“Yeah?”
I blinked. “Yeah.” I waited for him to say more, if he wanted. I knew a lot of people were killed in that accident, and some seriously injured.
“I still don’t understand why nothing happened to me.” He inhaled a long breath through his nose. “I was supposed to enter the draft. Me and one of my best buddies were pegged to go first round. He did. But I just couldn’t do it.”
Pain shot through my heart. I was an athlete too. I knew what a big deal it was to be drafted into the NHL. I knew how guys prepared for years for that, especially guys who were being scouted and ranked and considered to be first round picks. For him to have missed out on that…I had no words. It was tragic. Heartbreaking.
He started walking again and I fell into step beside him, our arms brushing against each other. “After all the funerals, I took off and holed up in a cabin in Tofino. British Columbia,” he added. “I didn’t want to play hockey. I didn’t want to see people. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I was fucked up.”
I nodded.
“I stayed there for months. My parents were worried about me. Finally, they got me to start seeing a counselor.”
“Oh, that’s good.”
“I didn’t want to do it. But I also didn’t want to live the rest of my life like that. I spent nearly a year going for counseling, and then I decided I did want to play hockey again. Just not pro hockey. And I got in here at Bayard.”
My eyes stung and my chest ached. “Oh, Hunter.” I slid my hand into his gloved hand and squeezed.
“I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”
We were all alone on a quiet street, no traffic, snow falling silently around us.
I couldn’t believe it either. This private, reclusive guy was telling me about what happened to him. I hated that it happened to him, and I was touched that he told me this. “I’m glad you are. I…does anyone else know about this?”
“Nah. And don’t say anything. I don’t want people to feel sorry for me. Don’t you feel sorry for me.” His voice roughened.
“I…” I didn’t even know what to say. Of course I felt sorry for him. He went through an unspeakable tragedy. But I didn’t pity him.
“I don’t like talking about it. People don’t know what to say. It gets all weird and awkward.”
I didn’t want things to be weird and awkward between us. This made me see him in a different light. Thinking back to when I’d first met him and thought he was an asshole because he was so reserved and serious, shame curled in my gut. He’d been through so much, and I’d had no idea.
We were on campus, nearing the dorm.
“I won’t say anything,” I assured him. “But I am sorry that you went through something that horrendous. I’m also impressed that you dealt with it and now you’re here.”
He cleared his throat. “Thanks.”
I couldn’t stop thinking about what Hunter had told me over the next few days. It rattled me. I felt guilty for misjudging him. I felt silly about some of the things that upset me, when he’d been through something so awful. I felt stupid and shallow. I also felt intense admiration for Hunter.
The next week, I found out that Hunter and Tandy had broken up two days before that party. And yes, the thought crossed my mind…had Hunter invited me on a date to that party?
Nah.
What if I hadn’t kissed Henry? What if Hunter had asked me if I was going to go out with Henry and I’d said no? Would our walk home have been different?
It was silly to think about that. By that point, I’d gone out with Henry and we’d had fun. Unlike other guys, Henry didn’t have a problem with how competitive I was, or how I liked to be in control. I liked him, and our relationship continued until the end of that school year, when Henry graduated and went home to St. Louis. We knew things were ending. We went on a last date, spent one last night together. We both cried a little, and then life went on.
In our junior year, Hunter and I both started off single, but it wasn’t long before he started seeing a girl named Colette. Sometimes I got her and Tandy mixed up. They sort of looked alike—cute, with long, bouncy blonde hair, extreme eyelashes and eyebrows, and lots of pink lip gloss. Hunter and I were firmly in the friend zone, but I got the feeling Colette didn’t like me much.
One night Hunter and I were studying together at the library and ended up going out for coffee after.
“Colette won’t like this,” I told him as we settled into seats at Starbucks. I loosened the big scarf around my neck but kept it on because it was freezing outside and I was still cold. In here, it was warm and cozy, with dim golden lighting and soft jazz music playing.
“What? Why not?” He draped his jacket over the back of his chair, still standing.
“She doesn’t like me.” I didn’t want to cause problems for him and Colette. But on the other hand, he was my friend and he should be able to hang out with whatever friends he wanted to.
His face scrunched up. “Bullshit.”
“No, really. But it’s okay.” I waved a hand. “She’s just being…possessive. She cares about you.”
He frowned, then shook his head. “She likes you.”
I shrugged.
“What do you want to drink?”
“Caffé misto.” I reached for my purse.
“I got it. Anything to eat?”
“No, I’m good.”
He headed over to the counter. Returning with our coffees and a plate of something, he asked, “Are you going to take that scarf off?” Amusement tipped up the corners of his mouth. He still didn’t smile a lot, but more than last year. I felt he’d loosened up more than last year…socializing more with the guys he lived with, and with our small circle of friends.
“No. I’m still cold.”
“You’re always cold.”
“Not when I’m soaked with sweat after a hard shift.”
“Okay, true.”
He was right, though. I had an electric blanket on my bed, wore thick socks and layers everywhere, and slept in flannel pjs.
“What are you eating?” I peered over at his plate.
“Salted caramel cake.”
“Ah. Your fav.” He loved anything caramel. “Why do you keep going out with puck bunnies?” Oh shit. I’d blurted that out without thinking.
He didn’t take offense, even on their behalf. “You think Colette is a puck bunny?”
“Well, yeah.”
To my amazement, he smiled. “Nothing wrong with bunnies.”
My mouth fell open. I mean, he wasn’t wrong, but…for some reason, I was surprised at Hunter. He didn’t seem like the guys who used their jock status to bang every bunny they could.
“She’s only interested in me because I’m a hockey player,” he said easily. “I know it. It’s fine. I’m not looking for more than that.”
“Oh.”
“And she’s hot.”
Again, not wrong. My spirits dipped. I didn’t have fake eyelashes, highlighted hair, and I didn’t wear much makeup. I wasn’t “hot” like Colette was. I swallowed a sigh. I could only be myself, and most of the time I was pretty happy with myself.