Just For Now

NOAH

There was a particular kind of quiet that only existed on the ice.

It didn’t make sense, considering there were nearly eight thousand people packed into Westbridge Arena on a Friday night, most of them on their feet as the final minutes of the third period ticked away. The student section behind Brighton’s net had been screaming itself hoarse since warm-ups. The band started playing every time there was a stoppage. Skates cut hard across the ice, sticks cracked together, and every clean hit against the boards sent another wave of noise rolling through the building.

My lungs burned. Sweat gathered beneath my helmet and ran along my temple. Somewhere behind me, Coach Reynolds was yelling for Nolan to cover the point, and Brighton’s number nineteen had spent most of the third period telling me exactly what he thought of my mother.

Still, inside my head, it was quiet.

That was what I loved most about hockey.

Everything else disappeared.

There wasn’t enough room in my head for the economics paper I hadn’t started or the laundry sitting in the dryer at home that I’d probably have to run through another cycle because I’d forgotten about it this morning. There wasn’t room for the voicemail from my academic advisor reminding me that registration opened Monday, or for the fact that junior year somehow felt like it had started five minutes ago and was already moving too fucking quickly.

There definitely wasn’t room for thinking about what happened when college ended.

There was only the puck.

The clock.

The guy in front of me.

Two minutes and thirteen seconds.

Westbridge up four-three.

Brighton had been riding our ass since the second period, and judging by the way their bench was screaming every time they gained possession, they thought they had us.

They didn’t.

Nolan collected the puck near our blue line and sent it up the boards. I caught his pass without slowing, pulling it onto my stick as I crossed center ice. Brighton had pulled their goalie thirty seconds earlier, leaving the net empty, but one of their defensemen was already backing up in front of me.

He was watching my hips instead of the puck.

Smart.

Unfortunately for him, I was faster.

I shifted left.

He followed.

One stride.

Two.

I dragged the puck across my body and cut right before he could correct himself. His shoulder clipped mine as I went past, but I stayed on my skates and suddenly there was nothing between me and the empty net.

I released the puck.

It slid cleanly across the ice.

The red light flashed.

For half a second, the arena seemed to inhale.

Then the place fucking exploded.

I barely made it around the back of the net before Mason slammed into me from the side, nearly taking both of us down.

“Fucking beautiful!” he yelled directly into my helmet.

“I know.”

“God, you’re insufferable.”

Nolan crashed into us a second later. Somebody grabbed the top of my helmet. Another glove smacked against my shoulder. Within seconds, I was trapped in the middle of five sweaty hockey players trying to crush me in celebration while the student section chanted my last name.

“HAYES! HAYES! HAYES!”

I laughed and shoved at Mason.

“Get the fuck off me.”

“You love me.”

“I tolerate you.”

“Same thing.”

The official was already skating toward us, gesturing for everyone to get back to center ice. Coach Reynolds leaned over the boards and shouted something I couldn’t hear, although judging by the expression on his face, it probably involved reminding us that there were still thirty-seven seconds left.

I skated toward the bench.

Carter Donovan leaned so far over the boards that I was surprised he didn’t fall onto the ice.

“There he fucking is!”

I held my glove out as I passed.

He slapped it hard.

“You’re buying drinks tonight,” he said.

“Why the fuck am I buying?”

“You scored.”

“So did you.”

“Mine wasn’t as pretty.”

“That sounds like a personal problem.”

Carter grinned. There was already a faint red mark developing along his jaw from where number nineteen had caught him earlier in the period. He’d gotten two minutes for roughing and had spent the entire penalty arguing that he’d shown remarkable restraint.

Nobody believed him.

I took my position for the final face-off.

Thirty-seven seconds.

The puck dropped.

Brighton never got another clean shot.

When the buzzer sounded, I let myself breathe.

Five-three.

First home game of the season.

First home win.

And for a few more minutes, at least, nothing outside that rink mattered.

“You’re welcome.”

I looked up from unlacing my skates.

Carter stood in front of my stall wearing compression shorts and nothing else, a towel draped around the back of his neck. His dark hair was wet from the shower, his bottom lip had split at some point during the game, and the red mark along his jaw had developed into a bruise.

He looked extremely pleased with himself.

“For what?”

“Defending your honor.”

I stared at him.

“You got into a fight because somebody checked me.”

“He hit you after the whistle.”

“Barely.”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“It is literally the entire point.”

Mason leaned against the stall beside mine while he pulled on his shoes. “I thought it was kind of romantic.”

“Thank you,” Carter said.

I looked at Mason. “Don’t encourage him.”

“He saw another man put his hands on you and immediately became violent. That’s devotion.”

Carter pointed at him. “Exactly.”

“You both need girlfriends.”

Mason’s eyebrows rose. “That’s rich coming from you.”

“I didn’t say I needed one.”

“That’s my point.”

I tossed my balled-up sock at him.

He caught it against his chest and immediately threw it back.

The locker room was loud around us, everybody still riding the high from the win. Music played from the speakers near the training room. Someone at the other end of the room was arguing about where we were ordering food from. Nolan was telling our backup goalie that under no circumstances was he allowed to invite the girl he’d been seeing because apparently she’d stolen Nolan’s sweatshirt the last time she came over.

It was familiar chaos.

I liked familiar.

Carter dropped onto the bench beside me.

“So. Party.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Obviously,” Mason said.

Nolan looked over from across the aisle. “We said we weren’t having another party until the downstairs toilet gets fixed.”

Carter frowned. “The toilet works.”

“It moves.”

“So?”

Nolan stared at him. “Toilets shouldn’t move.”

“Everything moves if you push hard enough.”

There was a beat of silence.

I lowered my head because I could already feel myself starting to laugh.

Mason nodded thoughtfully. “He’s got you there.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“He kind of does.”

Nolan looked at me. “Help me.”

“I’m staying out of this.”

“You’re the only other person in this house with common sense.”

“That’s an incredibly depressing statement.”

Carter slapped my shoulder. “Party at ten.”

“Eleven,” I corrected. “I’m eating first.”

“You can eat at the party.”

“I haven’t eaten since three.”

“You’re an athlete. Your body is a temple.”

“My temple needs a cheeseburger.”

Mason looked at Carter. “He’s got you there.”

Carter sighed. “Fine. Eleven.”

I smiled and reached into my locker for my phone.

The smile disappeared.

Dad — Missed Call

I stared at the screen.

It wasn’t unusual for my dad to call me. We talked a few times a week, sometimes about the shop, sometimes about hockey, sometimes because he’d apparently reached the age where he needed to call another human being to complain about the price of eggs.

But he knew I had a game tonight.

He always knew.

He’d called twenty-three minutes into the second period.

I checked for a voicemail.

Nothing.

My thumb hovered over his name.

“Hayes.”

I looked up.

Nolan had stopped in front of me, his sweatshirt halfway over his head.

“You coming?”

“Yeah.”

He pulled the sweatshirt down and noticed my phone.

“Everything good?”

“My dad called.”

“Something happen?”

“Probably wants to remind me my truck is six hundred miles overdue for an oil change.”

Nolan stared at me.

“What?”

“Your dad owns an auto shop.”

“I know.”

“And your truck is overdue for an oil change.”

“Apparently.”

“You’re a disgrace.”

“Thank you.”

He smiled slightly, but his attention lingered on me for another second.

Nolan had known me long enough to recognize when I was bullshitting.

Thankfully, he’d also known me long enough to understand when I didn’t want him calling me on it.

“You calling him back?”

“In a minute.”

“Cool.”

He walked away.

I looked down at the phone again.

Then typed instead.

Me: Just got out. Everything okay?

The message delivered.

No response.

I set the phone beside me and went back to my skates.

It buzzed before I’d gotten the second one off.

Dad: All good. Saw the score. Nice game. Call tomorrow.

I read it twice.

All good.

That phrase meant absolutely nothing coming from my father.

The man could have a transmission fall on his foot and tell me he was fine while waiting for the ambulance.

Still, if something had actually happened, he’d tell me.

Probably.

Maybe.

I hated that there was a maybe attached to it.

I started typing.

Me: You sure?

I stared at the words.

Deleted them.

If I asked, he’d say yes.

If I called, he’d tell me everything was fine, ask about the game, then eventually hear the guys in the background and tell me to stop worrying about him and go enjoy college.

It was a conversation we’d had enough times that I could’ve played both parts.

So I sent:

Me: Thanks. I’ll call tomorrow.

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

Dad: Proud of you, kid.

My throat tightened in a way I didn’t particularly appreciate.

I locked the phone.

“Hayes!” Carter shouted from the showers. “If you’re jerking off over there, at least wait until we leave.”

The entire locker room erupted.

I grabbed the nearest roll of tape and launched it in his direction.

It disappeared through the open shower door.

“Fuck you, Donovan.”

His laughter echoed back.

And just like that, the moment was gone.

Exactly how I liked it.

By eleven thirty, there was a girl sitting on top of our refrigerator.

I didn’t know her.

I didn’t know how she’d gotten up there.

I definitely didn’t know how she planned to get down.

She seemed happy, though, so I left her alone.

Our house had gone from quiet to packed in less than an hour. It always happened after a home win. Carter sent approximately four texts, Mason posted something on Snapchat, and suddenly half of Westbridge seemed to know our address.

The kitchen was the worst of it.

People crowded around the island. Someone had pushed our table against the wall to make room for beer pong in the dining room. The back door kept opening and closing as people moved between the kitchen and the yard, letting cold October air inside every thirty seconds.

I stood near the counter with a beer in one hand and listened while Mason attempted to convince a girl that opening her bottle with another bottle was a completely reasonable thing to do.

“You’re going to break it,” she told him.

“I’ve done this a hundred times.”

“No, you haven’t,” I said.

Mason looked over his shoulder.

“Whose side are you on?”

“Hers.”

“You don’t even know her.”

“I know you.”

The girl laughed.

Mason looked wounded. “That hurts.”

“It should.”

He tried anyway.

The cap came off.

Beer immediately sprayed across the front of his shirt.

The girl shrieked and jumped backward.

Mason raised both arms.

“See?”

“You spilled half of it,” I pointed out.

“Still opened.”

I shook my head.

College was fucking stupid.

I loved it.

A shoulder bumped mine.

“Sorry.”

I turned.

The girl who’d bumped me stopped.

She was pretty. Red hair falling past her shoulders, green eyes, freckles scattered across her nose. She wore a cropped green shirt with jeans and held a plastic cup in one hand.

Her eyes moved over my face.

Recognition settled in.

“Noah Hayes.”

I took another drink.

“That’s what they tell me.”

She smiled.

“I had psych with you last semester.”

Shit.

I searched her face.

Nothing.

She saw it happen.

“You have no idea who I am.”

“I remember you.”

“You’re lying.”

“I would never.”

“What was my name?”

I hesitated.

She laughed.

“At least you’re a bad liar.”

“I was going to say Jessica.”

“Not even close.”

“Rebecca?”

“No.”

“Lauren.”

She stared at me.

“I’m making it worse.”

“Much.”

“Okay.” I held out my hand. “Let’s start over.”

She looked at it before putting hers in mine.

“Kelsey.”

“Noah.”

“I know.”

“Right. Apparently everyone does except me.”

“You’re kind of an asshole.”

“That’s a strong judgment after thirty seconds.”

“You forgot me.”

“In my defense, there were like two hundred people in that class.”

“There were fifty-three.”

“Basically two hundred.”

She laughed.

There was something nice about her laugh. Easy. Not forced.

“You played well tonight,” she said.

“You came?”

“My roommate is obsessed with hockey.”

“But you’re not?”

“I didn’t say that.”

The way she looked at me changed slightly.

Subtle.

Not subtle enough.

Okay.

I knew this.

This was familiar territory.

I smiled.

“Can I get you another drink?”

Kelsey looked down at her mostly empty cup.

“I wouldn’t say no.”

I pushed away from the counter.

“What are you drinking?”

“Vodka cranberry.”

“That explains the color.”

She glanced into her cup. “What did you think it was?”

“I wasn’t going to ask.”

“Probably smart.”

I made her another one.

We ended up talking against the counter for the next half hour.

Nothing serious.

That was probably why I enjoyed it.

Kelsey was a communications major. She lived off campus with one roommate. She’d recently broken up with a guy named Tyler who, according to her, owned three leather jackets and somehow thought that made him mysterious.

“Three?” I asked.

“Three.”

“That’s excessive.”

“Thank you.”

“Were they at least different?”

“One was brown.”

“Okay. So he had range.”

She laughed and nudged my arm.

“Don’t defend him.”

“I’m trying to understand him.”

“There is nothing to understand.”

“Maybe he got cold.”

“In May?”

“People run at different temperatures.”

She looked at me for a second before shaking her head.

“You’re annoying.”

“So I’ve heard.”

It was easy.

That was the thing.

Kelsey was attractive, she was clearly interested, and neither of us seemed particularly concerned with pretending this conversation was leading toward anything profound.

I didn’t need profound.

Profound came with questions.

What are you doing after college?

Are you going to try to play professionally?

Where do you want to live?

What do you want?

I fucking hated that question.

Not because I didn’t know.

Knowing was the problem.

I wanted hockey.

I wanted another four years of this.

Ten.

Twenty.

I wanted to wake up every morning knowing the only thing anybody needed from me was to show up at the rink and play.

But wanting something and getting it weren’t the same thing.

I’d learned that early.

My phone vibrated.

For half a second, everything in me tightened.

I reached into my pocket.

Team group chat.

Nothing important.

I locked the screen.

When I looked up, Kelsey was watching me.

“Girlfriend?”

I laughed.

“No.”

“Someone you’re avoiding?”

“No.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe my dad.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

The answer came automatically.

Kelsey nodded.

She didn’t ask again.

I liked her a little more for that.

Carter appeared beside us a minute later.

He was already drunk enough that the bruise along his jaw had apparently become something he was proud of, because he’d told the story of the fight at least four times since we got home.

“There you are,” he said.

“I’ve been standing here for thirty minutes.”

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“No, you haven’t.”

He ignored me and smiled at Kelsey. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I’m Carter.”

“I know. You punched someone tonight.”

His smile widened.

“Did you see that?”

“She did,” I said. “Unfortunately.”

“He hit Noah after the whistle.”

“I survived.”

Carter looked at Kelsey. “He doesn’t appreciate me.”

“I’m starting to understand why.”

I laughed.

Carter pressed a hand to his chest. “Wow.”

“You interrupted us,” I reminded him.

He looked between us.

Something clicked.

“Oh.”

“No.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was actually going to ask if you wanted to play pong, but suddenly I realize you have more important responsibilities.”

Kelsey covered a smile with her cup.

I stared at him.

“Leave.”

“I’m going.”

He didn’t move.

“Carter.”

“Jesus. Fine.”

He backed away, pointing at me as he went. “Don’t forget who was there for you before fame changed you.”

“I’ve known you for two years.”

“And they’ve been the best two years of your life.”

“Go.”

He finally disappeared.

Kelsey laughed.

“He’s funny.”

“Don’t tell him that.”

“You guys seem close.”

I looked toward the dining room, where Carter had already grabbed Mason around the neck and was attempting to pour tequila into his mouth.

“Unfortunately.”

There was more affection in the word than I intended.

Kelsey heard it anyway.

Her expression softened slightly.

Then she set her cup on the counter.

“It’s really loud in here.”

I looked at her.

“It is.”

“Is there anywhere quieter?”

There definitely was.

We ended up in the downstairs hallway.

It wasn’t exactly private. People still passed occasionally on their way to the bathroom or the stairs, but the lights were lower and the music wasn’t quite as punishing.

Kelsey leaned against the wall.

I stopped in front of her.

For the first time since we’d started talking, neither of us had anything to say.

That was fine.

I’d always been good at knowing when talking had run its course.

I leaned down slowly enough that she had plenty of time to change her mind.

She didn’t.

Her hand slid around the back of my neck, pulling me the rest of the way toward her.

The kiss was easy.

No hesitation.

No awkwardness.

No wondering whether I’d misread anything.

Her mouth opened beneath mine, and I settled one hand against her waist as she moved closer. She tasted faintly like cranberry and whatever cheap vodka Carter had bought in bulk.

It wasn’t romantic.

It wasn’t supposed to be.

It was warm and uncomplicated and exactly what I wanted tonight.

Kelsey’s fingers moved into my hair. My thumb traced the strip of bare skin between her shirt and jeans. She made a quiet sound against my mouth and pulled me closer.

For a few minutes, there was nothing else.

No missed call.

No tomorrow.

No future waiting patiently at the edge of campus.

Just this.

When she eventually pulled away, she kept her arms loosely around my neck.

“I have to go.”

I opened my eyes.

“That’s unfortunate.”

She smiled.

“I promised my friend I’d go to her boyfriend’s party.”

“You’re leaving a perfectly good party for another party?”

“I promised.”

“Seems like poor planning.”

“She’ll murder me if I don’t show up.”

“I don’t know her, so I feel comfortable saying she’s being unreasonable.”

Kelsey laughed softly.

“I’ll only stay for a little while.”

“And then?”

Her eyes held mine.

“Come over.”

Straightforward.

I liked straightforward.

“What time?”

“Two?”

I glanced at the clock on the wall.

It was barely midnight.

“That’s late.”

“Do you have a bedtime?”

“Very strict. Nine thirty.”

“Damn. Guess this won’t work.”

“Tragic.”

She smiled.

Then she reached toward my pocket.

I raised an eyebrow.

“Phone.”

“Bold.”

“Do you want my number or not?”

I handed it over.

She added herself as a contact, then sent a text to her own phone. After that, she typed another message and handed mine back.

Kelsey: 214 Cedar Court. After 2.

I looked at the address.

“Specific.”

“My roommate will probably be asleep.”

“Probably?”

“She wears earplugs.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“I’m more concerned about her.”

“She won’t care.”

Kelsey slipped her phone into her purse.

Then her expression turned mock-serious.

“And don’t bring your friends.”

I laughed.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“The dark-haired one looks like he’d invite himself.”

“Carter would absolutely invite himself.”

“Exactly.”

“I’ll leave him here.”

“Good.”

She kissed me once more, slower than the last one but not long enough.

Then she stepped around me.

“I’ll see you later, Noah.”

“Yeah.”

I watched her disappear into the living room.

For a moment, I stayed where I was.

Then I looked down at my phone again.

214 Cedar Court. After 2.

Simple.

How I liked things.

Kelsey knew what tonight was. So did I. Nobody was pretending a few drinks and some kissing meant we needed to know each other’s childhood trauma or favorite color.

We’d have fun.

Maybe we’d do it again.

Maybe we wouldn’t.

Either outcome worked for me.

That was the nice thing about casual.

Nobody could disappoint you if you never expected them to stay.

My phone buzzed.

I looked down.

Dad: Seriously. Everything is fine. Stop worrying.

I stared at the message longer than I should have.

I hadn’t texted him again.

He just knew.

For a moment, I considered calling. I could step outside. Ask what he’d really wanted. Listen to him insist that everything at the shop was fine until I eventually gave up.

Then he’d hear the party.

He’d tell me to go enjoy myself.

I’d tell him I could come home Sunday.

He’d tell me not to.

We’d repeat the same conversation we’d been having since freshman year, both of us pretending there wasn’t an expiration date stamped across the life I had here.

So I typed:

Me: I’m not worrying. I’ll call tomorrow.

The lie looked convincing enough on the screen.

I hit send.

Then put my phone away.

“Noah!”

Mason stood behind the beer-pong table in the dining room, waving at me like he was trying to flag down a rescue helicopter.

“What?”

“I need you.”

“For what?”

He pointed toward the table.

Nolan stood on the opposite side beside Carter, both of them looking unbearably smug.

“We’re getting destroyed.”

“That’s because you suck.”

“Then help me.”

I laughed as I walked toward him.

Carter spotted me and immediately shook his head.

“No. Absolutely not. Hayes is a fucking cheat.”

“You’re just bad at losing.”

“I’m excellent at losing.”

“You threw a cup at Mason last week.”

“He deserved it.”

Mason shoved a ping-pong ball into my hand.

“Please.”

I looked at the ball.

Then at the cups.

Then at my friends.

And for the first time since I’d seen my dad’s name on my phone, the tightness in my chest finally eased.

This I understood.

A hockey house packed with people.

My best friends being idiots.

A win still buzzing underneath my skin.

A pretty girl waiting for me later.

Nothing complicated.

Nothing permanent.

Nothing I couldn’t walk away from.

I stepped up beside Mason and rolled the ball between my fingers.

“Move over.”

He grinned.

“My hero.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

Across the table, Carter pointed at me.

“You’re going down, Hayes.”

“Sure.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

I lined up my shot.

Behind me, somebody turned the music louder.

The room erupted when the ball landed cleanly in the center cup.

Carter immediately started arguing that my elbow had crossed the edge of the table. Mason yelled that he was full of shit. Nolan grabbed the rule sheet somebody had taped to the wall months ago and started reading it aloud like he was presenting evidence in court.

I laughed until my stomach hurt.

And somewhere between Carter calling me a cheating bastard and Mason trying to climb onto my back, I stopped thinking about tomorrow.

Tomorrow could take care of itself.

Tonight, I was twenty-one years old.

We’d won.

My friends were here.

And after two in the morning, I had somewhere else to be.

Apartment 214.

Cedar Court.

A redhead named Kelsey.

Simple.

At least, that was what I thought.