“Hey, you coming?” Your roommate, Katrina, asks as she walks past you in the living room for what feels like the millionth time tonight. She is currently preparing to go to yet another party organized by none other than the royalties of Briar U with an equally popular fraternity. Normally, you would have come, always jumping in on every opportunity to see him, but tonight is different—to be fair, everything has been different ever since he decided to ghost you a week ago.

“No, but thank you, my love, enjoy the party, but be safe please. Keep your location on. Love you,” you reply, blowing her a kiss as she walks towards the front door.

“Are you sure?” Katrina asks, turning to you right before she leaves. “Honey, you haven’t left the dorm unless it’s for your classes. I love that you’re being studious, but you’ve got to have some fun!”

“I’m okay, Kat, really.” You smile at her concern for you, but you don’t really need it right now. “I haven’t had the energy to go out and do something, but I promise I will as soon as I can. I’ll even take you with me.”

She studies your face for a moment, but she eventually nods with a soft sigh. “Alright then. I’ll leave you alone—for now. This conversation is not over, missy.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go on your merry way and get shitfaced, but please be safe, Kat, I mean it.”

“I will, thanks. Love you! Lock the door behind me.”

Silence swallows the unit as soon as Katrina shuts the door behind her, and you are once again alone with your thoughts plagued by the man you are supposed to not think about. You stand from the couch and walk to the door to lock it.

The click of the lock shouldn’t have felt this sad and dramatic, but it weirdly does. You feel a pit in your stomach forming now that the deafening silence is all you can hear—no chatter from your roommate, no music blasting from the tiny speaker you always leave in the living room, no movie playing on a laptop screen, just you and the sound of your heart breaking all over again as your mind wanders to him once more.

Your gaze wanders around the room in search for something to do, but you ultimately come up with nothing—the shared living space is basically spotless (courtesy of your stress cleaning just earlier today), and the dishes are drying up on the rack (thanks to Katrina). Nothing is out of place, and you don’t want to start ransacking and rearranging your bedroom at this hour.

Maybe you should have gone to that stupid party, you think. Maybe the noise of the raging party is better than the silence of your dorm unit. Maybe being in a crowd of strangers is better than the complete isolation you are in at the moment. Maybe seeing him in person is still better than him occupying your mind at every waking moment.

Your head feels like it may start spinning if you think about it for longer than you already are, and you groan, dropping your weight onto the couch. You grab your phone and turn it on, only to stare at your home screen for a minute before your finger mindlessly clicks on the gallery icon. Against your better judgment, you look through your locked album containing all your memories with him, which only makes the melancholy—and everything else—worse, and your mind finally drifts to that godforsaken day.

—

You were in a café, sitting in your favorite spot as you worked on your class requirements when your phone vibrated on the table with an incoming call.

You picked it up without much thought, and the corners of your lips automatically twitched in a small smile when you saw the contact. You didn’t hesitate when you slid your finger across the screen, putting the phone to your ear. “I thought I told you not to disturb me for the next two hours?” You spoke, your tone light and joking.

“Can we talk?”

Your smile faltered at the seriousness of his tone, but you quickly recovered, giving him a bright, “Yes, of course! Right now?”

He gave you a time and a location—your usual spot, hidden away from most eyes, if not all.

You agreed, and he hung up without as much as a brief goodbye. The click of the phone signaled the end of the call, but you couldn’t help but feel like it meant something else.

The hours passed by in a blur, and before you knew it, you were sitting on the bench as you waited for Logan to arrive. Your heart was beating out of your ribcage as you racked your brain for something you might have done to warrant the severity of the situation, but you came up with nothing.

Your phone vibrated in your hand, and you quickly picked it up to look, only to be disappointed to see a notification from your roommate. You typed out a quick reply and glanced at the clock at the top.

Ten minutes had passed just like that.

You looked around the area, scrolled through your phone, glanced at the clock, repeat. You did this for several more times, and the last time you checked the clock, forty minutes had gone by.

You sent him a series of messages.

‘Hey, I’m here.’

‘I’m at the right place, right? Lol.’

‘Tell me when you’re on your way.’

You mindlessly typed another message.

‘I love you.’

But you jerked as you realized your mistake, quickly deleting the words, and turning your phone off. Your heart was pounding, and you placed a hand over your chest and breathed, trying to calm your racing heart.

You waited for thirty more minutes before your phone vibrated once again. You looked down eagerly, but were once again disappointed to see a random story notification from Dean on Instagram. You didn’t know what pushed you to click on it, but you did, and you were somehow glad that you did.

It wasn’t a party, you thought, but the Briar hockey house was never quiet—never ran out of visitors, and it was evident in the way people occupied every space of the house. Dean panned the camera all around the house for a reason you didn’t know—maybe he was giving his followers a house tour, maybe he just felt like it. What you knew was that in his second story was a picture of him—an innocent, unsuspecting selfie.

But it wasn’t the photo of Dean that bothered you, but what—or who—he was taking a photo with that did.

Because in the background was him—John fucking Logan.

John Logan who worshipped you in the quiet of the night—in secret. John Logan who kissed all your scars—in secret. John Logan who whispered promises into your skin—in secret. John Logan whose eyes twinkled a certain way as he looked into your own eyes—in secret.

That very same man had his arm wrapped around another woman, his lips close to her skin like he was whispering into her ear, and his eyes twinkled like they did with you—all for the whole world to see.

What he did with you in secret, he was doing with another woman in broad daylight. What he did with you in the comfort of your own bedroom with the same excuses revolving around his friends, he was doing with another woman in front of the very friends he kept you a secret from.

Your heart felt like it had stopped beating inside your chest, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

You opened your messaging app, and were not surprised to see no reply from him. You typed out a message anyway. Your fingers shook and your eyes blurred as you tapped on your screen with a little bit of force.

‘You could’ve told me, so I didn’t have to wait for an hour for you.’

A few tears fell as you sent him another message.

‘Let’s end this. Please don’t try to reach out.’

You walked back to your dorm that night, shivering at the cold, and yet you felt nothing at all.

You spent the next few days wallowing. You knew you were the one to tell him not to reach out, but you found yourself waiting for a notification from him. A part of you wanted him gone from your life completely, a part of you wanted him back, a part of you wanted to know why.

But by the looks of it, you were never going to know why. It was cruel as it was, but maybe the only closure you were going to get was the fact that there had been no closure at all.

It was weird—your heart was shattered into a million pieces, and you couldn’t even turn to anyone because nobody knew.

A part of you thought that since nobody else knew, then that might have meant that whatever it was between you was not real.

—

Rapid knocks on the door snap you out of your trance. You look at the time and curse to yourself when you realize that a few hours have gone by.

“Wait a second!” You call out, rushing towards the door. You swing it open, and your heart drops as you come face-to-face with the man himself.

Logan is standing by the door, while Katrina—who is very much drunk—wobbles into the unit and straight into her room with a quick, “I’m going the fuck to bed. Bye, love you!”

The door to your roommate’s room clicks shut, leaving you alone with Logan.

“She insisted on leaving,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Dean had too much to drink, Garrett is with Hannah, and Tucker’s keeping the place afloat, so… Here I am. I, uh, dropped a few other people off, so she wasn’t alone.”

You understand the implication of his words, but you choose not to dwell. “Thanks,” is all you say, “Goodnight.”

“Wait!” He calls out just before you can shut the door. “Can we talk?”

You freeze, your heart pounding. “There’s nothing to talk about, so please leave,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. You think that if you speak any louder, your voice will crack and you will break right there, in front of the man you do not want to see for a second longer.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

You cut his speech short, not wanting to hear any more of his excuses. “You didn’t mean to what? Keep me a secret for almost a year? String me along while you go and flirt with anyone you want because we’re not exclusive? Because you don’t want to be exclusive? Make me wait for an hour? Ghost me for a week? You’ve done a whole lot of damage to be starting with ‘I didn’t mean to’, Logan.”

He utters your name, his voice soft and weak. “I’m so sorry. I—”

“Logan, please.” Unshed tears start blurring your vision and you know he sees it by the way his face softens even more. “Just save it. I don’t want to hear it. Leave before we both say things we don’t mean.” You slam the door shut without waiting for him to respond.

You watch him through the peephole. You watch as he stands there, looking at the door. You watch as he sighs and curses to himself. You watch as his hand runs through his hair repeatedly, messing it up more than it is already. You watch as he finally leaves minutes later.

That is when you finally break, your back sliding down the door. You sit on the floor in tears, drowning in your own head. You don’t notice when your hands start shaking. You don’t notice when you start gripping your own thighs, your fingers digging into the skin. You don’t notice when Katrina’s door slowly opens. You don’t notice when she walks over to you, crouching in front of you with a look of devastation on her face. You don’t notice when she leads you towards the couch, sitting beside you, and wrapping her arms around you tightly.

“Oh, honey,” she whispers, “If I had known, I wouldn’t have let him come here.”

“It’s not your fault, Kat,” you hear yourself respond. “It’s nobody else’s fault except his… and mine.”

“How is it your fault?” She asks so softly it triggers a fresh wave of tears. “Tell me everything if you’re ready—when you’re ready.”

“I am ready. I want to tell you.”

—

The drive back to the hockey house is quiet—no music playing on the radio, no other people chattering in the car, no other sound aside from the engine humming beneath, nothing to distract Logan from his thoughts.

He thinks back to that day, and the days before that. He thinks back to the day he told you to talk, only for him to bail at the last minute. He thinks back to the week he had prior to that day—how deep he had been in his head, how he had been ditching you for whatever reason he had come up with, how he had started pulling away—all for a stupid slip up you had during sex.

—

It had been an exhausting day for the both of you—Logan with his hockey practice and their family-run garage, you with your academics and the internships you had been applying for because your scholarship money can only go so far.

Despite the exhaustion the day had brought Logan, he had found himself with you in your bedroom. Katrina had spent the night with her boyfriend, so you were left alone in the dorm—that is until he came knocking on the door. You had eagerly let him into your home, into your bed.

It had been hours since then, and he had himself slotted between your legs as he thrusted for the last time, burying himself to the hilt when he heard it,

“Fuck, I love you,” you breathed out, your eyes screwed shut as you dug your nails into his back. You didn’t seem to notice your slipup, too lost in your own pleasure, but he did.

And he did not forget it—not when he was driving back home, not the next day, the next few days, the next week. A simple sentence whispered into his ear during the heat of the moment took over his life, and he realized how scared he was.

Scared of fucking his life over—just how his dad screwed their lives over. Scared that he might stay right where he was. Scared of fucking things up with you if he let you in completely—let you stay in his life longer.

—

“Dude, you look miserable,” Tucker says as soon as he enters the place, immediately rummaging through the coolers for something stronger than the cans of beer they already have. “I told you I could’ve dropped them off—”

“It’s not that, Tuck,” he grumbles, finally giving up on his hunt for liquor and settling on a cup of beer from the keg. He leans against the kitchen island and chugs the beer, willing it to be stronger. “Listen, I have a problem.”

“Yeah, no shit, man.”

“Seriously.” He sighs, slamming the red solo cup down on the countertop. He feels restless in his own skin. The sight of your tearful eyes and your devastated face is burned into his head, and the sound of your weak, shaky voice as you try your hardest to keep a strong face in front of him echoes in his mind. “I fucked up.”

“Fucked up how?” Tucker raises his eyebrows incredulously at Logan. “Wait, you didn’t manage to drive your truck into a ditch and kill one of your passengers, right?”

“No—fuck no.” Logan punches Tucker’s arm. “Be fucking serious for once, man.”

“I am serious!”

“It’s not about that, dude.” Logan stands there in silence, staring down at the floor.

“Are we going to stand here all night, or…?” Tucker tilts his head, trying to catch his best friend’s eyes. “Because I can, and I will.”

“I met this woman,” he finally says, “A year ago. In a class I took for extra credit. I was late on the first day, and the only vacant seat was beside her. She didn’t know who I was, and it felt… weird somehow, but it mostly felt… freeing because she didn’t know who I was. I got to be someone else with her—not the man shaped by hockey, not the boy from his family’s garage.” He doesn’t feel like himself as he recounts the story. He had compartmentalized his life so much in an attempt to keep you from the mess that is his life that it feels like he is talking about a whole different person now. “Long story short, we had a thing going on that I kept from everyone else in my life, which also made her keep our thing a secret—for almost a year. Two weeks ago, she said she loved me—during sex—and it got me scared. Scared that both our lives will screw over the moment I let her in, let her see who I am—the entirety of me, the me that she doesn’t see. I got scared that I’d end up being my dad—the person who fucks things up when they get bad.”

The words just keep flowing out of his mouth, and he feels like he is watching this happen from a distance—like who’s speaking is different from who he’s talking about. When did it come to this point? “A week ago, I told her to talk. I told her to meet me at our usual place at a certain time, and I don’t know what came over me—maybe it slipped my mind somehow, maybe I got scared that it was becoming too real and chickened out—and I bailed on her completely. I ditched her. I managed to convince myself that if I flirted with someone else and returned to who I used to be with her, then I didn’t have to face what I felt for her. But, fuck, that was a stupid idea. It just made shit worse. I didn’t reply to her texts then, and I didn’t reach out. I didn’t know how to apologize without sounding like a dick.”

“You would’ve sounded like a dick no matter what you do because you were a dick, man.”

Logan and Tucker both jump at the sound of Dean’s voice coming from the entryway. Garrett is standing beside him with his arms crossed over his chest—his face is blank, but they all know he has something going on in his head by the way his jaw clenches and unclenches.

“Jesus, when’d you two get here? How long have you been standing there?” Tucker is the first to respond, while Logan keeps his eyes on Garrett, waiting for him to speak.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dean says, clapping Logan on the back. “What matters is that you love that girl, but you’re too chicken to admit it, so you fuck it up and come to regret it. Now, you’re wallowing in self-blame and pity.”

“Man, it’s not like that—”

“It is,” Garrett finally speaks, and the room quiets, waiting with bated breaths. “It’s exactly how Dean put it, dude. You fucked your relationship up because you were scared of ending up exactly like your dad. Trust me, I know, but the fact that you worry enough about this shit tells me you’re far from who your father is.”

“Hannah is too smart for you, G,” Tucker says, turning to Logan. “But he’s got a point, man.”

“Exactly, so stop wallowing and go get your girl back.” Dean pats his shoulder rather roughly.

“Fuck no.” Logan pushes Dean off him just as roughly. “She doesn’t deserve what I did to her, and she sure as hell doesn’t deserve what I can give her. She doesn’t deserve someone like me, man, she’s too good for that.”

“Idiot.”

“Dick.”

“Asshole.”

One by one, his friends leave the kitchen, rolling their eyes. Soon enough, Logan is left alone.

—

Another week passes by in a blur of classes, hockey practice, and various extracurricular work. Logan engages with as many activities as possible without running into you… to avoid thinking about you. But he should have known it was nothing but wishful thinking. With friends like his, his life is never boring.

He should have known something is amiss the moment his phone lights up with a message from Dean.

‘Dude, come to the supply room closest to the locker room. Jensen’s been on my ass for the equipment.’

He heaves a deep sigh, and walks towards the direction of the mentioned supply room without thinking much of it.

He should have realized that Coach Jensen never said anything about any equipment from the supply room—or any supply rooms, for that matter—but in his dazed exhaustion, he completely missed that crucial detail. He should have also realized how quiet Dean has gotten behind him as he starts flipping the room over for something that does not exist, unbeknownst to him. He only realizes the fact that he was set up when he hears your voice with Tucker’s.

“How bad is it that you need the help of an unsuspecting student?”

“It’s really, really bad, okay? I’m so glad I found you because we really don’t know what we’d do with it.”

Soon enough, you are being maneuvered into the supply room, and before either of you even realizes, the door shuts behind you, the lock clicking into place.

“What the—?” You snap out of your trance, and force your eyes to look away from him. Turning to the door, you pound on it in hopes that Tucker will let you out. “Open the door! John Tucker, you are a dead man! You hear me?! A dead man!”

“I’m sorry, it had to be done!” Tucker yells from the other side of the door.

“Get your shit together, and we’ll consider letting you out!”

You curse upon hearing Dean’s voice. You whirl around and your glare lands on Logan, who hasn’t moved from his spot ever since he’s heard your voice outside. “Did you put them up to this? Tell them we don’t have anything to fix. Logan, I swear to God, I will—”

You don’t finish what you’re supposed to say when he walks towards you in two short strides, and pulls you into his arms in a tight hug. All the pent up emotions are poured into the brief contact.

“I missed you so much,” he speaks, his voice cracking a little. “So fucking much, baby, and I’m so, so sorry for everything I’ve put you through.”

You pull away and look through his eyes, scanning them for any signs of deception and malice, but you find nothing like so. Instead, all you see is pain and adoration. “Explain yourself,” you say as you completely pull away from him. “You have five minutes.”

He finds himself chasing after you, but he holds back—he doesn’t want to scare you off now that he has just gotten you back.

“Three weeks ago,” he speaks, his voice so soft that you want to pull him into your arms, but you resist. “You told me you loved me.”

Your heart drops. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s not that.” He cuts you off gently. “I… realized that I loved you, but it took me forever. At that moment, I got scared—of pulling you into my mess, of fucking things up between us, of losing you. I didn’t realize I was already losing you by pushing you away and being an asshole when you deserved nothing less than the best. I thought I didn’t deserve you—that you don’t deserve to be with someone like me when you are as good as you are. But I realized how fucked that was, and how much I loved—love—you.” He takes your hands gently. “I love you,” he says your name so gently, so tenderly, like it’s something sacred, something to worship. “I didn’t know how to approach you then—how to apologize without sounding like a dick, but here I am now, and I admit that I was a dick. I pushed you away because you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I was scared of ruining it—ruining you.”

You stay silent, processing his words. Your eyes fill with tears you desperately try to hold back but fail. You sniffle and pull one of your hands away to hit him square in the chest lightly. “You idiot!” You half-laugh, half-sob. “You are so stupid! Who are you to decide what I deserve or not? I hate you! I hate you, John Logan!”

Your words sting, but he deserves it, he thinks as he pulls you into his chest, his arms winding around your slightly trembling form tightly. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he murmurs over and over again as you cry into his shirt. He doesn’t care that your tears are soaking the fabric—all he cares about is you.

The fight leaves your body as soon as you are pulled into him, but you continue, “I hate you,” you cry softly, “And I hate that I don’t hate you—not even close. Not even a little bit. Not even at all. You hurt me so much, but I can’t find myself to hate you because I love you too much.”

“I know,” he murmurs, “I know, and I will forever be sorry for how I treated you. I will make it up to you for as long as I live—if you let me.”

You sniffle, pulling away to look at him. “I love you, John Logan, but a few minutes of reflection in a supply room can never undo the damage you have caused—all the secrecy, all the hurt, all the tears. I don’t hate you, but I don’t know if I can forgive you for what you’ve done either.”

His hopeful smile falters a little, but he doesn’t completely show his disappointment. “I understand. You don’t have to forgive me just because I apologized—I will never force that upon you. It’s more than enough that you heard me out.”

“I don’t know how to forgive you,” you say, “But I’m willing to give you a chance. If you fuck this up again, we’re done.”

His eyes light up once again, and he nods—too eagerly, he thinks, but he doesn’t care. “That’s more than enough for me. I promise I will never let you down again.”

He stands there, unsure of what to do, but after a moment of silence between you, you step forward, your arms wrapping around him. He does not hesitate when he hugs you back just as tightly without saying anything else, the silence between you now is just that—comfortable silence instead of a pregnant pause.

The first time Hannah Wells saw Garrett Graham anywhere other than Malone’s was in the boys’ locker room while she was cleaning. He was sitting on the bench with his phone in hand, a soft, not very Garrett-like smile on his face. A woman’s voice—your voice—drifted from the phone’s speakers, speaking animatedly about something Hannah could not fully understand.

“I miss you,” Garrett suddenly spoke, and you stopped talking. “I can’t wait to see you, baby.”

“I miss you too, honey,” you said softly. “Just a few more months away, Gare.”

“Why do you have to be on the other side of the country when you could be right here in Briar with me?” His voice was light and airy as he laughed, but his eyes held an unmistakable longing.

“I’m sorry, baby, I would stay with you if I could,” you said. “But you know how my dad is. He wants me here just until I graduate college, and then I’m off to wherever I want after graduation.”

“I know, baby.” He sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “And I respect your parents’ decisions. That doesn’t mean I can’t spend every second missing my girl.”

“You miss me? I wouldn’t have known if it weren’t for the hundreds of messages and voicemails you send me every day.” Your tone dripped with sarcasm, but Hannah noticed there was no real heat behind your words—only affection for your (presumably) boyfriend.

He laughed softly, the sound far from the sarcastic, arrogant laugh he had on the ice. The sound then was genuine—a very brief glimpse of who Garrett Graham is behind closed doors. “I’ll see you soon, baby,” he said, his voice quiet and intimate. “I’ll be counting the days until I see you again. I love you. Please take care of yourself.”

“I love you too, GG.” Your voice turned sharper—stricter. “You take care of yourself, or I’ll have Tuck dragging your ass into the kitchen to shove real food into your mouth.”

Hannah almost laughed at that because she could definitely see Garrett being bossed around by a headstrong woman then. It might not seem like it at first glance, but the more she heard them, the more she believed it.

“Baby,” he groaned. “The last time he did that, I gained at least three pounds. Coach Jensen was on my ass the whole week.”

“So don’t even think of skipping meals this time.” You laughed freely. “I really have to go now, babe, I have my first class in ten minutes. Bye-bye, love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Not possible!” You said before the phone clicked as you hung up, leaving Garrett sitting there with a lovesick smile on his face.

Hannah saw the man’s face harden, the tension returning to him with full force. She watched as he stared at his dark screen, as if replaying the brief memory of your face and your melodic voice. She watched as Garrett stared at the dark screen for several moments before his eyes lifted to where she stood.

“Can I help you?” He asked, his voice devoid of the warmth he had with you, but not unkind. His facial expression was tense, a far cry from the soft, fond look he had earlier. It wasn’t that Garrett Graham had an attitude—it was just that no one had ever seen him that soft.

Hannah jumped and blinked a few times. “Oh, sorry, I…” She gestured vaguely around the locker room. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was just waiting for you to finish so I can… clean up.”

Garrett’s face slackened in slight surprise, and he nodded, standing from the bench and slinging his large duffle bag over his shoulder. “Sorry, lost track of time.”

Hannah watched Garrett leave—his tense frame, his hunched shoulders, and lowered head were significantly different from the man in front of you just minutes prior.

Huh, Hannah thought. She did not even know Garrett had a girlfriend in the first place, but it totally made sense—to her, at least.

—

The next time Hannah saw Garrett was in their philosophy class as their professor returned their papers.

“Perfect. Another D,” Dexter said beside Hannah, turning to her expectantly after looking through their own paper. “So… how’d you do?”

Hannah looked at her paper, shook her head hesitantly, and said, “Not good.”

“Girl.” Dexter looked somewhat apprehensive because *Hannah Wells—not doing well? The girl was quite literally a music prodigy and a smart cookie in general, but then again, Hannah was known to be humble—too humble. “Really?”

“Yeah, I wrote it in like an hour, so…” She left the rest of her sentence unsaid.

She heard him before she saw him.

“Fucking hell, you aced it?”

Garrett Graham was a *fucking loudmouth, and if Hannah did not know before, she definitely did then.

“I knew it,” Dexter said from beside her. “Show me.”

“Do you mind?” Her brows furrowed as she turned to look at him.

“What?” He smirked—that annoying, cocky smirk he always had. “Only you get to eavesdrop on conversations you shouldn’t?”

Garrett was still grinning by the time Hannah turned back around with a deep sigh and a roll of her eyes.

After that, Garrett had found Hannah in front of the building.

“Mona!” He called out from a few feet away. “Mona,” He said again once he was right behind Hannah.

“Uh, who’s… who’s Mona?” Hannah asked her friends.

“I think… you.” Dexter raised their eyebrows, taking a slight step back.

“I… I’m not Mona,” Hannah said, almost awkwardly.

“It is an M though, right?”

“Not even close.”

“Sorry about that.” Garrett grimaced. “I’m not… very good with names.”

“What do you want, Garrett Graham? Petals to walk on? Maybe another fancy gym that costs thousands of dollars even though the theater department is literally falling apart.” Allie rolled her eyes from beside Hannah, who turned to her with a sympathetic smile.

Meanwhile, the hockey captain had an amused smirk on his face.

“You guys are late for scene study.” Hannah grinned. “Go, I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Bye, Mona.” Dexter teased with a grin, wiggling their fingers in a wave as they practically pulled Allie with them.

“Could you please, with a sugar on top, help me study, so I don’t fail spectacularly?” Garrett immediately asked as soon as Hannah turned back to him.

“Didn’t know you had manners in you, but no,” she said as quickly as possible, starting to walk away from Garrett—and hopefully from the conversation.

“Come on, do me a solid,” Garrett, like the annoying little shit he was, followed after her. “I mean, for feminism?”

That pulled a laugh from Hannah. “Now, what are you actually on, Garrett Graham?”

“I’m serious,” Garrett said, “I have to ace the oral presentation, or I can’t play.”

“Believe it or not, I have priorities that have nothing to do with hockey,” Hannah said with a chuckle. “Find another tutor, dude.”

“Look…” He started, but realized he hadn’t even gotten her name yet. “Sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t,” she deadpanned. “But it’s Hannah Wells—not even close to Mona.”

“I mean, it kinda is,” he mumbled, before shaking his head. “Look, it’s really important that I play this next game.” He was literally about to get to his knees and beg if that was what it would take for Hannah to agree. “We are playing against UCLA in two weeks, but that’s not what’s important. Hear me out, but my girlfriend lives halfway across the country, and… drumroll please…” He actually paused, to which Hannah raised an eyebrow. “She studies at UCLA. That’s why I really, really need to play.”

“I still hardly see how that is my problem?” Hannah backtracked immediately. “I’m sorry, it’s just I already am holding three jobs down right now, and I really, really can’t afford another job. You’re a good guy, Garrett, I’m sure you can find another tutor.”

“Okay, uh…” He rubbed his forehead briefly before his face literally lit up. “I can pay you.”

“I think that’s what having a job entails.”

“No, I mean, I can pay you however much you need,” he said, “Just name your price, Wellsy.”

“Wellsy?”

“That’s literally not what’s important.”

Hannah mulled his words over, and she would be lying if she said his offer was not tempting, but she didn’t know him, and she didn’t know how far he would be willing to go. “If I, hypothetically, agree, how long and how often would our sessions be?” She asked.

“Hypothetically, would 2 hours work for you?”

“It would,” she said slowly, “And if I, hypothetically, ask for fifty dollars per hour?”

“Then I would hypothetically agree.”

“Dude, seriously?” She turned to him, wide-eyed. “Do you know how much the minimum wage is?”

“Yeah,” he easily said, “But the whole point of this is that you are not to be paid the minimum wage, Wellsy.”

“Then…” She sighed deeply before reluctantly nodding. “Then I guess it’s a deal.”

—

Hannah found herself standing by the hockey house’s front door, her fist raised as she knocked—almost pounding on the wood to make sure she was heard over the game blaring from the speakers.

“Turn that down for a moment!” She heard someone yell from inside, his voice sounding closer as he walked over. Soon enough, the door swung open, revealing Logan.

“Hannah, hey! Didn’t expect to see you here.” Logan greeted Hannah with a twinkle in his eyes Hannah could not quite understand.

“Hey.” She waved, the gesture a little awkward and shy. “Uh, is Garrett here?”

“Garrett?” Logan’s brows furrowed before it dawned on him, a wide smile spreading across his face. “You’re his tutor!” He opened the door wider to let the girl in. “Come in. Is it okay for you to wait in the dining room while I call him down?”

“Yeah, for sure.” Hannah waved him off politely. She wandered through the house, looking around their shared space—which was surprisingly neat for a bunch of college athletes—until she found an unoccupied space on the farthest side of the dining table.

“Hey, Wellsy.” She heard Garrett greet as he descended the stairs and walked into the dining room. He was looking down at his phone, but looked up briefly to turn to the guys. “Can we have two hours of peace and quiet? Just two hours, guys.”

“Yeah, for sure.” Birdie put the controller down and turned the television off.

“Yeah, no, I gotta get started on dinner too.” Tucker rose from the couch. “All of you, except G, are on dinner duties. Get up now—right now.” There was an immediate commotion, but Tucker heard none of it. “Dinner duties or no dinner.”

“Wow, now I know why the house is tidy,” Hannah said as Garrett took a seat across from her, placing his phone face down on the table. “He runs a strict program here.”

“He really does.” Garrett laughed, eyeing her notes with a bit of interest. “Take it away then, Wellsy.”

As Hannah began talking, Garrett slowly lost what little interest he had at the beginning. He jumped every time his phone pinged on the table, his face lighting up slightly as he immediately picked his phone up, only to be disappointed every time.

She spoke when he picked his phone back up for the third time. “You know, I’d really appreciate it if you paid more attention,” she said, but not unkindly. “I don’t think you’d pass the oral presentation—or the class—if you don’t even try to understand what this is all about. Garrett, you told me you needed this, so please take this a bit more seriously.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Garrett sighed, turning his phone to do not disturb. “Sorry. Can you backtrack?”

Two hours had passed quickly after that, and Hannah had been packing her stuff when Garrett’s phone rang. She watched as tension quickly left his body.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” he said quickly and picked up without waiting for her to respond—not that she minded. They were already done.

“Hi, GG!” Your voice came from the phone speaker soon, and Hannah couldn’t help but take a subtle peek into Garrett’s phone screen. “Sorry, I just got off my last class. It was hell, but anyway, how are you, baby?”

“I’m alright, baby.” He smiled softly—the same smile he had in the locker room, and the one he had when he was talking about her just the day prior.

Enthusiastic greetings and your name echoed behind Garrett as the guys scrambled towards their friend.

“Hi, guys!” You said as your boyfriend turned the camera over to the rowdy bunch. “Oh my God, you reek of testosterone so much, it reaches me all the way over here.”

“Hey! Garrett’s tutor is here with us!” Dean spoke up from behind Logan. “And she’s a woman, so that essentially cancels out the testosterone.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise and excitement. “She’s there? Please, I need to see her!”

Garrett laughed, looking at Hannah. He turned the camera over towards her when she nodded, and watched as your face softened.

“Hi, oh my God! Finally, another woman!” You grinned, introducing yourself to Hannah. “I’m this doofus’ girlfriend, unfortunately.”

“Hey!”

“Hi!” Hannah laughed, her heart warming every second she talked to you. She honestly did not expect you to be this warm and welcoming, especially since you had a bit of a mean girl vibe at first glance. “Hannah Wells. I’m Garret’s tutor, unfortunately.”

“I am starting to regret this, just so you know,” Garrett grumbled behind the phone.

“Oh, that is unfortunate.” You giggled when your boyfriend turned the phone back to his face. “Baby, I am proud of you, and I’m glad you’re getting the help you need.”

“Babe, I have a tutor, not a therapist.”

You ignored his words. “But it is unfortunate for Hannah because you are as stubborn as a mule.”

“You are so lucky I love you.”

Hannah ended up staying for another hour before you finally ended the call, borderline threatening your boyfriend to drop her off up to her dorm room or else.

But Garrett had other plans, unbeknownst to her.

“So, uh, Wellsy,” he said. “My ride’s actually not in a good shape right now, so I probably can’t drop you off, but Logan here can.”

Logan looked at Garrett with wide eyes behind Hannah, to which he responded with a knowing grin.

“Oh, is that okay? I actually have my bike, so I can just, you know, bike,” Hannah said, trying to look at Logan without blushing.

“No, it’s late, I’ll drop you off,” Logan said with a charming smile. “Your bike will most probably fit in the truck, so…”

“Oh, that is so nice of you. Thank you!”

Meanwhile, Garrett was cheekily sending you a message.

Garrett: So

You: So?

Garrett: I didn’t drop Hannah off

You: 🤨?

Garrett: Pls hear me out

You: I am listening…

Garrett: Logan likes her, like likes her…

You: Okay…

Garrett: So I asked him to drop her off.

Garrett: You know, so they bond. 🙂‍↕️

You: You scheming dick 😟

You: I love it. Let me know what Logan says after 🤭

—

Hannah buckled her seatbelt in, waiting for Logan to enter his truck after strapping her bicycle in the pickup.

“Sorry for the wait,” Logan said as soon as he opened the door, quickly buckling in and turning the engine on.

“Oh, no.” Hannah waved him off. “I should be thanking you for the ride.”

“It’s nothing.” Logan started driving. “It’s late and dark out. Bare minimum, really.”

Hannah only smiled in response, and there was a few minutes of silence, only the sound of the radio filling the slightly awkward air between them.

“So…” Hannah began.

“So…” Logan repeated.

“Garrett and his girlfriend…”

“Oh, them?” Logan grinned. “As far as I know, they’re childhood sweethearts. Her family moved to Boston when they were around six and left in the second semester freshman year due to her dad’s relocation at work. They’re as thick as thieves, I’m telling you. When they were together, they were inseparable and they were both menaces. There was no peace with those two around. If you think Dean is bad, you should see them together.”

“That’s… actually really sweet.” Hannah smiled wistfully as she imagined you and Garrett together.

“It really is.”

They soon arrived in front of Hannah’s dorm building.

“Well, this is me,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Thanks again for the ride.”

“Yeah, no worries.” Logan, too, unfastened his seatbelt and exited the car to help Hannah with her bicycle.

Once the bike was chained safely onto the pole, they both stood there awkwardly.

“Uh…” Hannah gestured to the main entrance. “I’m gonna go in. Thank you so much again for giving me a ride. Drive safely on your way back. Message me when you get home?”

“Thanks, but, uh…” Logan put his hands in his pocket, not knowing what to do with them. “I don’t have your number.”

“Oh!” She chuckled awkwardly. “Sorry, I can… give it to you now.”

“Yeah, sure.” He handed her his phone, and she quickly typed her number in before handing the phone back to him.

“Here. Thanks again.”

“Anytime.”

Hannah smiled and slowly walked toward the building, waving at Logan shyly as he stood there with an almost dopey grin on his face.

—

It had been about two months since Hannah had tutored Garrett. He was able to ace his oral presentation in their philosophy class, and was ultimately permitted to play against UCLA.

From what Hannah had heard from Logan, you had watched the game wearing Garrett’s jersey, despite being a UCLA student, which had caused a bit of commotion with your friends.

You and Garrett were able to spend a few days together before they had to essentially pry your boyfriend off you.

It had been two and a half months since then, and now, here they all are at Malone’s. Hannah is serving their table, Garrett is drinking his sorrows away a few days away from Thanksgiving, and the guys are there for emotional support.

From what Hannah had heard from Garrett himself as he very loudly (and drunkenly) announced to practically the whole diner, he was supposed to be flying to California to spend Thanksgiving and the rest of the break with you and your family. Unfortunately, his dad had required him to spend at least Thanksgiving with him in Boston, only for his world-class asshole of a father to cancel at the very last minute.

Garrett, having canceled his flight ticket to California during one of the busiest times of the year, had to wait another three weeks for the next available flight because all flights were booked. On top of that, you hadn’t been responding to any of his calls and texts in the last few hours, which felt like a lifetime for a heartbroken man.

Hannah watches as a tear falls from Garrett’s eye after prolonged hours in the diner and a drink too many. Soon, more tears are streaming down his face as he sobs and hiccups.

“Fuck, I miss her so much, man.” He says to no one in particular. “Honestly, fuck my dad, and fuck the airlines and the planes. I will build my own fucking plane if I could.” He is hiccuping in between his words, while his friends look like they don’t know whether to laugh or sympathize with their friend.

“Call her,” Tucker mouths to Dean over Garrett’s shoulder.

“She’s fucking unreachable, dude!” Dean whisper-yells in a slight panic, not loud enough for Garrett to hear over his own heartbreak. “I’ve been trying for hours!”

“Well, try again!”

“What am I, a miracle worker?”

“Considering that a miracle is what we need right now, yes.”

“Choke.”

“Stop fucking talking!” Garrett interrupts with a sob—very out of character for the cold, untouchable captain of the hockey team. “My girl is across the world and I’m alone… I’m so lonely… I miss her… I miss my baby…”

“Dude, it’ll just be three weeks.” Logan tries to soothe his crying friend. “Time will pass quickly, I promise you.”

“Three. Weeks.” Garrett’s words slur together as he speaks. “Three whole weeks, Loge. I can’t wait that long. I will die. I will literally die.”

“No, you won’t, G, you’re being dramatic.”

“Fuck you, Dean. Try being away from your girl for your whole university life.”

“…Okay, fair.”

Another hour passes, and they finally manage to drag Garrett out of Malone’s with a (slightly empty) promise of having you on the phone by the time they get home, to which he easily agrees.

But Hannah, having clocked out of her shift just in time to come with the guys to the hockey house, takes the wheel after Garrett threatens to jump out of the moving car if he had to spend another second without you.

Hannah does not know whether to laugh at Garrett or to cry with him as he continues babbling and slurring in the backseat. The man she is seeing is significantly different than the hockey captain the rest of the world sees, but it somehow makes sense to her that he gets to this point of distress when it comes to you.

About fifteen minutes pass quickly, and Hannah finally pulls over and kills the engine, while Logan and Dean try to drag a very uncooperative, very uncoordinated man into the house.

They are halfway through the front door when Tucker comes to a halt—an actual, sudden stop that causes Garrett’s head to bump into his back.

Hannah instinctively scans the room trying to find the reason why Tucker froze, and that is when she spots the unfamiliar pair of shoes in the rack, two large suitcases beside stairs, an unrecognizable coat draped on the backrest of the couch.

Dean and Logan, completely focused on Garrett, do not immediately notice the slight changes around the house, but Hannah and Tucker do.

“Fuck, man, warn a guy next time—” Dean’s words are cut off abruptly when he finally sees the reason for Tucker’s sudden pause. “Holy fuck.”

Hannah’s jaw drops as her eyes land on you lounging on the sofa, the wide smile on your face faltering when you see the state your boyfriend is in.

“Oh God, what happened?” You stand from the couch to rush over, your hands immediately finding your boyfriend’s face. “Baby, what happened to you?”

Garrett looks up, his bleary, unfocused eyes staring through you, and he drunkenly laughs. “Shit, I miss her so much I’m hallucinating.”

You fight back a smile at his words.

The guys and Hannah exchange quick pleasantries with you as you let them drag Garrett into his room with a promise to spend more time with you once your boyfriend has had his time.

You hug each of them swiftly. “I have some stuff for you in the pink luggage.”

“You are a lifesaver.”

“We literally love you.”

“You are amazing,” Hannah suddenly says, which makes you stop. “Even more amazing in real life. I hope you know that I adore you already, and I hope to get to know you more.”

“Babe, I love you, and please, let’s go out sometime. I would love to know the person who saved my boyfriend’s career.” You grin, giving her a quick hug before entering Garrett’s bedroom.

Soon enough, it’s just you and your drunk boyfriend in his room. He is lying on his back, spread out like a starfish, and you snap a quick photo before moving.

You wet a washcloth with warm water and gently wipe him clean when he starts groaning and trying to push your hands off him weakly.

“Stop it, I have a girlfriend,” he mumbles, barely able to roll over. “She’s the only one I want. I love her and I miss her so much.” He almost starts crying right then and there.

“I’m sorry,” you say with a grin. “I’m sorry, I won’t touch you again, but can you please move over? Can you leave a space for when your girlfriend comes?”

“Mkay,” is all he murmurs as he rolls over to his own side on the bed, before promptly falling asleep.

You tidy up swiftly and crawl into bed with him, exhaustion taking over just as quickly.

—

Garrett regains consciousness slowly, but the pounding in his head quickly makes itself known. He winces slightly as the memories rush through his head with them ending right before his friends had dragged him home.

He raises a hand in an attempt to rub his eyes free of sleep, only to realize that his whole arm is pinned on the bed. He slowly turns to look, and his eyes immediately land on a mop of hair—your hair—and he feels the air leaving his lungs when he realizes that you are lying right there, on his bed, with him. You are not sleeping on your own bed across the country in California, but right here in Hastings.

A smile spreads across his face, his hangover completely forgotten as he leans down to wake you with gentle kisses on your skin.

He does not stop until you wake up, and he definitely does not—cannot—keep his hands off you—not when you shower together, not when you leave his bedroom and make your way downstairs, not when you walk into the kitchen, not when you talk with your friends, and definitely not when you spend the entire break with him.