrett didn’t react the way most people would’ve. No pity. No awkward shift. No overcorrection. Just understanding flickering into place like he’d connected a dot he hadn’t been given before. That, oddly, made it easier to continue.

“I tried figure skating first,” she said, like it was less important than it actually was.

Garrett’s eyebrows lifted slightly. That was the first real crack in his composure. CJ almost smiled at that.

“Yeah,” she said. “It wasn’t for me.”

A pause.

Then, because she didn’t usually talk this long about herself unless there was a reason:

“I remember the first time I saw hockey players on the adjacent rink. They were scrimmaging. No music. No routine.”

Her gaze drifted again - not back in memory this time, but anchored to it.

“I was supposed to be practicing edges,” she continued. “But I just stood there watching them instead.”

Her voice softened, just slightly - not emotional, just precise.

“They weren’t graceful. They were… relentless.”

A faint exhale left her nose. “That was the difference.”

Her eyes came back to Garrett.

“I didn’t want to be graceful,” she said. “I wanted to be relentless… maybe dangerous.”

Silence settled again. Not uncomfortable. Just full. CJ tapped her pen once against the table, like she was re-grounding herself.

Then she added, more matter-of-factly, “So I switched.”

Garrett nodded slowly, like he understood it mattered. CJ watched him for a second longer than she meant to.

“You’re thinking too hard,” she said finally.

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

“About what part?” He challenged.

CJ leaned back slightly, then decided to lighten the room.

“Maybe that I should’ve stuck with figure skating to be pretty on ice.”

That got a laugh out of him. “Not at all. You’re pretty no matter what skates you’re wearing.”

“Good.”

A beat. Then, softer - almost to herself, but still audible, “But pretty doesn’t win games.”

Garrett’s expression shifted at that. Like that sentence fit into something he already believed, but hadn’t heard phrased that way before. And for the first time since he walked into the room, he didn’t just look at her like she saw the game differently. He looked at her like she saw everything differently.

“I was thinking that that all sounds like you,” he said.

CJ gave him a look. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”

“I know enough,” he said.

That made her pause again. Annoyingly. She changed direction before it could sit too long.

“You’re different off the ice,” she said.

“I get that a lot.”

“No,” CJ said. “I mean you’re… lighter. I’d expect someone who plays like that to take up more space.”

Garrett studied her for a moment.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said about me today,” he said.

CJ snorted softly. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I took it as one.”

She ignored that. Mostly.

“What do you think hockey is?” she asked.

Garrett didn’t hesitate this time. “Timing.”

CJ nodded slightly, like that matched something she already believed.

“Good answer,” she said.

“You approve?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

CJ pointed her pen at him slightly. “Careful. That’s how you end up overanalyzing everything I say.”

He smiled. “Too late.”

That landed differently than it should have. CJ looked down at her notebook briefly, then back up.

“You asked for critique,” she said.

“I did.”

“And you got it.”

“I did.”

A pause. Then Garrett added, quieter, “It’s better than what I usually get.”

CJ’s expression softened just slightly at that, though she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she closed her notebook halfway.

“That’s because most people are talking about results,” she said. “Not decisions.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I noticed.”

Another quiet settled between them. It wasn't uncomfortable. If anything, Garrett was beginning to realize he liked the silence that came with Sullivan. She never seemed to feel the need to fill it just because it existed.

His eyes drifted across the table to her notebook. The highlighted textbook. The stack of articles clipped neatly together. She was as organized here as she was on the ice.

"Can I ask you something?"

CJ looked up.

"You just did."

He laughed. "...Can I ask you another something?"

"I'll allow it."

He gestured toward the open textbook. "Why this?"

She followed his gaze. "My homework?"

"No." He shook his head. "Your major."

A small crease formed between her eyebrows, like she hadn't expected that question. "Journalism."

Garrett blinked. "Really?"

"You sound surprised."

"I just..." He searched for the right words. "I figured it'd be something like kinesiology or sports management."

"Because I play hockey?"

"Little bit."

She leaned back in her chair. "I like asking questions."

"Hm."

"I like finding answers more."

Garrett smiled. "I've noticed."

CJ glanced down at the article in front of her before looking back up.

"People usually tell you what happened." She tapped a finger lightly against the paper. "I'm more interested in why it happened."

Garrett thought about Saturday night. About the way she'd ignored the fact that he'd scored the winning goal and instead explained why one glance toward Logan would've gotten him burned at a higher level.

"...Yeah," he said with a quiet laugh. "That tracks."

A ghost of a smile crossed her face.

"So on the very low chance you don’t go to the PWHL, you want to be a reporter?"

She nodded.

"A sports reporter?"

She surprised him by shaking her head and shrugged, "Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"I haven't decided."

"What else?"

CJ looked toward the window for a moment, considering. "I like investigative journalism."

Garrett tilted his head. "Really?"

She nodded once. "Anyone can report what people are willing to tell you."

Her voice remained even, matter-of-fact.

"I'm more interested in what they aren't."

Something about the way she said it made Garrett pause. There wasn't any drama in her tone. No attempt to sound profound. It was just... true.

For a second, he wondered if she approached people the same way she approached hockey. Watching. Listening. Waiting for the details everyone else missed. It explained a lot.

"So," she said, folding her hands together on the table, "your turn."

"My turn?"

"Why your major?"

Garrett let out a small groan.

"I liked you better when you were only critiquing my hockey."

That finally earned him a real smile. "Too bad."

She picked up her pen again, but instead of writing, she twirled it between her fingers. "Well?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "History."

CJ blinked. "...History?"

"You sound even more surprised than I did."

"I am."

"I'll try not to take that personally."

"I just..." She frowned thoughtfully. "I was expecting business. Maybe communications."

"Because my dad played in the NHL?"

She caught the shift in his tone immediately. It was subtle. So subtle most people would've missed it. But the question hadn't sound curious. It sounded practiced. Like he'd answered it before.

"A little," she admitted. "And because hockey players usually pick majors that work around their schedules."

"They do."

"So why history?"

Garrett leaned back in his chair, thinking. "I've always liked stories."

CJ's eyebrow lifted. "Stories?"

"The real ones."

She waited and he smiled.

"I know. That sounds stupid."

"It doesn't."

"It kind of does."

"It doesn't," she repeated.

Garrett looked at the table for a moment before continuing. "I like figuring out how people got where they ended up."

He shrugged one shoulder.

"You read about these huge moments in history - the wars, revolutions, presidents - but none of them happen because of one thing."

CJ nodded slowly.

"They're a thousand little decisions."

His eyes met hers. For a second, neither of them spoke.

Then CJ let out a quiet, almost amused breath. "That's... very you."

Garrett laughed. "Is it?"

"You just described history the same way I describe hockey."

He thought about that. "...I guess I did."

"You don't care about the final score."

"I mean, I do."

She gave him a look. "You know what I mean."

He smiled. "I care how everyone got there."

"Exactly." CJ pointed her pen at him.

Garrett hadn't expected this. Most conversations about majors lasted thirty seconds.

What's your major?

History.

Cool.

End of discussion.

CJ treated every answer like it had another question hidden inside it. It was... refreshing.

"So," she said, "what period?"

"What?" He frowned.

"If you had to spend the rest of your life studying one era."

Garrett laughed. "That's an aggressive follow-up."

"You should've expected it."

"I probably should've." He thought for a second. "Twentieth century."

"Specific."

"It narrows it down."

"It narrows it down to a hundred years."

"I like the World Wars." He chuckled.

CJ stared at him. "I hear it now."

"Hear what?"

"The history major."

He laughed. "What about you, Sullivan?"

"What about me?" She tilted her head.

"If you could write about anything."

She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she looked down at her notebook, absentmindedly straightening the edge of the page.

"The things people ignore."

Garrett waited.

She continued.

"The stories everyone thinks they already understand."

"Like what?" He frowned slightly.

"Okay, take hockey for an example."

That surprised him.

"Hockey?"

She nodded.

"Everyone writes about the goals. I'm interested in why someone stopped shooting."

Garrett's expression shifted.

"You'd rather interview the guy who missed?"

"I'd rather figure out why he was afraid to take the shot."

He held her gaze. There it was again. That feeling he'd had Saturday night. She didn't just see the play. She saw the person making it.

"You'd be good at that," he said quietly.

CJ shrugged, almost uncomfortable with the compliment. "I like to think so."

Garrett smiled to himself. She was the first person he'd met in a long time who talked about what she loved without trying to impress anyone. She wasn't selling journalism. She wasn't trying to convince him it mattered. She simply cared. And somehow, that made him care too.

****

It had already been way more than the five minutes she’d allotted him. They’ve talked about music, cars, films. She was surprised to learn he was partial to rom-coms or chick flicks.

“Well my mom liked them, so I watched a lot.” Garrett said with a small, almost shy, smile on his face.

Liked. He had said liked. Past tense. CJ clocked it and filed that information away. She wouldn’t push. Not when he was offering up information she found - irritatingly - she was itching to learn. Also, it wasn’t her place to push. He would tell her if and when he wanted to.

“What’s your favorite?” She leaned forward in her seat.

Garrett paused, like he was deciding whether he wanted to divulge this particular piece of information. “Dirty Dancing.”

“Wait… Really?” She grinned and decided to do her best Patrick Swayze. “‘Nobody puts Baby in a corner.’”

A laugh burst from Garrett's mouth. A real one. His eyes crinkled at the edges and his hand came up to his chest as his head tilted back.

“Yes! What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing! I’m just surprised.” She said.

Then, proof that she’d lost track of time, the study room door opened and her teammates started to file in - then froze when they found Garrett Graham sitting across from their captain.

Maddie had entered first, balancing a coffee carrier with practiced ease. Behind her came Avery, Dani, Brooke, and three more women from the team, backpacks already slung over one shoulder. The conversation died almost immediately when they noticed Garrett.

Avery looked from him...

...to CJ...

...then back to him.

"Well," she said slowly. "This is unexpected."

Garrett raised a hand in greeting. "Hey."

Maddie's eyebrows climbed toward her hairline.

"I thought we were doing homework."

"We are," CJ replied evenly.

Nobody moved. Garrett suddenly became very aware that he was sitting in their study room.

Avery recovered first.

"So..." She looked at CJ. "Is he tutoring you?"

CJ gave her a flat look. "In what world would Garrett Graham be tutoring me?"

“Ouch.” Garrett put a hand over his chest.

"I meant academically."

"Still ouch."

A few of the girls laughed. Maddie handed CJ one of the coffees she'd brought.

"Thanks, you remembered."

"I always remember."

Garrett watched the exchange. It was like they'd done this dozens of times before.

CJ set the coffee beside her notebook before looking around the room.

"Everyone bring what they're working on?"

A chorus of nods.

"Good."

She stood. The room settled almost instantly.

"Same rules as always," she said. "Silent study for ninety minutes. If you finish early, help someone else."

No one rolled their eyes. No one groaned. No complaints. Just quiet understanding. Garrett found himself looking around the room instead of at Sullivan. No one seemed afraid of disappointing her. They simply didn’t want to.

He'd spent years following captains who led by volume.

CJ barely raised hers.

"Any questions?"

Dani lifted a hand.

CJ sighed dramatically.

"Real questions."

The room laughed.

Dani grinned. "I forgot my calculator."

"That's tragic."

"It is."

"You should probably solve that."

More laughter. Someone handed Dani a calculator.

Garrett couldn't help smiling. This wasn't someone playing captain. This was someone her team genuinely trusted.

CJ glanced back toward him. "You've officially been replaced."

He looked around at the now nearly full study room.

"I noticed."

"I'd apologize."

"But?"

"I don't feel bad."

"I figured."

Avery was already unpacking her laptop. "Captain?"

CJ looked over.

"We still doing accountability check-ins after?"

"We always do."

Garrett frowned slightly. "Accountability check-ins?"

Maddie answered before CJ could. "Every Monday."

Garrett looked at CJ.

"You make your team do homework together?"

CJ looked genuinely confused by the wording.

"I don't make them."

"No." Avery snorted.

"She just started showing up here every Monday freshman year." Maddie smiled.

Brooke looked up from her backpack. "Then people started joining her."

"Then everybody started joining her," Dani added.

“It helps.” CJ looked mildly uncomfortable being the center of attention.

“This isn’t the whole team.” He pointed out.

“We stagger times and send Captain pics for sessions without her.” Maddie explained.

Garrett looked around the room again. Eight Division I athletes. On a Monday night voluntarily sitting down to study together. Not because a coach required it. Not because the athletic department scheduled it. Because their captain believed being a good teammate didn't stop when practice ended.

For reasons he couldn't quite explain… That impressed him almost as much as anything she'd done on the ice.

He stood, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. "I should probably get out of your way."

"You don't have to," CJ said automatically. Then she looked around the room. Every chair was now occupied except hers.

She sighed. "...Okay, maybe you do."

"I'll survive." Garrett laughed.

He reached the door before pausing and looked back once.

CJ was already helping Dani find something in her textbook, completely focused. Like the conversation they'd just had had been gently set on a shelf until next time. Garrett stepped into the hallway and the door clicked shut behind him.

He made it maybe fifteen feet. Then stopped. His hand tightened around the strap of his backpack.

"...Fuck."

He stared down the hallway for a second. He didn't have her number.

How had he spent all that time talking to Sullivan...

...and forgotten the one thing that would've guaranteed he didn't have to wait for another chance encounter?

He looked back toward the study room door. Through the glass window, he could see her laughing quietly at something Avery had written on a worksheet.

He had two choices. Walk away. Or interrupt a room full of women's hockey players to ask their captain for her number.

Garrett closed his eyes for half a second. Dean was never going to let him live this down.

He smiled anyway, then turned around and headed back toward the study room before he could talk himself out of it.

The knock this time drew every head in the room.

CJ looked up from Maddie's laptop. She blinked.

"You forget something?"

Garrett opened the door halfway.

"Actually..." He scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah."

Avery looked between them with open curiosity. CJ stepped away from the table.

"What'd you forget?"

"My ability to think ahead." He stepped fully inside the room.

That earned a puzzled look.

Garrett laughed quietly.

"I just realized..." He gestured vaguely between them. "I don't have your number."

Silence. Not awkward, but noticeable.

Around the table, seven pairs of eyes suddenly found something very interesting about their notes. Nobody looked up. Nobody said a word.

Nobody was fooling anyone.

CJ looked at him for a second. Long enough that Garrett wondered if this had been a mistake. Then one corner of her mouth lifted.

"You came all the way back for that?"

"I got about fifteen feet."

Avery snorted into her coffee. Garrett ignored her.

"I figured relying on random encounters around campus wasn't a great long-term strategy."

CJ considered that. She also heard Avery behind her quietly whisper, “Long term?”

"No," she admitted. "Probably not. You have yours?"

Garrett was already fishing his phone out.

"Yeah."

"Give it here." Sullivan held out her hand.

He handed it over.

CJ held out his phone with a questioning look.

"Password?"

He typed it right in front of her. He clearly wasn’t too worried about what she’d do with that information.

Her thumbs moved quickly as she opened his contacts and entered her name and number.

Then she handed his phone back.

"Now text me."

Garrett looked up. "Right now?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Unless your plan is to lose my number before you leave the library."

Avery let out a snort from somewhere behind them. Garrett smiled to himself and opened a new message.

Remembering to ask has to count for something.

A second later, CJ's phone buzzed in her hand.

She glanced down at the screen.

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"Good."

She saved his number.

"What are you putting me in as?" Garrett asked.

“Sparky.” CJ looked up innocently.

"Excuse me?"

"How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days." She continued after seeing his confused look. “My favorite. Watch it - that’s your homework.”

"Oh, you’re assigning me homework now, Sullivan?"

CJ ignored that.

"For the record, Graham," she said, "this could've waited."

"It could've."

"But?"

Garrett met her eyes. "I didn't really want it to."

For just a heartbeat, CJ's expression softened. Not dramatically. Just enough that he caught it. Then she folded her arms.

"Good answer."

Behind her, Avery made an exaggerated coughing noise. Maddie elbowed her without looking up from her laptop. CJ didn't even turn around.

"Avery." Maddie whispered.

"What?" Avery whispered back.

"We're supposed to be studying."

"I am."

"No, you're eavesdropping."

"They're practically the same thing."

"They're objectively not." Maddie said a little louder.

Garrett laughed. "I should let you guys get back to it."

"You probably should," CJ agreed.

He took a step back toward the door.

"Thanks."

"For what?"

He lifted his phone. "For making it easier to ask you questions."

CJ tilted her head, then stepped around to open the door for him. And as he walking through, she said, “Don’t abuse my number, Sparky.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

After the door shut behind him, Garrett stood in the hallway for another second, staring at the contact she'd just added to his phone. Sullivan with a hockey stick emoji. She said she saved him as Sparky from her favorite rom-com. He still had no idea what that meant, but fair is fair. He promptly edited her contact name to read Baby and he kept the hockey stick emoji.

previous part next part

“More like a circus,” Avery muttered, though the smile tugging at her lips ruined any attempt at sounding annoyed.

CJ laughed quietly, following them through the turnstiles. The familiar chill of the arena washed over her almost instantly, carrying the unmistakable scent of fresh ice, popcorn, and stale beer. No matter the crowd, every rink smelled the same.

She’d always liked that. The predictability of the rink. No matter where she was or what had happened before she walked through the doors, the ice always felt like home. Out there, everything made sense. The lines never moved, the rules never changed, and for a couple hours, the rest of the world couldn’t reach her.

Ahead of them, the student section was already beginning to fill despite warmups being twenty minutes away. Jerseys dotted every row. Foam fingers waved overhead. Someone was passing out homemade signs.

Maddie pointed toward one that read GRAHAM FOR PRESIDENT. Another in the same row read GIVE ME DEAN OR GIVE ME DEATH.

“That’s… excessive.”

Avery barked out a laugh.

“There are girls who memorize the guys’ roster better than their own class schedule.”

CJ rolled her eyes. “That’s a lifestyle I refuse to understand.”

Another teammate, Dani, chimed in from behind them, “One asked me if Garrett Graham smelled as good as he looked.”

CJ blinked. “... And?”

“And I told her I have no idea because I don’t make a habit of sniffing hockey players… Other than you guys, of course.”

The group erupted in laughter.

“I would’ve lied,” Avery admitted. “‘Oh yeah. Smells like expensive cologne and inflated ego.’”

“That’s believable enough to be true,” Maddie said.

CJ shook her head, smiling despite herself.

Unfortunately, CJ was uniquely unqualified to participate in this conversation without lying. Garrett did, in fact, smell ridiculously good. She’d just been standing close enough to Garrett at the party to catch a hint of clean cologne and fresh laundry, layered over something distinctly masculine - cedar and warm skin - understated and unfairly memorable.

As they found their seats, CJ threw those thoughts away. That was information she intended to take to her grave.

“You all are spending an alarming amount of time talking about Garret Graham.”

“Correction,” Avery said. “Everyone spends an alarming amount of time talking about Garrett Graham. The whole men' s team for that matter.” She gestured broadly toward the arena. “You think all these people came to appreciate responsible defensive zone coverage?”

As if on cue, a cluster of freshman girls walked by wearing matching shirts with Garrett’s Girls splashed across the front in glittery gold lettering.

CJ stared after them. “... You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was.”

“They made shirts.”

“They made shirts.” Avery nodded with a slight tone of disappointment.

CJ let out a disbelieving laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone wear a shirt with my name on it… At least not like that.”

“Give it time, Captain,” Maddie teased. “Win us a national championship and we’ll get matching crop tops.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Oh, we’re absolutely doing it now.”

Their section sat just above the glass near center ice - close enough to watch plays develop but high enough to see the entire sheet. Perfect seats if you actually wanted to study hockey.

The ice gleamed beneath the arena lights, freshly resurfaced and untouched except for the painted lines and logos beneath the surface. The Zamboni had finished only minutes ago, leaving the sheet smooth as polished glass.

She leaned forward, resting her forearms on the railing.

"You're already scouting," Avery observed.

"I'm watching."

"The game hasn't started."

"I'm watching anyway."

"You know most people just... enjoy hockey." Maddie said.

"I enjoy hockey." CJ argued.

"You enjoy dissecting hockey."

"Also true."

CJ pulled a small notebook from the pocket of her jacket.

Avery groaned dramatically. "Oh my God."

"What?"

"You actually brought notes." Avery laughs.

"It's one notebook."

"You brought homework."

"It isn't homework."

"CJ." Maddie said exasperated.

"What?"

"You came to critique the reigning scoring champion."

"I came to learn."

"You came to judge."

"I came to observe."

Maddie leaned over, trying unsuccessfully to peek at the page. "What's the first category?"

CJ clicked her pen. "Decision-making."

Avery threw both hands into the air.

"See? Judgment."

"It's not judgment," CJ protested. "Coach always says if you want to get better, study players who are better than you. Maybe I’ll find one better than me."

"Garrett's definitely better than almost everyone at scoring." Avery claims.

"Okay, but is he better than CJ?" Maddie questioned, but it was mostly rhetorical. Maddie didn’t think there was anyone in college hockey better at scoring than her captain.

CJ smiled to herself. Maddie caught the tiny smile. CJ wanted to know if Garrett Graham really was as good as everyone claimed. Or if she was about to find something no one else had noticed. He did say he wanted her critiques. And who was she to deny a man of becoming a better player?

****

The locker room was louder than it needed to be for a team that had been doing the same pregame routine all season. Tape ripped. Skates hit the floor. Someone - Dean, inevitably - was arguing about music like it was a life-or-death situation.

Garrett sat on the bench with one skate half-laced, head tipped slightly back against the stall as he worked his jaw loose. He could feel it already. That tight, coiled pressure behind his ribs that had nothing to do with the game. Tonight his dad was in the stands.

He hadn’t seen him since the last game. Hadn’t talked to him since a short, clipped phone call that ended the way most of them did - Garrett saying less than he wanted to, his father saying more than he should’ve.

“You good, Graham?” Logan asked from across the aisle, already in full gear, like he’d been born with his pads on.

Garrett gave a lazy shrug without looking up. “Great.”

“That’s not a real answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

Dean slid into the stall beside him, already grinning like he was about to make someone’s life worse on purpose. “He’s fine. He’s just mentally preparing for his fan club.”

Garrett shot him a look. “You mean the crowd?”

“I mean CJ Sullivan and her teammates.”

That got a reaction. Not obvious - Garrett was better than obvious - but Dean saw it anyway. He always did. The name alone shifted something in the room.

“Ohhh,” someone from the far end of the locker room said. “Hockey girl.”

Garrett exhaled through his nose. “She’s not ‘hockey girl.’”

“She literally plays hockey,” Dean said. “That’s textbook labeling.”

“It’s not a label.”

“It’s branding,” Logan corrected seriously.

Garrett leaned forward to tie his skate tighter, buying himself a second to ignore them. “Can we focus on the fact we have a game?”

“Oh, we’re focused,” Dean said. “We’re very focused on the fact that you went from ‘I don’t do distractions’ to ‘she said she’ll think about coming’ in, like, one conversation."

That got louder reactions - snorts, whistles, the usual chorus of guys who had never met a private moment they didn’t want to publicly dissect.

Garrett finally looked up. “I said she might come watch a game. That’s not -”

“‘She’ll think about coming,’” Logan repeated, leaning back against his stall with a grin. “That’s what you told us.”

Garrett paused. Because, annoyingly, that was exactly what he’d said.

He’d meant it to sound casual - like it didn’t matter either way. Like it hadn’t lodged in his chest the second it left her mouth, that small, unfamiliar hit of satisfaction when CJ hadn’t immediately shut him down. Like she’d actually consider it. Like that alone had meant something.

“It’s not a big deal,” Garrett said finally, quieter now, as he tightened the second skate.

Dean hummed. “You’re right. It’s not a big deal. It’s just interesting that you’ve been talking about her more than you talk about literally anything else that isn’t hockey or your GPA.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” Logan said easily.

Garrett stood, rolling his shoulders once, trying to shake off the conversation the way he shook off hits. “You guys are just bored.”

“We’re entertained,” Dean corrected. “There’s a difference.”

From somewhere behind them, someone else chimed in, “So what’s she like? The CJ girl.”

Garrett grabbed his gloves from the bench, sliding them on one at a time. He could feel his focus splitting in different directions now - the room, the game, the thought of her sitting somewhere in the stands if she actually decided to come.

“She’s…” He stopped. That was the problem. He had answers. Just not ones he wanted to say out loud. Because anything he said would sound too small for what he actually meant. And anything closer to the truth would mean admitting he’d started noticing her in a way that had nothing to do with hockey. And he wasn’t ready for that, especially not to this rowdy group of hockey players.

“She’s sharp,” he said finally.

Dean blinked. “That’s it?”

Garrett shrugged. “She doesn’t miss things - not in hockey and not in people. She doesn’t waste words either.”

That got a few laughs.

Logan nodded like that made perfect sense. “So she’s intimidating.”

“No,” Garrett said immediately, then paused again, realizing how fast that came out. He adjusted it. “She just… pays attention. More than most people do.”

There was a brief lull, long enough for Garrett to hear how his words may have come across. Too interested. He tried to save it, “I don’t know. She’s hard to read. Hard to impress.”

Dean’s grin widened. “Oh, so you’re trying to impress her.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Garrett picked up his helmet. The conversation was going nowhere useful now, which meant it was time to end it.

“Warmups,” he said.

But even as he turned toward the tunnel, even as the noise of the locker room faded behind him, one thought stuck - his dad in the stands. And somewhere in that same building, maybe CJ was deciding whether or not she was going to show up and watch him like he’d asked her to. Funny how one of those felt heavier than the other.

****

Garrett glided lazily through one last shooting drill as the final minutes of warmups ticked away. Pucks ricocheted in every direction, sticks clattered against the ice, and the arena hummed with that familiar pregame energy that settled comfortably into his bones.

This part never changed. The routine. The rhythm. The certainty.

He gathered another pass from Dean, snapped it glove side, and watched it ring off the post before bouncing into the net.

"Show-off," Dean called. Garrett answered with a shrug.

The whistle sounded, signaling teams to clear the ice.

As his teammates drifted toward the bench, Garrett coasted in a slow arc through the neutral zone, absently rolling his shoulders. His eyes swept the lower bowl out of habit, then they landed on a familiar face. His father, three rows behind the Briar bench. Arms crossed and chin slightly lifted. His gaze tracked Garrett with the same unnerving intensity it always had - not proud, not excited. Evaluating. Like he was already grading a game that hadn’t even started.

His stomach tightened. Of course he'd picked those seats. They were close enough to evaluate every shift, every missed pass, every shot that hit iron instead of twine. Garrett looked away before his father noticed him looking.

Nothing Garrett accomplished was ever enough to satisfy the man. Not the points. Not the championships. Not the academics. Every success only seemed to raise the bar another inch.

Should've had a hat trick.

Should've won more cleanly.

Should've made the smarter play.

There was always another should've.

Garrett had spent most of his life chasing approval from someone who seemed determined never to give it. Eventually, he'd stopped chasing. That didn't mean seeing him still didn't feel like swallowing broken glass.

He blew out a slow breath through the cage of his helmet. Forget him. For the next sixty minutes, the only opinion in the building that mattered belonged to the coaching staff.

...That, and -

His gaze wandered almost involuntarily toward the student section. He didn't know why he looked. Maybe because Dean had spent the last twenty minutes giving him hell. Maybe because some small, annoyingly optimistic part of him had wondered whether she'd actually come.

Then he saw her.

CJ sat in the student section with Maddie, Avery, and a few more from the women's team. One forearm rested against the railing while the other held an open notebook.

A notebook.

Garrett laughed under his breath. Of course she'd brought a notebook. She wasn't looking around the arena like everyone else. She wasn't taking pictures. She wasn't craning her neck every time someone recognized a player. She was watching the ice.

Watching him.

Her head tilted ever so slightly, pen tapping once against the page before she scribbled something down. His immediate reaction was a spike of competitive pride.

Good. Write something down. He'd give her plenty to write about. The thought surprised him.

Most nights, he played because he loved the game. Sometimes because the team needed him. Too often because his father expected perfection.

Tonight… He found himself wanting to impress someone who had made it abundantly clear she wasn't easily impressed. Not because he wanted her approval. At least, that's what he told himself.

It was because she'd promised honesty. No inflated praise. No starstruck admiration. Just the truth. For someone surrounded by people who treated him like he could do no wrong, the idea was oddly... refreshing.

He caught himself staring a second too long. As if sensing it, CJ lifted her head from her notebook. Their eyes met across the arena. She didn't smile. Didn't wave. Didn't blush or look away like half the people who recognized him around campus.

She simply held his gaze for a heartbeat, calm and unreadable, before clicking her pen closed and tucking it behind her ear.

The smallest corner of Garrett's mouth lifted. Game on. He pushed off toward the tunnel as the officials called both teams off the ice.

For the first time all evening, the weight of his father's presence in the stands felt... lighter. Not gone. Just quieter.

There was a hockey game to play. And somewhere in the student section sat the one person in the building who wasn't expecting Garrett Graham to be perfect. She was expecting him to earn every compliment she'd eventually give him.

****

“Here we go.” Maddie said and leaned forward in her seat.

The house lights dimmed just enough for the spotlights to sweep across the ice. The arena erupted.

The Briar student section came alive, stomping their feet against the stands until the entire section vibrated beneath CJ’s feet. The band launched into the fight song while the announcer's voice boomed through the speakers, introducing the starting lineup one player at a time.

The noise was deafening. CJ loved it. Not because of the spectacle.

Because there was something electric about the seconds before the puck dropped. Every player on the ice was exactly the same distance from success and failure. Every shift started at zero.

"You're smiling again," Maddie said, nudging her shoulder.

CJ blinked. "Am not."

"You are," Avery chimed in. "You get this weird little smile whenever hockey happens."

"Hockey is happening," CJ deadpanned.

"Normal people clap."

"I clap."

"You also brought a notebook."

CJ ignored her, flipping to a fresh page instead.

Briar vs. Hastings

Beneath it, she'd already written a handful of headings.

Decision-making.

Faceoffs.

Off-puck movement.

Zone entries.

Shot selection.

She clicked her pen once.

"You're impossible," Avery muttered.

"I've heard."

The teams skated into position.

CJ immediately leaned forward, forearms resting on the railing in front of her. Everything else disappeared. The crowd. The music. Even Avery's continued complaints faded into the background.

This was her favorite part. It wasn’t the goals or the hits. It was the puzzle before any of it happened.

She watched players settle into formation, instinctively reading the ice. Defensemen checking shoulder positions. Wingers creeping half a skate closer to the hashmarks. Centers adjusting the angle of their sticks. Tiny details. The kind most people never noticed.

The linesman stepped into the circle. Garrett Graham glided opposite the Hastings center. CJ's pulse kicked up a notch. There he was.

He looked different in full gear than he had leaning against the kitchen island yesterday. Bigger and sharper somehow.

Every movement was economical, like he'd repeated them so many times they no longer required conscious thought.

He rolled one shoulder before settling into his stance - low and balanced. His weight centered over his skates. His stick hovered just above the dot.

She readied her pen but didn't write anything. Not yet.

Coach Baker had told her the first shift revealed more than people realized. Everyone had a default - the habits they fell back on before the game settled in. That's what she wanted to see. The real one. Not the highlight-reel version of Garrett Graham - although she could probably find that on Fifth Line or somewhere on YouTube.

Beside her, Maddie laughed softly. "I know that look."

CJ didn't glance away from the ice. "What look?"

"The one where your brain is already breaking down three plays that haven't even happened."

"I'm observing."

"You're profiling."

"I prefer analyzing."

Avery snorted. "Poor Garrett."

CJ finally looked over. "What?"

"If he knew you were staring at him like that, he'd either play the game of his life or drop dead right on the ice."

CJ rolled her eyes. "He literally asked me to critique him."

"I know," Avery said. "I just don't think he realizes what that actually means."

Neither did CJ. Not entirely. Because this wasn't just curiosity anymore.

She wanted to know if Garrett Graham really deserved the reputation that followed him everywhere. If he did, she'd say so.

If he didn't… Well. He'd asked for it.

The referee bent at the waist, puck poised between his fingers.

Every player around the circle tensed. CJ leaned in another inch, her notebook forgotten in her hand. This was the moment she had been waiting for.

The puck left the official's hand.

And for the first time all night, Garrett Graham stopped being a story everyone else told. He became a player CJ could judge for herself.

****

The linesman settled over the dot. Every player around the circle lowered their center of gravity. Garrett crouched opposite Hastings' center, one hand choked low on his stick, knees bent just enough to explode in any direction. He wasn't looking at the puck.

He was looking past it. CJ followed his gaze. Interesting.

His eyes flicked to the opposing winger for half a second before drifting toward Briar's right defenseman. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but it was enough for her.

He's already reading his second play.

The official dropped the puck. The two centers tied up instantly. Stick cracked against stick. Skates carved into the ice.

Garrett didn't try to win it clean. Instead, he twisted his hips, pinning the opposing center's stick just long enough for Logan to swoop in from the wing and pull the puck free.

CJ's pen was already moving.

Didn't force a clean win. Created possession anyway.

Briar regrouped behind their own net. The defenseman circled once before sliding the puck to Garrett curling low through the neutral zone.

He didn't rush. Most elite forwards demanded the puck in stride. Garrett slowed just enough.

CJ frowned. Why?

The answer came two seconds later. The Hastings defense stepped up aggressively, expecting Garrett to attack with speed. Instead, he feathered a touch pass backward to Logan, who hit the offensive blue line untouched.

"Oh," CJ murmured.

"What?" Maddie asked.

"He slowed on purpose."

"What?"

"He wanted the defense to bite."

Logan carried wide before dropping the puck back to Garrett, who entered the zone a beat behind the play. Now both Hastings defensemen had shifted toward Logan.

CJ leaned farther over the railing. There it is.

Garrett wasn't chasing the play. He was manipulating it. Without the puck, he drifted into open ice between the circles, invisible for just a heartbeat.

Logan spotted him. Tape-to-tape. Garrett received the pass without breaking stride. One defender lunged. Garrett gave the smallest shoulder fake to the outside. It wasn't flashy and barely noticeable. But the defenseman opened his hips anyway.

That single mistake created a narrow lane toward the slot and Garrett accelerated through it. The second defender skated across to cut him off.

For a split second, CJ thought he was trapped. Two defenders. No passing lane and no shooting lane.

Then Garrett did something she hadn't expected. Instead of forcing a shot, he dragged the puck behind his back skate, pivoting his hips just enough to shield it from the first defender while baiting the second into committing.

Both defensemen reached and both missed.

The instant they crossed sticks trying to poke the puck away, Garrett slipped between them.

A collective gasp rippled through the arena. CJ's eyes widened. No way.

He'd never intended to split them with speed. He'd invited them closer and created the traffic himself. The lane hadn't existed, but he'd manufactured it.

Garrett emerged into the high slot with half a stride of daylight. The goalie challenged aggressively. Garrett snapped a quick wrist shot toward the far side.

Ping.

The puck clanged off the crossbar and ricocheted into the corner and the crowd groaned.

"Ah!" Avery shouted, grabbing the top of her head.

"So close!"

Play continued as Hastings finally cleared the zone. CJ hadn't moved. Her pen hovered over the page. Finally, she wrote three words.

Creates his lanes. Then she underlined them twice.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"Well?" Maddie asked.

CJ didn't answer immediately. She watched Garrett backcheck all the way to his own blue line before glancing at her notes again.

Finally, she spoke. "...That's clever."

Maddie laughed.

"Clever?"

"Most players react to what the defense gives them." CJ kept watching the ice. "He doesn't."

"What does he do?"

"He convinced the defense to give him exactly what he wanted."

She clicked her pen closed for a moment, unable to stop the grin spreading across her face.

"Okay," she admitted quietly. "I kinda see the hype now."

****

They were nearing the end of the first period. Logan collected the puck below Briar's goal line and immediately turned up ice.

Garrett exploded through the neutral zone, stick on the ice, crossing the red line with Dean on his right.

The Hastings defense backed in together, holding a tight gap. Logan carried over the blue line before chipping the puck wide to Dean along the boards. Garrett drove the middle lane.

One defenseman picked him up immediately. The other stayed between Dean and the net, head swiveling back and forth.

Garrett glanced toward the corner. Dean had possession, but he'd be pressured in another second.

There wasn't a clean passing lane. Not yet.

Then, another image cut through the play.

Sullivan, flying through the neutral zone in Briar blue. She hadn't even had the puck. That was the part that had fascinated him. She'd attacked open ice as though the pass was coming to her. Both defensemen had reacted instantly, abandoning their spacing to collapse on her.

The puck had never gone her way.

Instead, her winger had skated untouched into the slot because CJ had dragged two defenders out of position simply by convincing them she was about to become the threat.

Garrett had thought about that play over and over after the women's game. Not because it was flashy, but because it was brilliant.

Let's see if you’re right.

He angled his body toward Dean and lifted his stick, calling for the pass. "Here!"

It wasn't loud and it didn't need to be. The gesture was enough. He sold it completely. Eyes locked on Dean and blade open. His weight shifted as though he was preparing to receive the puck in stride.

The nearest defenseman reacted first. Then the second. Exactly as he'd hoped. Both took two hard strides toward Garrett, closing the lane before the pass could arrive.

Got you.

The instant they committed, Garrett peeled away from the imaginary passing lane, dragging both defenders with him.

Dean never even looked in his direction. Instead, he threaded a pass underneath both defenders to Logan, who had quietly slipped into the space Garrett had just created.

"Backdoor!" someone on the Hastings bench shouted. Too late. Logan walked into the slot uncontested. The goalie slid across to challenge.

Logan snapped a quick shot. Pad save.

The rebound kicked straight into the low slot and Garrett was already there. Because while both defensemen scrambled to recover from chasing him the first time, he'd circled right back into the hole they'd left behind.

One touch. Forehand. Roof.

The lamp lit behind the net and the arena erupted.

Dean slammed into Garrett first. "Hell of a read!"

Garrett barely heard him. His heartbeat thundered in his ears as his teammates crowded around. He hadn't scored because of the shot. He'd scored thirty seconds earlier. The moment two defensemen believed a lie.

As the celebration broke apart, Garrett instinctively looked toward the student section. He found CJ almost immediately. She wasn't celebrating. She was staring at the ice with an expression that looked suspiciously like disbelief. Then she laughed. Not loudly. Just a quiet, involuntary huff as she shook her head once and scribbled furiously in her notebook.

Garrett couldn't hear her and he didn't need to. She'd recognized it. She knew exactly what he'd done. More importantly… She knew exactly whose move it had been.

A grin spread across Garrett's face before he could stop it. Maybe she'd have something nice to say after all.

****

The scoreboard glowed overhead.

BRIAR 3 HASTINGS 3

2:14 remaining in the third and last period.

The arena had shifted into that nervous kind of loud, every cheer tinged with tension. CJ had long since forgotten the notebook in her lap. Her pen rested between her fingers, untouched. She'd filled a few pages already. Most of them about one player.

"Big shift here," Maddie murmured. CJ nodded absently.

Garrett vaulted over the boards as Briar completed a line change, his skates biting into the ice before he'd even reached full speed. Fresh legs. Fresh opportunity.

The puck rimmed around the boards into Briar's corner. Their defenseman absorbed a hit, kicked it loose, and shoveled it to Logan.

Logan turned immediately up ice. Three-on-three. Dean charged down the left wing and Garrett took the middle. The Hastings defense retreated in perfect formation, matching Briar's rush stride for stride.

CJ leaned farther over the railing. What do you see?

Logan crossed center to slide the puck to Dean and he carried it wide. Garrett didn't call for it. He wasn't even looking at the puck anymore. He was looking at the defense. No. He was looking through them.

The nearest defenseman cheated toward Dean, anticipating a drive down the wall. The second drifted toward Garrett, trying to seal the middle.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then Garrett slowed. Again, not enough for most people to notice. Enough for CJ.

He's changing the timing.

Dean noticed too. Instead of forcing a pass immediately, he circled once along the boards. Everything compressed. Both defenders shifted another step. The goalie adjusted.

Tiny movements and barely visible.

CJ's pulse quickened. He's waiting for something.

Garrett coasted into the high slot as if he'd been taken out of the play entirely. One defender glanced away. Just once toward Dean. Mistake.

Garrett exploded. Not toward the puck, but into the space the defenseman had abandoned. Dean fired the pass before Garrett even finished his first crossover. Tape to tape. Perfect.

The puck met Garrett's blade without a sound. He didn't settle it, didn't dust it off, and - most importantly - didn't hesitate.

The first defenseman lunged to block the shooting lane. Garrett drew his stick back. The defender committed fully, dropping to one knee.

CJ knew what was coming. He'd shoot around him. Except… He didn't. At the last possible instant, Garrett rolled his wrists just enough to pull the puck six inches inside. The defender slid harmlessly past and the goalie reacted late.

Garrett snapped a wrist shot through the narrow opening between the defenseman's legs. The release was so quick CJ almost missed it. The puck disappeared. Then… Ping. Off the inside of the far post. In. The goal light exploded red.

For one suspended heartbeat, the entire arena seemed to inhale. Then everyone erupted. The sound slammed into CJ like a body check.

Garrett disappeared beneath a pile of celebrating teammates near the corner boards. Dean practically tackled him. Logan was laughing so hard he nearly lost his helmet.

The student section shook beneath CJ's feet. Everyone around her screamed. She didn't. She just stared.

"...Holy shit," Avery breathed beside her.

CJ barely heard her. Her eyes remained fixed on Garrett as his teammates finally let him up. She replayed the goal in her mind. Not the shot, but the decision.

He'd manipulated the defender with his release. Made him believe the shot was coming half a second earlier than it actually was. Half a second. That was all it took.

A slow smile spread across CJ's face before she could stop it. There it was. The thing she'd been trying to identify all night. Not the hands. Not the shot. Not even the skating.

His patience.

Everyone else played the puck. Garrett played people.

She looked down at her notebook and, for the first time all game, found herself unsure how to summarize what she'd just witnessed.

Finally, she wrote one sentence.

He doesn't beat defenders, he convinces them to beat themselves.

She underlined it once. Then twice.

Maddie peeked over her shoulder.

"That's... annoyingly complimentary."

CJ closed the notebook with a quiet snap. "It's accurate."

She looked back toward the ice just as Garrett skated past the glass during the celebration. For a brief second, his gaze drifted toward the student section. Toward her. CJ didn't look away.

Instead, she gave the smallest nod. Not as a fan. Not even as a friend. As one hockey player acknowledging another.

That, she thought, was worth studying.

****

The second they pushed through the front doors of Malone's, the familiar mix of fried food, spilled beer, and too-loud music wrapped around them. The place was already packed.

Students in Briar shirts and jerseys crowded every table, replaying the game as if they hadn't all just watched it together. Someone near the bar was dramatically reenacting Garrett's game-winning goal with a basket of fries in place of a hockey stick.

"Wrong angle," CJ muttered automatically.

Maddie laughed. "You physically cannot stop yourself."

"I didn't do anything."

"You literally just critiqued a stranger's fry mechanics."

CJ opened her mouth, then closed it. "...Fair."

They found an empty high-top tucked near the back, close enough to watch the crowd without becoming part of it. The waitress appeared almost immediately.

After drink orders were taken, Avery leaned both elbows on the table. "Okay."

CJ narrowed her eyes. "Okay what?"

"We're talking about the notebook."

CJ sighed. "I knew this was coming."

"You took four pages."

"It was three."

Maddie blinked. "The fact that you corrected the number proves our point."

CJ reached for a menu she had absolutely no intention of reading. "It wasn't about Garrett."

Avery barked out a laugh. "You are so full of shit."

"It wasn't."

"It absolutely was," Maddie said. "Every time he touched the puck, your pen started moving."

"I was observing."

"You were writing."

"Observation requires writing."

"It requires four pages?"

"Three."

"Still proving my point."

CJ groaned, dropping the menu onto the table. "You two are exhausting."

"No," Avery corrected. "We're fascinated."

"By what?"

"The fact that our captain voluntarily spent her time studying a guy."

"I've studied plenty of players."

"Not like that."

CJ frowned. "What does that mean?"

Maddie exchanged a look with Avery. "You smiled."

"I smile."

"You smiled at him."

"I smiled at a hockey play."

"The hockey play had a name."

CJ rolled her eyes so hard they almost hurt. "You both need hobbies."

"We have hobbies." Avery said.

"We're watching you develop one." Maddie added.

"I am not developing a hobby."

Avery leaned across the table. "So..."

CJ already didn't like where this was going.

"...How many stars did Garrett Graham earn?"

CJ snorted. "I wasn't grading him."

"You absolutely were."

"I was evaluating."

"Same thing."

CJ hesitated.

Long enough for both women to notice.

"...He's better than I expected."

Silence.

Then, Maddie's jaw dropped.

Avery clutched an imaginary set of pearls. "Oh my God."

CJ frowned. "What?"

"You admitted it."

"I admitted nothing."

"You just complimented Garrett Graham." Maddie said, grinning way too brightly.

"I stated an objective fact."

Avery pointed triumphantly. "Write down the date."

"Oh, shut up. He manipulated the defense really well," CJ continued, ignoring them both. "His patience is unusual."

"Oh, she's talking hockey now," Maddie whispered dramatically.

"We've lost her."

CJ ignored that too. "He doesn't force plays. He waits until defenders commit, then uses their momentum against them."

"You sound impressed."

CJ traced the rim of her glass with one finger. "I am."

The admission slipped out before she could stop it. She wasn't embarrassed by it. If anything… She respected it. Elite players recognized elite players. That was all. Nothing more. Nothing -

The front door burst open. A wave of cheers rolled through Malone's. CJ looked up instinctively.

The men's hockey team spilled inside still buzzing from the win, jackets half-zipped, hair damp from postgame showers.

Dean entered first, arms already thrown around two teammates as he shouted something completely unintelligible. Logan followed, laughing.

Then Garrett stepped through the doorway. Conversation around them shifted almost immediately. Students called out congratulations. Someone bought the team a round before they'd even reached the bar.

Garrett accepted it all with an easy smile, exchanging fist bumps and handshakes as he worked through the crowd.

Avery leaned toward CJ. "Well..."

CJ didn't look away from the doorway. "What?"

"I think your homework just walked in."

CJ shot her a deadpan look. "It wasn't homework."

"It was extra credit." Maddie laughed into her drink.

Before CJ could think of a comeback, Garrett looked up. Across the crowded bar, his eyes landed on their table. Recognition flashed instantly. His expression brightened - not dramatically, just enough that CJ noticed.

He lifted two fingers in a casual wave. It was small, almost private. Without thinking, CJ returned it.

Avery made a strangled noise beside her. "Oh," she whispered.

"Oh, this just got interesting." Maddie followed.

CJ lowered her hand. "What?"

"You waved back."

CJ stared at her.

"It would've been rude not to."

"Mm-hmm." Avery nodded, unconvinced.

"It would've." CJ said indignantly.

"Sure."

CJ took a long sip of her drink. For some reason, it suddenly felt very warm inside Malone's.

****

Garrett turned his attention back to the table and his teammates. But fuck did he want nothing but to walk right up to Sullivan and pick her brain. Instead, he settled for that wave. He would talk to her. Not yet, though. He didn’t want to hear anything from his friends about being overeager.

But he was. She was all he could think about after the game. Even when his dad gave him that nod he gets after a win. Usually, it heated him. Because fuck that guy. The closest his dad had ever gotten to I’m proud of you. But this time, that nod didn’t do anything. Didn’t touch him at all. There was another player’s opinion in the stands that he was more worried about.

Garrett accepted another bottle of beer someone shoved into his hand. He wasn't sure who.

Dean was halfway through recounting the game-winning goal for what had to be the fourth time, embellishing a little more with each retelling.

"I'm telling you," Dean said, gesturing wildly with his bottle. "I saw the goalie question every decision he'd ever made."

"You saw him get scored on," Logan corrected.

"Same thing."

Laughter erupted around the table.

Garrett laughed too, but his attention kept drifting. The girls were still there across the room. CJ sat with her back mostly toward him now, talking to Maddie while absently turning her bottle between her palms. Every so often she'd laugh. Not loudly, just enough for the corners of her eyes to crinkle. He found himself waiting for it.

"Earth to Graham." Dean snapped his fingers in front of Garrett's face.

"Hm?"

"You've looked over there like six times."

"I have not."

"You absolutely have."

"I was looking at the TV."

"The TV that's behind the women's hockey team?"

Garrett took a long drink instead of answering.

Dean grinned. "Oh my God."

Logan looked between them. "What?"

"He's trying not to go talk to her."

"I am not."

Dean laughed. "You are literally sitting on your hands."

Garrett looked down. One hand really was tucked beneath his thigh. "...Coincidence."

"Bullshit." Before Dean could keep going, a familiar voice cut through the conversation.

"Congratulations on the win."

Every head at the table turned. CJ stood there with Maddie and Avery on either side of her.

Garrett was already on his feet before he'd consciously decided to stand. "Thanks."

His teammates noticed. Of course they noticed. Dean's grin became downright obnoxious.

CJ glanced around the table. "I hope we're not interrupting."

"Not at all," Logan answered before Garrett could.

Dean kicked Logan under the table. Logan kicked him back.

CJ's eyes landed on Garrett. "You asked for critiques."

His heartbeat picked up. "I did."

"I figured I'd give you one while it was still fresh."

Dean made a choking sound. Garrett didn't take his eyes off CJ. "I'm listening."

She studied him for a second. Long enough that he wondered if she'd changed her mind.

"You were patient."

He blinked.

"...That's the critique?"

"It's the compliment."

"Oh."

"I'll get to the critique."

Dean leaned toward Logan. "I like her."

Logan nodded solemnly. "I'm terrified of her."

CJ either didn't hear them or chose to ignore them.

"You manipulated defenders better than anyone in Division I I've watched this season."

Garrett felt something tighten pleasantly in his chest. She'd noticed.

"I especially liked the play in the first period."

His eyebrows lifted. "Which one?"

"The one where you drew both defensemen toward you without the puck."

Garrett smiled before he could stop himself. "So you caught that."

"I'd have been worried if I hadn't."

The smile widened. "I stole it."

CJ tilted her head. "I know."

"You knew?" He knew she noticed, he was hoping she did.

"I recognized it immediately."

Avery frowned. "What are you two talking about?"

Garrett looked at CJ. "You tell them."

She folded her arms. "He copied something I did."

Dean's head whipped toward Garrett. "You stole a move from the women's team?"

"I borrowed an idea."

CJ shook her head. "No."

Garrett laughed. "No?"

"You improved it."

That surprised him. She continued before he could respond. "I only pulled two defenders because they thought I was getting the puck.”

“No. You pulled them because they thought you were becoming dangerous."

She nodded thoughtfully. "You used the same principle."

"But?" Garrett patiently waited.

"Your body sold the fake perfectly," she said. "But your eyes gave away where the play was going. Against most college defensemen, it doesn't matter. At a higher level, one of them catches that."

Garrett frowned, replaying the shift in his head. "...You're right."

"I know. I tend to see things other people don’t."

Garrett stared at her. She wasn't criticizing the play. She was making it better.

"You think I should've kept my eyes on Dean."

"I think you sell the fake with your body, not your eyes."

Silence settled around the table.

Beau, a football player, looked between them. "...Are either of you speaking English?"

Nobody answered him. Garrett's entire focus was on CJ. She wasn't impressed because he'd scored. She wasn't impressed because he'd won. She was breaking apart a seven-second sequence the way coaches did during film sessions. The way he'd always wished someone would.

A slow grin spread across his face. "I've never had anyone critique my game like that."

CJ shrugged like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. "You asked."

"I did."

"And?"

He laughed softly. "And I think you're right."

Her expression softened just enough that he almost missed it. "Good."

Something warm settled in Garrett's chest. Not the rush of scoring. Not the satisfaction of winning. Something quieter.

He'd spent years hearing what he'd done wrong from someone who only wanted perfection. Standing in Malone's, surrounded by the noise of celebrating teammates, CJ had pointed out a flaw in his game… and somehow she'd made him feel like a better player instead of a worse one.

For the first time in a long time, Garrett found himself looking forward to hearing someone tell him how he could improve.

CJ was about to turn around, then suddenly turned back toward Garrett like she forgot something. “Also, I saw some of your girls in the stands, Graham.”

“My girls?” He questioned, confused.

“Yeah, some freshmen with Garrett’s Girls across the front of their shirts in big glittery letters.” CJ teased. “Oh, you weren’t aware of your fan club?”

CJ turned back around to leave with Avery and Maddie on her heels. His table erupted in laughter. He wanted nothing more than to follow after her. But he didn’t. He would see her again, he was sure of it. After all - she still owed him a full scouting report.

previous part next part

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He remembered one player. He’d expected to forget about her after the game. Maybe not forget, but at least not think about her this much… Or see her for that matter.

Instead, he’d seen her everywhere. Leaving the athletic center carrying a gym bag. In line at the campus coffee shop. Laughing outside the student union. In the car next to him at a stoplight.

Never alone for long. Never looking his way. He didn’t even know why he noticed. He wondered if they’d always crossed paths this much and he was just too blind to see her before.

Dean plopped on the couch next to him. He tried to subtly glance over at Garret’s phone in a way that was not subtle at all.

“Dean, I can feel your breath on my neck.” Garrett says without looking up from his phone, which seemed to be pulled up to Instagram. Cora Sullivan’s Instagram.

“You’re still on that, man?”

“On what?”

“That girl,” Dean pointed at Garrett’s phone screen. Cora filled the screen. The photo was taken at the beach. She stood hip deep in the water, posing in a way he’d seen ballet dancers do. One arm lifted straight up, the other lifted straight out pointing to the side, and both hands had fingers splayed elegantly. She was smiling. Brown curly hair damp and blowing in the wind. Water dripping down her softly toned stomach. Sun rays beating down on her and creating a golden tone on her tan skin.

“Well, I guess she is hot.” Dean considers before walking away. And while that was true, that's not what drew Garrett to that picture. She looked happy, giddy even. He could imagine what she was doing right before this picture was taken. Playing, frolicking, laughing, having giggly child-like fun in the water. He didn’t even realize he had started smiling.

****

CJ was sitting in her and Maddie’s shared living area of their dorm, which was more like a small apartment. One shared kitchen, a living room, and two bedrooms - each with an en suite bathroom - on either side of the living space. Maddie walked out of her bedroom fully dressed in what could be described as ‘sorority party girl chic’. A white baby tee with a mid-rise denim mini skirt and a pair of clean stark white sneakers. Fully dressed for a party that CJ refused to go to.

“You are not wearing that.” CJ was referring to Maddie's top, which read ‘I ‘heart’ Hockey Boys’.

“No, girl,” Maddie points at CJ’s flannel pajama pants and oversized t-shirt. “You are not wearing that.”

CJ stood from her spot on the couch to head toward the kitchen while Maddie followed her. She padded over to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. “I’m not going. We already talked about this.”

“Come on. What’s the harm in going? You’re not doing anything anyway.”

“I was thinking I would invite Austin over.” Austin was a Political Science major that CJ had been hooking up with. He was dreadfully boring, but acceptable in bed. And honestly, CJ didn’t need him to be even a little interesting. He was hot and he got the job done. It made it easier that she nearly fell asleep anytime they had a conversation longer than 2 minutes. She had no desire to like him. She had no desire for a boyfriend or crush or anything that could become anything other than sex.

“Girl, dump him.”

“We’re not together.” CJ argued.

“You know what I mean. That man is a walking Terms and Conditions page. Nobody reads those. Stop fucking reading, Sully!” Maddie let out an exasperated sigh. They had had this conversation before. CJ let out a laugh she was desperately trying to hold in.

Maddie continued, “Look, please just come with me and Avery. Avery has a crush on that Ryan guy. And maybe… You can talk to Garrett.”

“Why would I talk to Garrett Graham?”

“Don’t pretend you weren’t checking him out outside the student union.”

“I wasn’t checking him out.” Not entirely true, but no one needed to know just how hard she had been staring at his biceps other than her.

“Sure,” Maddie deadpanned. “One hour. Then we can leave, or stay if you want.”

CJ considered the offer. It would get her out of their place for a while, which she desperately needed. The past week had been exhausting. Practice, workouts, classes, studying. She needed social interaction.

“Fine.”

****

Garrett was desperately trying to stay off his phone after Logan had caught him grinning down at it. So instead of doing what his hand was itching to do, he was standing around the beer pong table watching Dean and Beau play against two sophomores. It was no surprise to anyone that Dean and Beau were winning. The sophomores had one cup left in front of them, while Dean and Beau had four.

Just as Dean sunk the ping pong ball into the sophomore’s remaining cup, Garrett heard the front door open to his right. He paid it no mind because people were constantly showing up, but apparently Logan was because he nudged Garrett’s arm and said, “There’s your girl, Cap.”

Garrett immediately turned his head in the direction of the door and there she was. She traded her hockey gear for dark jeans and a black backless halter top. Her curls were piled into a messy claw clip, a few loose tendrils framed her face. She was with two of her friends that Garrett recognized from the women’s hockey team. She paused just long enough to glance around the crowded room, before grabbing one of the girl’s hands and moving further into the house.

Garrett’s breath caught. Jesus. She’s beautiful. Not in the polished, trying-too-hard way he’d grown used to seeing at parties. There was something effortless about her. Comfortable. Like she wasn’t there to be noticed, which somehow made her impossible not to notice.

“She’s not my girl.” The words came out a little too quickly. A little too defensive. Logan’s grin widened.

He watched as she greeted a few familiar faces with an easy smile before rolling her eyes at something one of her teammates said. Even across the room, he could tell she wasn’t the loudest person in the group. She listened more than she talked. Observed before she reacted. 

It was the same thing she’d done on the ice. Always looking. Always reading the play before anyone else. Without realizing it, Garrett found himself smiling. Again.

Dean, having noticed that his friends weren’t joining in on the celebration of his win, turned to see what caught their attention. “Dude, just go talk to her.”

Garrett scoffed and forced his attention onto Dean. “What makes you think I want to talk to her?”

“Ten bucks says you won’t.” Dean countered, folding his arms.

Garrett snorted, “I’m not twelve, Di Laurentis.”

“Exactly,” Dean smirked. “Prove it.”

“I’m not talking to someone because you bet me I wouldn’t.”

“No,” Dean agreed. “Talk to her because you’ve been thinking about her for a whole week.”

Garrett glared at Dean and Logan who both smiled innocently. The worst part? Dean wasn’t wrong… at all. He thought about her more than he should. And it wasn’t just that she was gorgeous. Campus was full of gorgeous girls. It was that she’d somehow managed to stay in his head after one game and exactly zero conversations. That… that was new.

“So?” Logan clapped a hand on Garrett’s shoulder.

Garrett sighed, drained the rest of his beer, and set the bottle on the nearest table.

“Fine.”

Dean and Logan exchanged victorious grins.

****

The house was packed. People drinking, dancing, shouting in order to be heard over the music and chatter around them. CJ led Avery and Maddie to the kitchen to hopefully find a drink. If she was supposed to be in the Hockey House enjoying herself, she would need an alcoholic beverage for sure.

It wasn’t hard to find a drink at all. There were various liquor bottles lining the island, as well as some mixers. CJ bypassed the bottles and went to the sink, which was filled with ice and held canned beers and seltzers. She grabbed three seltzers and dispersed them among her friends.

“You know, your shirt is going to give these hockey guys the wrong idea.” Avery gestured to Maddie’s ‘I ‘heart’ hockey boys’ shirt.

“Just because I’m a vegetarian, doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the look and smell of meat.” Maddie replied. Maddie came out as gay freshman year after a really bad date. She said she couldn’t pretend any longer just to make her parents happy. It turned out that her parents didn’t care who she liked as long as she was happy. And although Maddie had effectively sworn off men from that moment on, she claimed she could still appreciate a good looking one.

“Ew. New rule, no referring to sexuality in terms of food.” CJ said, wrinkling her nose.

Avery snorted into her drink. "I actually think that’s a reasonable rule.”

“Thank you,” CJ said, popping open her seltzer. “Somebody around here has standards.”

“Oh, please,” Maddie rolled her eyes. “I’m a writer. Metaphors are my love language.”

“No,” Avery corrected. “Chaos is your love language.”

Maddie gasped dramatically, “I can’t believe you’d attack me like this.”

“I can think of at least twelve examples from this week alone,” CJ deadpanned.

“Only twelve? I’m losing my edge.”

CJ laughed, shaking her head. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is a bad thing.”

“It absolutely isn’t.”

Moments like this were why CJ never regretted saying yes when her friends dragged her out. They could’ve been standing in a packed hockey house or the middle of an empty parking lot. With Avery and Maddie beside her, she’d have found something to laugh about either way. 

Maddie took a slow sip of her drink before her eyes suddenly widened.

“Oh my god.”

CJ’s smile disappeared. “What?”

“My ex.”

Avery followed Maddie’s line of sight across the room.

“The one from sophomore year?” CJ questioned.

“The very one.” Maddie nodded.

“I thought she transferred.”

“I thought she did too.”

CJ looked between them. “You need backup?”

Maddie waved her off. “No, no. I just need to figure out if she’s actually here or if the tequila in this has already started working.”

“You’ve had exactly three sips.” Avery reminds her.

“I metabolize quickly.”

“That's… not how alcohol works,” CJ said.

“Stay here,” Avery said, looking at CJ. “We’ll go investigate before Maddie accidentally waves at a stranger.”

“I would never.”

CJ laughed, raising an eyebrow. “You literally did that at the grocery store last week.”

“She looked familiar!”

“She was the cashier.”

Maddie huffed, “I said I was sorry.”

Avery laughed, taking Maddie by the elbow. “Come on. Detective time.”

Before they disappeared into the crowd, Maddie turned around to point at CJ. “Don’t go anywhere!”

CJ raised her drink in acknowledgment. “I’ll try not to get kidnapped.”

“By a hockey player?” Maddie called over the music.

“You’re insufferable.”

“I’ve been told I’m a delight.”

CJ watched them weave through the sea of people until they disappeared in the living room. She leaned back against the kitchen island, taking a slow sip of her seltzer. She hadn’t been alone for more than a minute when she became aware of someone approaching from her left. She looked up.

Garrett Graham was making his way toward her with the kind of confidence that couldn’t be faked. Not arrogant. Not showy. Just… effortless. Like he’d never questioned whether he belonged in a room. It was irritatingly attractive.

Their eyes met before he reached her. For the briefest moment, CJ considered pretending to be very interested in the nutritional information on her seltzer can.

Too late. He already smiled.

Damn him. He was even better looking up close. It wasn’t just the face - which should have been illegal on principle alone. It was the way all of him fit together. The easy smile that hinted he didn’t take himself too seriously. His warm hazel eyes. Tall enough she would have to tilt her chin to meet his eyes - even in her chunky boots. The broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his Henley. Strong forearms dusted with light hair, the sleeves pushed carelessly to his elbows.

God, she was noticing his forearms.

He came to a stop in front of her. The smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth now spread fully. And for a fleeting second she understood why half the female population at Briar probably mistook basic politeness for flirting.

He had one of those smiles.

The kind that made you feel like you’d just been let in on a joke. It should’ve been obnoxious. Instead, it made her stomach do something embarrassingly unfamiliar. She refused to examine it too closely.

“Cora, right?” Garrett says.

“Um, no,” She watched confusion flicker across his face and couldn’t help smiling. “No one calls me that except my mom.”

Garrett laughs. Damn his stupidly attractive laugh. “Good to know. Then what can I call you, Sullivan?”

“CJ if you want. Sullivan works too.” CJ supplies.

Garrett nodded, “Okay, Sullivan. I’m Gar-”

CJ cuts him off, “I know who you are, Graham.”

“Wow. Here I thought introducing myself was the polite thing to do.”

“It is.”

“But?”

“But you're captain of the men’s hockey team.” She took a sip of her drink. “Pretty sure over half the campus knows or has heard of who you are.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough.”

“And,” she added, unable to resist, “this is your house.”

“Also fair.”

For a beat, they regarded each other. It wasn’t awkward. More… curious. Like they were both trying to figure out if the other matched the version they’d built in their heads.

Garrett broke the silence first.

“So…” He tilted his head. “Am I Garrett to you, or are we sticking with Graham?”

CJ shrugged one shoulder. “I figured if you’re calling me Sullivan, it’s only fair.”

Another grin spread across his face. “I respect the commitment to the bit.”

“I respect consistency.”

“Good. I was worried you just didn’t like me.”

She met his gaze. “I don’t know you well enough to make that call.”

He laughed again, quieter this time. “I guess I’ve got some work to do then.”

That made her smile. It wasn’t a big smile. More like she’d forgotten, for just a second, that she was trying to keep him at arms length. And somehow, that felt like a victory. Garrett couldn’t remember the last time making a girl smile had felt… earned. Usually it came easy. A joke. A grin. A little charm.

With Sullivan, it felt different. Better. He barely knew her. Hell, this was the longest and only conversation they’d ever had. So why did he want to keep making her smile?

Garrett looked like he was about to say something, stops himself, then thinks fuck it. “So what have you heard?”

CJ frowned. “Huh?”

“You said over half of the campus has heard of me.” One shoulder lifted in a casual shrug, but there was something almost… hesitant in his eyes. “What have you heard?”

His hesitancy wasn’t something she had expected. Most guys with Garrett Graham’s reputation either leaned into it or laughed it off.

“Well… I’ve heard you’re good at hockey.” CJ lists on one finger.

“I’d hope so.”

“I’ve also heard you’re insufferably competitive.” Another finger.

He winced dramatically. “Dean talks too much.”

“So that’s true.”

“Depends who you ask.”

“And the rest?”

He folded his arms, looking entirely too amused. “The rest?”

“The part where every girl on campus apparently has a Garrett Graham story.”

His smile faltered for half a second. Not enough that most people would notice. But CJ did.

“Campus has a tendency to exaggerate.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Their eyes met. For the first time since he walked over, neither of them smiled. Garrett held her gaze, wondering what exactly she had heard. That he slept around? That he never stayed the night? That he’d break your heart without even realizing he’d done it?

The frustrating part was that none of it was entirely untrue. He wasn’t ashamed of the choices he’d made. He respected women. Every woman he’d ever hooked up with knew exactly what they were getting into. He made sure of it. He’d never promised exclusivity. Never hinted at a relationship he had no intention of pursuing. He’d always been upfront.

It wasn’t his fault if people expected more than that. Still… Rumors had a way of sanding off the edges of the truth until all that remained was a caricature. The player. The commitment-phobe. The guy who collected phone numbers and forgot names.

That last one wasn’t even true. He remembered names. Faces, too. He just rarely saw them twice.

And, not for the first time, he found himself wishing someone would take the time to figure out who he was before deciding they already know. Which was ridiculous. She was practically a stranger. She didn’t owe him the benefit of the doubt. So why did it bother him?

CJ examined him for another beat. She’d expected arrogance. A rehearsed joke. Maybe even a cocky comeback. Instead, she caught something else. Something that looked suspiciously like disappointment. It lasted less than a second before he covered it with another easy smile.

Interesting. Maybe Garrett Graham wasn’t as simple as she’d decided he was. He’d managed to crack the neat little box she’d already put him in. She didn’t like being wrong.

****

“Hey.”

Maddie felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see Dean Di Laurentis and John Logan standing in front of her.

“I’m gay. Not interested.” She said dryly.

Before she could turn back around, Dean said, “That’s not… but your shirt… never mind. Noted. That’s not what I’m here for.”

“What do you want, Di Laurentis?” Avery cuts in, folding her arms.

“I’m actually here on official hockey business.”

“Funny. I don’t see a clip board.” Maddie teases.

“It’s an invisible clipboard.”

“So… imaginary business.” Maddie narrowed her eyes.

Dean ignored her and gestured to Garrett and CJ in the kitchen. “So. Sullivan.”

Maddie's eyes followed where he had pointed. Her eyes widened when she saw how close her best friend was standing to Garrett Graham. Huh, so much for not being interested.

“What about Sully?”

Dean shrugged with exaggerated innocence. “What kind of person is she?”

“The kind who’d hate that you’re asking us this.”

“Which is exactly why we’re asking you.”

Logan sighed, “That sounded creepy, Dean.”

“It does sound creepy.” Avery agreed.

Dean pointed at her. “Thank you. Wait-”

“No, I’m agreeing with Logan.” Avery cut him off.

“So Garrett sent you.” Maddie guesses.

“What makes you think this has anything to do with Garrett?”

“Call it intuition.” Maddie continued, “So you’re fishing for information?”

“We’re gathering intel.” Dean corrected.

“That’s somehow worse.”

Dean grinned. “Come on. Help a guy out.”

Avery exchanged a look with Maddie. “Okay, what do you want to know?”

“Everything.” Dean rubbed his hands together.

Logan rolled his eyes. “Maybe start smaller.”

Dean nodded. “Fine. Is she seeing anyone?”

“No.”

“Does she want to be?” Logan questioned.

Maddie laughed. “That’s a more complicated question.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “I knew it.”

“What?” Logan looked at Dean.

“There’s a story.”

“There isn’t a story,” Avery said quickly.

“There is absolutely a story.” Dean argued.

“There isn’t one you’re entitled to.” Maddie sassed back.

Dean sighed dramatically. “Tough crowd.”

Maddie softened a little. “Look… Sully’s great.”

“The best captain we’ve ever had.” Avery added.

“She’s loyal to a fault.”

“Funny.”

“Competitive.”

“Stubborn.”

“So stubborn.” Maddie emphasized.

Dean nodded thoughtfully. “So basically Garrett.”

Avery and Maddie shared a look. Then, simultaneously -

“Oh, that’s a terrible idea.”

Logan laughed. Dean frowned, “Really?”

“Their arguments would be legendary.” Avery said.

“They’d probably turn deciding where to eat into a best-of-seven series.” Maddie added.

Dean looked genuinely delighted. “I don’t see the problem.”

“Of course you don’t.”

Logan glanced toward Garrett, who was completely failing at hiding his interest in the girl in front of him if that was his intention. That man was locked in. “So…” he asked casually. “Why doesn’t she date?”

Madia and Avery shared another look. This one lingered longer. Finally, Maddie shrugged. “She just… doesn’t.”

“Not because she can’t,” Avery clarified.

“Because she’s picky.” Maddie had chosen the word ‘picky’ carefully. It was an answer that was both true and incomplete. Maddie was the only one that truly knew CJ’s past; Avery had the cliff notes. Some stories weren’t hers to tell, and CJ’s was one of them.

There were reasons CJ kept people at arm’s length. Reasons she’d learned that trust wasn’t given freely, no matter how genuine someone seemed. Those reasons belonged to CJ. Until she decided otherwise, they would stay that way.

Maddie knew there was a version of CJ that laughed easily, trusted quickly, and believed people when they said they cared. She also knew that version hadn’t existed for a very long time. Some people grew up thinking home was the safest place in the world. CJ hadn’t been one of them.

****

“So…” Garrett said, leaning against the kitchen island. “Am I at least getting points for surviving the first five minutes, Sullivan?”

CJ pretended to consider it. “You’ve managed not to say anything outrageously obnoxious.”

His eyebrows lifted. “That’s all it takes?”

“It’s a strong start.”

“I’ll take it.”

A voice interrupted them. “Cora Sullivan?”

They both turned. A petite blonde with sharp eyes and an easy smile stopped beside them.

“CJ, actually.” Garrett corrected before she could.

“CJ, sorry.” They extended a hand. “I’m Jules Logan. They/them.”

Recognition flickered across CJ’s face. “The Fifth Line?”

Jules laughed. “So you’ve heard of me.”

“I’ve seen your page.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Jules said with an edge of excitement, and continued. “My brother has been talking about your team nonstop.”

CJ looked surprised. “Really?”

“Oh yeah.” Jules nodded enthusiastically. “Logan said Coach made them watch the women’s game because they had something to learn.”

Garrett let out a quiet laugh. “That definitely happened.”

Jules rolled their eyes. “And then Logan spent twenty minutes explaining how your line controlled possession like it was a TED Talk.”

CJ blinked. “I didn’t know the guys were actually paying attention.”

Garrett frowned. “Really?”

“I mean… I know people come to support us.” CJ shrugged. “Family. Friends. Students. Never the men’s hockey team.”

“I’ve played hockey my whole life.” He gestured toward her. “I know good hockey when I see it.”

Something in his voice made her pause. There wasn’t an ounce of flirtation. Just conviction.

“I think you see the ice differently than most people.” He continued. “Coach wasn’t kidding when he made us watch you. You dictate the pace. You don’t chase the game - you make everyone else chase you.”

CJ stared at him. Nobody outside of her coaches had described her game like that. Not even her teammates. Certainly not the captain of the men’s team… Until now.

“You noticed all that?” She asked quietly.

He shrugged like it was obvious. “Kind of hard not to.”

Heat crept into her cheeks. Fuck. Now she was blushing. At Garrett Graham. She was blushing at Garrett Graham. She couldn’t remember the last compliment that had meant this much. Because it wasn’t something superficial about her. It was about hockey. One of the most important things in her life.

Jules grinned knowingly. “I knew you two would get along.”

CJ tore her eyes away from Garrett, which was growing increasingly hard to do. “What makes you say that?”

“You both talk about hockey like normal people talk about religion.”

Garrett laughed. “They got us there.”

“I was actually hoping you’d let me cover some of the women’s games this year.” Jules said. “Interviews, features… maybe help get even more people in the stands. And take some attention off just the boys.”

CJ’s expression softened. “You’d really do that?”

Women’s hockey had always felt like an afterthought at Briar, even though they were also Division I and just as good - if not better - than the men. They had fans, sure. Parents. Friends. Students looking for something to do on a Friday or Saturday night. But it rarely felt like they came because they genuinely believed the product on the ice was worth watching. They worked too hard, sacrificed too much, and played too good a brand of hockey to be treated like an afterthought.

“Are you kidding? I’d love to.” Too many conversations started with, It’s not the same as the men’s game… As if that were the only lens through which they can be viewed. Jules wasn’t interested in comparisons. They just wanted people to pay attention. CJ found herself liking them instantly.

“I think the team would too.”

“Perfect.” Jules looked between them. “Well… I should probably let you two finish whatever this is.”

“There is no ‘this,’” CJ said a little too quickly. Garrett’s grin widened. She’d recovered almost immediately, but he’d heard it - that split second of panic in her voice. It was strangely… endearing. CJ Sullivan didn’t seem like the type to get flustered often.

Jules laughed and disappeared back into the crowd. For a moment neither of them spoke.

“So…” Garrett trailed off.

“So?”

“If you’re free tomorrow night…”

CJ raised an eyebrow.

“The men’s home game.” Garrett supplied.

“I know.”

“You should come.”

CJ tilted her head. “Is that your way of asking me to return the favor for watching our game?”

“It’s my way of hoping you’ll tell me where I mess up.”

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “You want me to critique your game?”

“I want another captain’s opinion.”

“You don’t trust your coaches?”

“I do.” He smiled. “But they don’t play center.”

She couldn’t help smiling back. “I’ll think about it.”

Garrett shook his head. “‘I’ll think about it’ usually means no.”

“It means exactly what I said.”

“So there’s hope?”

CJ took one last sip of her drink. “Don’t ruin it by pushing your luck, Graham.”

He watched, unable to drop the smile from his face, as she walked away to rejoin Maddie and Avery. Dean and Logan appeared beside him almost instantly. “Well?”

Garrett kept his eyes on Sullivan across the room. “I’m definitely going to need more than five minutes.”

previous part next part

Logan snorted as he tugged his jersey over his head. “You fired it into the boards.”

“It was a bank pass.”

“It was a turnover.”

“It was innovative.”

Garrett laughed, tossing leftover crumpled stick tape at Dean’s head. “It was terrible,” he said. “Let’s not rewrite history.”

Dean caught the tape and threw it back. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Graham. Sue me for wanting to incorporate a little artistry.”

“Is it considered artistry if you fail miserably?” Tucker snorts.

Dean, hand over heart and overly offended look on his face says, “Wow, I thought this was a safe space guys.”

Garrett grinned, unbothered. This was one of his favorite things about hockey. The friendships, brotherhood - that bond built through hours on the ice together. 

The room settled into its familiar rhythm - guys showering, changing, chirping each other over blown drills and missed shots. Practices were brutal, but the locker room afterward always felt lighter. It was where frustration faded into jokes and mistakes became ammunition for the next round of teasing. The teasing came from a good place of course; it was a way to take the pressure off. Everyone of them had made mistakes on the ice before; all you could do was recognize it, work on it, and execute correctly next time. And, of course, take your razzing on the chin like everyone else.

“Okay guys, listen up,” Coach Jenson made his entrance. The music immediately turned off and everyone turned their attention to Coach. It wasn’t often he wanted to have an after-practice talk in the locker room. Usually, everything was finished out on the ice.

Coach Jensen stood there with his arms crossed. “If you're dressed enough to listen, I have an assignment for you.” A series of reluctant groans answered him.

“Relax,” Coach said dryly. “You’re not skating again. But I hear another groan, its laps for all of you.”

“Then what is it?” Ryan Murphy asked. Murph was a freshman with lots of potential on the ice, but no patience; that lack of patience sometimes bled into his game on the ice.

“Tonight, all of you are attending the women’s hockey game.”

The silence lasted exactly one second. Then came the complaints.

“Mandatory?” Someone asked.

“We’ve got film.” Another said. Which is true. Garrett had planned to study film of their last game. They won, but there were a few plays Garrett knew he could have executed better.

Dean leaned back against his stall. “Coach, respectfully… why?”

“Because you’re going.”

Garrett adjusted his chain around his neck and wiped the drying sweat from the back of it. “That’s not really an explanation,” And after seeing Coach’s expression, added, “Sir.”

“No,” Coach nodded. “It’s an instruction.”

A few laughs broke out, but Coach waited until they died down before he continued. “You’ve spent the last few games chasing the puck instead of dictating play. Your forecheck has been inconsistent, your support through the neutral zone has been sloppy, and too many of you think offense starts when you have possession.”

No one argued, they heard this speech after their last game. They won, but Coach was concerned with how they won. It’s not enough to be good. This is Division I Hockey; a lot of people’s gateway to the big leagues - a whole career. Garrett knew this all too well. His future on the Bruins rested on his performance here.

“You know who does all those things better than you?” Coach looked around the room. “The women’s team. Best defensive team in the conference. They pressure as five, communicate constantly. They don’t gamble for offense. They earn it. I want you to watch how they play away from the puck.”

Coach was serious. He actually wanted them to spend their valuable time studying another team’s game rather than their own. Not that there was anything wrong with the women’s team. They just didn’t think it was a good use of their time, considering Coach definitely still expected them to find time to analyze their own game film. But they couldn’t complain too much; they get to spend the evening with their team watching a game. Maybe have a few drinks while they were at it.

“Watch forty-two.” Coach said.

“Who’s that?”

“Cora Sullivan, captain and center. One of the best centers in Division I,” This got Garrett’s attention. Coach wasn’t one to hand out praises like that lightly. Garrett had heard of her, of course. He was just more concerned with his own game; not enough time to analyse players that he’d never play against. “Watch how she reads the ice, hockey IQ off the charts.”

“Number eight, Maddie Bennett is their top defenseman. You don’t want to see her coming your way, and they rarely do. She’ll sneak up on you. Seventeen is Taylor Mackinley. Fastest winger on either Briar team. She never stops moving. Watch their whole team, they’re worth studying. And I want to hear your thoughts at our next morning skate. Maybe you’ll learn something from watching women who actually pass the puck.” Coach turned toward the door and left.

****

The student section was already more than halfway full by the time the men’s hockey team got there. The rink was filling up fast. Garrett nodded up at someone that shouted out from the stands to him before following Dean and Logan to a row of seats just above center ice.

“Strange to be on this side of the glass in this rink,” Dean muttered as he sat.

Logan stretched his legs out in front of him. “Feels kinda weird. But, hey, who doesn’t love hockey?”

Garrett nodded absently, his attention already drifting to the ice below. The women’s team was midway through warmups. Pucks snapped off sticks in rapid succession as players cycled through shooting drills. The steady rhythm of skates carving the ice echoed through the arena, punctuated by the sharp clang of shots finding the cross bar.

Coach Jensen had been right. They looked… organized. Even in warmups. There was no wasted movement. Every pass landed tape-to-tape. Every drill flowed seamlessly into the next.

“They’re crisp,” Garrett admitted.

Dean gave a nod. “I’ll give them that.”

Logan leaned forward. “Which one is forty-two?”

Garrett scanned the ice. It didn’t take long. The captain stood near the center, effortlessly directing traffic despite the chaos around her. She pointed one teammate toward another drill before collecting a loose puck with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times. She fired a wrist shot top corner without breaking stride, accepted another pass, and buried that one too.

“That’s her.” Garrett said.

The blue captain’s ‘C’ in the top left of her jersey made her impossible to miss. Even from the stands, she carried herself differently. She gave quick corrections, tapped helmets in encouragement, and kept drills going with quiet confidence.

****

On the ice, CJ stepped away from drills to chat with Maddie Bennett, her best friend, who was stretching down on the ice.

“You’re a show-off, you know that?”

“I’ve gotta make the tendy work somehow,” CJ shot back. “She’ll complain if warmups are too easy.” And she was right. Emma West, their goal tender, hated easy shots in warmups. Something about being prepared for the worst or whatever. Fair.

Maddie laughed. “Oh, she’ll complain either way, Sully.” Also fair.

“You hear who’s in the stands tonight?” Avery Knight, a sophomore, skates up to them.

“Who?”

“Boy’s team.” Avery answers.

“Hockey?”

“Yeah, whole team,” Avery lowers her voice conspiratorily. “I heard Coach Jensen made them come.”

Maddie laughs. “Seriously?”

“That’s what our equipment manager said.”

“Poor guys.” CJ sighs performatively.

Maddie barks out another laugh. “Imagine being told your homework is watching someone else’s game.”

CJ grinned. “Could be worse.”

“How?”

“They could’ve been told to take notes.”

Maddie pointed her stick at her. “You joke, Sully, but I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s exactly what happened.”

CJ snorted. “I almost feel bad for them.”

“‘Almost’ is doing a lot of heavy lifting there.” Avery said.

“Very heavy.” Maddie backed her up.

A whistle echoed on the ice. Warmups were over. The three girls started skating towards the exit to go to their tunnel. As they were leaving, Maddie casually nodded toward the stands. “I think I just spotted the men’s team.”

CJ looked up instinctively. “Yeah?”

“Pretty sure I saw Graham up there.”

“The captain?” Avery looked at her. Maddie nods.

CJ paused a moment before it clicked. “Oh, him.” 

Maddie looked at her. “That’s all you’ve got?”

“I mean… yeah.” CJ glanced at Maddie's disbelieving face. “What?”

“I don’t know… Most girls have a slightly bigger reaction.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” CJ laughs.

Avery bumped Maddie’s shoulder. “Leave her alone.”

“I’m just saying,” Maddie replied. “The guy’s ridiculously good-looking.”

CJ rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Garrett Graham was objectively attractive, yes. You’d have to be blind not to see that. Tall, athletic, confident. The kind of guy who probably had girls lining up outside his door… And from what she had heard, he basically did. Good for him. It just wasn’t something she cared about. Hockey consumed enough of her life.

“And ridiculously good at hockey,” Avery added. “I heard he’s a lock for the Bruins.”

“I’m aware of who he is,” CJ said with a small smile. “He’s just never been at the top of my list of things to think about.”

“Shocking,” Maddie deadpanned.

Avery laughed. “To be fair, hockey’s at the top of every list she has.”

“Exactly.”

Maddie sighed dramatically. “One day we’ll get you interested in something other than hockey.”

“I doubt it.”

“Maybe go on a date for once.” Maddie added.

Maddie could tease her all she wanted, but CJ had never understood the appeal of chasing relationships. They were messy, distracting, and came with expectations she had no interest in meeting. Keeping things casual was easier. Simpler. Nobody got too attached, and nobody had the chance to disappoint her.

****

The arena lights dimmed slightly as warmups ended. Players disappeared through their respective tunnels before returning minutes later for their introductions. When Briar’s team captain was announced, the crowd erupted. She had fans for sure. She was projected to be a high round pick for the PWHL. She skated through the tunnel of teammates, raised her stick briefly toward the student section, then circled back to the center ice without any unnecessary theatrics.

Dean chuckled. “No showboating.”

Garrett watched her line up for the opening faceoff. “No.”

The referee dropped the puck. Forty-two won it cleanly. She shifted the puck, tied up the opposing center’s stick, kicked the puck backward with her skate, and Briar immediately established possession. 

“Hell of a draw.” Garrett muttered.

Three shifts later, she’d won every faceoff she’d taken.

“She’s reading the ref,” Logan observed.

Garrett nodded. She wasn’t reacting to the puck. She was anticipating it.

Halfway through the opening period, the visiting team dumped the puck deep and chased hard. The Briar defense retrieved it under pressure. Instead of forcing a dangerous pass up the boards, they reversed the puck behind the net. Forty-two had already anticipated the play. She curled low through the defensive zone, presenting her stick as an outlet.

One touch. That’s all it took. She redirected the pass to her defenseman, number eight, before accelerating through the neutral zone. By the time the opposing team adjusted, Briar had numbers. Forty-two crossed the blue line, waiting just long enough to draw both opposing defenders to her, then feathered a saucer pass across the slot.

Her winger one-timed it. Goal. The arena exploded.

Garrett blinked. “She baited two defensemen.”

“She made that look stupid easy,” Dean laughed.

Coach Jensen, seated a few rows down with the rest of the coaching staff, didn’t celebrate. He simply folded his arms. As if to say, Pay attention. Garrett did.

He stopped watching the puck the rest of the first period. Instead, he watched forty-two. She talked constantly. A point toward the weak side. A tap of her stick. One word over her shoulder. Her teammates responded instantly. She wasn’t just playing a game. She was conducting it. Even when she wasn’t on the ice that shift, her teammates on the ice listened if she said something from the bench.

****

It was the second period and they were about to faceoff. “Next one’s in.” CJ says as she skates by Maddie.

“I like the confidence.”

“I like scoring.”

Maddie laughed before heading to the bench for a change. CJ stayed out. The opposing coach kept throwing their checking line against hers. She understood why. If she was behind the bench, she’d probably do the same. They weren’t trying to out score her line anymore - they were trying to contain it.

Good luck with that.

She coasted toward the faceoff space, rolling her shoulders once. Her legs burned, but it was a good kind of burn. The kind that reminded her she’d been driving the pace all night. They led by two, but that wasn’t enough. Two-goal leads disappeared all the time. One bad shift. One unlucky bounce. Momentum didn’t care what the scoreboard said.

She crouched into position across from the opposing center. Loft, number thirty. CJ smirked. “Hey, Loft. What does that stand for? Lack Of Fucking Talent?”

Loft rolled her eyes. “Ha ha. You won’t be making jokes when we win.”

“You can try.” She tuned everything else out - the crowd, the benches, even the chirping. The only things that mattered were the official’s hands and the sliver of black rubber about to hit the ice. Win the draw. Get possession. Force them to react.

The puck dropped.

****

They were over halfway through the second period. Briar was winning 3-1. Two of those goals belonged to CJ. The next shift turned into a board battle. The puck died along the half wall. Bodies collided. Sticks hacked. Skates scraped against the ice. CJ dug her shoulder underneath the opposing winger, levering just enough space to free the puck.

“Go! Go! Go!”

She chipped it toward the blue line. Her defenseman stepped down to keep it in, drawing a roar from the crowd.

Good. Keep the pressure on.

CJ circled behind the net without the puck. She noticed something over the last few shifts. The opposing defenders were overcommitting every time she disappeared below the goal line. They’d rather lose sight of the puck than lose sight of her.

Fine. Follow me.

Both defenders chased; exactly as she’d hoped.

She heard the tap of a stick on ice. Maddie. CJ pointed once. “Back side!”

The pass slid through the slot. Their freshman winger buried it. The arena erupted. The rookie threw both arms into the air and immediately looked toward her captain. CJ grinned and pointed at her. “That’s all you!”

The rookie beamed.

“Nice decoy, Sully.” Maddie skates up next to her.

“They bit.”

“They always do.” Because they expected her to shoot. She’d spent the entire game making sure they did.

CJ grinned to herself. Hockey wasn’t always about who scored. Sometimes it was about making everyone think you’re going to.

“Good pace! Keep talking!” Coach Baker called from the bench. She nodded once. Always.

A loud captain wasn’t necessarily a good one. A communicative captain was. She’d learned early that the smallest words - “wheel,” “time,” “middle,” “reverse” - could change the outcome of a shift. If her teammates knew where she was and what she saw, they played faster, with more confidence. Communication won games. 

Trust won championships. Trust was a funny thing. On the ice, it came naturally. She never questioned whether Maddie would step up at the blue line or whether Emma would make the next save. Off the ice…

She shoved the thought away before it could finish. Right now, there was only hockey.

****

The final horn echoed through the arena. Relief washed over CJ before excitement did. They’d done it.

The Briar bench erupted. Sticks were tossed into the air as players spilled over the boards, gloves smacking helmets and shoulders as they converged near center ice.

5-2. 

It wasn’t perfect - they’d be talking about those two goals against on Monday - but they’d played sixty-solid minutes, and everyone had contributed.

The hat trick barely crossed CJ’s mind. She’d scored three goals before. They’d been exciting for about thirty seconds, and then it was time to think about the next game. The win mattered. The standings mattered. The team mattered.

“A hat trick,” Maddie laughed. “You’re buying dinner.”

CJ rolled her eyes, unable to hide the smile tugging on her lips. “That’s not how it works.”

“It is now. You scored the game winner.”

“The empty-netter doesn’t count.”

“It literally counts. The scoreboard says so.”

“It counts on the scoreboard,” CJ argued. “It doesn’t count toward free food.”

The crowd roared around her, but CJ’s mind was already replaying the game. The missed coverage late in the first. The turnover she’d nearly forced through the neutral zone. The two goals they’d allowed. There was always something to clean up.

The hat trick was nice.

The win was better.

****

“You were watching her all night.”

“Who?”

“You know who. Sullivan, forty-two.”

Garret rolled his eyes. “Logan, I was watching hockey.”

They were making their way across the parking lot to Garrett’s Jeep. The game had run later than expected, and if they wanted a table at Malone’s, they needed to beat the post-game rush.

“Interesting.” Logan said. “You’re not denying it.”

“Again,” Garrett replied. “I was watching hockey. She happened to be playing.”

“You watched her on the bench.” Dean pointed out.

Garrett opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. Damn it. He had.

Not because she scored three goals. Not even because she dominated every faceoff. Those things were impressive, sure, but they weren’t what held his attention.

It was everything in between.

The grin she wore when one of her teammates scored. The way she’d laughed with her defenseman during a stoppage in play before flipping the switch the second the puck dropped. The way she skated over to the freshman after the goal, making sure she got every bit of the celebration. She’d looked completely at home on the ice, like there wasn’t anywhere else she’d rather be.

Garrett knew what it meant to wear the captain’s ‘C’. He knew the pressure of setting the tone every day, of making sure teammates believed they could win even when you weren’t sure yourself.

She carried that same weight.

Only somehow, she made it look easy.

He found himself wondering what she was like when the skates came off. Was she always that focused, or did she know how to let loose? Did she spend every waking hour thinking about hockey, or did she have a life outside the captain’s ‘C’? Would she chirp him the same way she’d chirped the opposing team? Would she laugh if he fired one back? And, for some reason, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would take to make her look at him the way she looked at the game - with complete, unwavering attention.

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