by Carly Syms
"You didn't," I point out.
"Just because I didn't leave doesn't mean I didn't want to," he says. "And most of my friends did go. We still went our separate ways."
I'm quiet for a few seconds. What he's saying triggers something in my mind -- this isn't the first time I've heard him talk about wishing he could leave Madison. But it's weird to me because he loves this place. I can't imagine him ever really wanting to get out.
"Why'd you want to leave?" I finally ask.
Shane looks up at the ceiling and fiddles with his hands. He takes a deep breath. "You ask tough questions, you know that?"
"What'd you just say to me? Everyone has a story and I want to know yours?"
He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "It's a long story."
"We've got time. I ordered my burger well done."
He laughs. "You really want to know?"
I nod.
"Okay," he says. "You know I love hockey. I really do and I wouldn't trade playing it for anything. But I almost quit."
I raise my eyebrows. This doesn't sound anything like the Shane I've met.
"I can't imagine that," I say.
"Well, it happened. Hockey's a weird sport in some ways. You're eligible to get drafted once you're 18 and not everyone goes to college to play before they jump into the pro leagues. I wanted that to be me. I thought I had a shot. No, it was more than a shot. I thought I was a shoo-in. They all said I was guaranteed to go in the first round and if not, then definitely the second. There was no chance I wouldn't get taken by one of the teams."
He pauses but doesn't look at me. I can't take my eyes off his face. My heart's pounding for him even though that's silly; this has nothing to do with me and it happened a long time ago.
"I could've been selected by a team and still gone to play at Wisconsin," he continues. "It was all I wanted. They take the best prospects, the sure-fire picks, and invite them to the draft. Only the guys they know will get picked to avoid some kid sitting there with all the cameras on him while his dreams get crushed on live TV. They asked me to go, so my dad and I flew to Canada for it. I was going to get a hat and a jersey and have my picture taken and it was supposed to be perfect. Everything I worked for."
A small smile plays on the corner of his lips as he takes a deep breath before continuing.
"Coach Van always said hard work pays off. He tells his current players every year that I'm living proof of that because I'm playing college puck. But I don't know. I didn't, as you might be able to tell by now, get drafted. All of those picks and I just sat there feeling more numb each time my phone didn't ring and they called another name that wasn't mine. I don't know how many times they showed me on TV and talked about how crazy it was that I was still on the board and what a great value I'd be at this late pick. I became the exact situation the hockey execs were trying to avoid," he says with a shake of his head. "And so here I am. Nothing to show for all of it. So, yeah. I almost quit instead of going to play in college."
He stops talking and finally looks up at me. I realize this is the part where I'm probably supposed to say something, but what do you say to that?
"Shane, I --"
"Stop. You don't have to come up with something to say to make me feel better. Believe me, people have tried. It's over. It was almost two years ago. But you wanted my story and now you have it."
I'm about to respond when the waiter chooses that moment to pop back over with our food. He places our burgers in front of us, then turns to Shane.
"Not even going to introduce me to your girl, Stanford?" he asks him, and I wrinkle my forehead.
Shane's cheeks turn a faint shade of pink. "This is Natalie. She just moved into my parents' neighborhood. Nat, this is Pete. He lived on my floor in the dorm freshman year."
Pete turns to look at me. "How're you liking Madison?"
I try to keep my eyes from falling on Shane but they flicker in his direction anyway. "It isn't as bad as I thought it would be."
Pete nods. "Cool. Good to meet you," he says before turning and walking back into the kitchen.
"He seems nice," I say to Shane, hoping we won't have to go back to discussing his draft misery because I don't know what to say about it.
"Yeah, he isn't bad. I really only hang out with guys from the team these days."
I nod. "Makes sense."
"So, anyway, dig in." He gestures at the burgers on the table before handing me a set of silverware wrapped in a napkin. "Hope it lives up to all my hype."
"It better," I say, spreading the napkin across my lap and picking up the dripping burger topped with bacon and cheese and grilled onions. "But it looks good."
I bite into it and my eyes widen just a little. He wasn't kidding. It's easily one of the best burgers I've ever had. I take a few more bites before glancing up at him.
He's watching me with a funny expression on his face. I can't quite read it, either. It's almost like it's a few parts amusement, some wonder and some disbelief.
"Something wrong?" I ask once I swallow.
He shakes his head. "No, nothing at all. That good, huh?"
"Delicious. It's perfect. Thank you."
He nods and smiles. "I'm glad you like it."
He's right.
I do.
***
"Still good to go to the terrace?" Shane asks me forty minutes later after we walk out of the restaurant, stuffed with burgers and fries. "Or are you ready to go home?"
My eyebrows shoot up. I hadn't expected -- and I don't want -- our night to end so fast after we just finished dinner. I'm not sure if he's subtly trying to get rid of me.
"Oh," I say. "I'm fine. We can still go."
"But do you want to? I don't want to pressure you into it if you'd rather go home."
"Yeah, yeah, I want to. You promised to show me the school, so let's do it."
He smiles. "Great. Too cold to walk?"
"I'm fine," I say, shrugging into my puffy winter jacket. Shane shakes his head and smiles as he helps me into it.
"I can't believe you're going to make me walk around with you dressed like this. What are you trying to do to my reputation on this campus?"
I reach over and push him on the arm. "Maybe I better go home after all."
He grabs my hand and for a quick second, I think he's about to hold it and my stomach shoots to the sidewalk but he releases me almost as fast as he touched me.
"Nope, too late," he replies. "You're stuck with me."
I don't respond -- I can't. My mouth's gone dry at his touch on my bare skin and the hard biceps I just felt beneath his light coat, and I'm pretty sure I might be staring at him a little awkwardly.
"It's not too far away," he continues after realizing I'm not going to say anything. "This is State Street. It's kind of the heart of downtown Madison. Bars and restaurants and shops and stuff. Campus basically starts at the other end."
We walk down the street, my boots crunching on the sidewalk beneath my feet. This time, it's a comfortable silence settling in between us as I take in everything State Street has to offer.
It's a cute college town, even I have to admit that much. Lights hang from street lamps and lackadaisical couples stroll the sidewalks as night falls on the city.
"In a couple hours, it'll be pretty crazy out here," Shane says. "When people hit the bars, I mean."
"I've never been."
"Ah, so you're on the straight and narrow, huh?"
"Just never had the opportunity, I guess."
"Makes sense when you aren't in college. I won't lie, I've had my fair share of fun with my older brother's ID."
I smile despite myself. "Gutsy."
Shane shrugs. "College."
"Isn't that risky being on the team and all?"
His eyes darken. "Probably a little. I haven't done it in a year, though, and I'll be 21 in ten months. Not a big deal to wait now."
We come to the end of the street and stop in front of a hill. A tall building with long white co
lumns sits at the top while smaller buildings line the paths up both sides.
"This is Bascom Hill."
"It's gorgeous," I say and I mean it even though it's dark and kind of hard to see it all with just street lamps lining the way to the top.
"Even better in daylight. I'll show you it again sometime."
I smile and I'm glad the dark night hides my blush because I love hearing that he wants to hang out with me again outside of hockey. At least, I'm pretty sure that's what he's getting at.
"Okay," he says. "Let's hit the terrace."
We walk a few blocks and suddenly we're standing in front of one of the most magical-looking places I've ever seen.
Waves from the lake lap lightly against the shoreline. People everywhere sit on yellow and green and orange chairs with pitchers of beer covering every table. Colorful patio lights hang above them and there's a live band playing inside a small gazebo.
"I...wow."
Shane looks over at me and smiles. "Pretty cool, right?"
"It's amazing. I love it."
"I thought you would. Let's see if we can grab a table."
I follow him through the maze of brightly-colored chairs and laughing, smiling people. There's a buzz in the air, a low hum, an electricity dancing around the terrace that's so easy to feel that I'm surprised I don't see sparks shooting through the air.
The patio lights cast a dim glow on the smiling faces, everyone looking even happier in the muted tones.
Shane stops walking and turns around to look for me. I'm a few feet away from him, scooting past a guy with his chair sticking out into the aisle.
"Found one," he calls, pulling out a yellow chair for me.
I smile at him as I drop into the seat. He walks around to the other side of the table, and I'm disappointed he isn't sitting right next to me.
"What do you think?" he asks.
The band's music fills my ears but it isn't so loud that I can't hear Shane or the buzz of conversation nearby. It's perfect. Absolutely perfect.
"It's one of the best places I've ever seen," I say. "Thank you for bringing me here."
"I knew you'd end up liking Wisconsin."
"Madison isn't so bad. I mean, it's not home and I still would rather be there, don't get me wrong," I say. "But if we had to move somewhere, I'm not so upset anymore that it was here."
"I think you're going to find it a lot harder to leave than you think."
I don't meet his gaze. I've spent the last five months counting down to the day I could go back to Arizona and now, in just two stupid weeks, the idea of picking up and moving actually makes a small pit form in my stomach. And it isn't that I don't want to leave because I do -- Arizona is home and it always will be -- it's just that I never thought there could ever be even a moment where it'd be anything other than the easiest choice.
I'm about to say something else, change the subject, talk about something that suddenly doesn't sound so hard when three guys walk up to our table. One reaches over and claps Shane on the back.
"Whaddup, Stanford."
They're each dressed in the same red fleece jacket with the hockey emblem and jersey numbers on it that I saw Shane wear at practice last week. They glance over in my direction and raise their eyebrows.
"This your girl?" another asks.
It's easy to see Shane's cheeks grow bright red even in the dimly-lit night. I smile, thinking back to our waiter's comments earlier this evening. Maybe he's been talking about me to the team. They all seem to think I'm his girl, and my stomach twists. I don't hate it.
"I'm Natalie," I jump in before he has to come up with an awkward response that might ruin my buzz.
"Steve," one says, holding out his hand to me. "We play with your boy."
"I figured based on your jackets."
Steve gives a small half-smile. "True."
I glance over at Shane, not sure what else to say to his friends.
"What're you guys up to tonight?" he asks them.
One of the guys who didn't bother to introduce himself to me shrugs. "Not sure. Molly and Kara are having some kind of thing at their place. Maybe the bars later. You in?"
Shane's eyes dart over to me and I quickly look down at my hands folded in my lap. "Uh, no," he says. "I think I'm busy."
"A'ight, man," Steve says. "Lemme know if you change your mind."
"I won't," Shane replies, his voice strong and unwavering, and I bite my lip to keep from smiling too hard. I don't want to embarrass him.
"Cool cool," one of his friends says. "Catch ya later, bro."
Shane nods and the three guys walk off.
"Sorry about them."
I shrug. "For what? They're your friends."
"Yeah, kinda. Teammates, friends, whatever."
I nod and don't say anything else but I can feel his eyes on me, burning and hot.
We lapse into silence as the buzzing words and strumming guitar fill the electrified air around us. It's comfortable and lovely, and I like just knowing that Shane's next to me.
CHAPTER SIX
I'm not nervous to meet Shane for practice today. I probably should be because it'll be the first time I've seen him since we went to the terrace together Friday night, but I already know it's going to be great this afternoon. Not awkward at all.
I smile, thinking back to what we did just a few days ago as we sat there by the lake, talking and listening to music until just after midnight. My eyelids eventually started getting heavy and I couldn't keep my yawns hidden anymore, and Shane insisted we both needed to get some sleep even though I didn't want to leave.
But he promised me we'd go back again.
So when I walk out of the locker room and out onto the ice later that day, I'm not worried about what he's going to say or how he's going to act.
Even if he didn't kiss me good night on Friday.
I drop down onto the wooden bench to lace up my skates and when he still isn't here after I'm all suited up, I reach into my bag and pull out my copy of Wuthering Heights.
I'm just at the part where Heathcliff returns when the echo of the door squeaking opening ricochets through the otherwise empty rink. My head snaps up and I can't keep a smile from spreading across my face when I catch sight of Shane walking toward me.
"Hey lady," he says once he gets closer to me. "Still working on that book, huh?"
I hold up the closed copy in my hand before tucking it into my bag. "I've been busy lately."
He smiles. "Hope the distractions are worth it, at least. I don't want to cut into your reading time."
"I'll somehow suffer through it," I tell him. "How's your day?"
He lets out a small sigh and shakes his head. "It's fine," he says, but I'm not totally sure I believe him. He looks a little frazzled. "Let's just get skating, okay?"
I frown. "Are you sure?"
He nods. "Yep. C'mon, Melter, out on the ice."
His lips are trying to form a smile but it isn't the easy, relaxed look I remember seeing so many times just a couple nights ago.
I clomp toward the rink and glide onto the ice. I can feel my legs loosening up as I go around the arena once, then twice.
When I look up, I realize Shane isn't out on the ice with me like he usually is. He's sitting on the wooden bench staring down at a white envelope in his hands. When he catches me watching him, he quickly stuffs it into the side pocket of his hockey bag and stands up, clapping his hands as if he's trying to jolt himself back into the moment.
"I thought maybe today we'd just focus on conditioning," Shane says, but I notice he doesn't get on the ice with me. "Laps and drills and stuff."
I nod, hands on my hips. "Sure. Let me grab my stick."
"You won't need it. Suicides first."
I groan and stare at him. He knows how much I hate suicides.
"Don't even think about talking back to your coach," he says, raising his eyebrows and wiggling them slightly. "Now get to it."
I sigh and skate over to the far red li
ne and start the drill. He hasn't said how many he wants me to do and I'm not about to skate at full speed if he's thinking about this as an endurance challenge instead of sprints.
As I'm skating, I glance over at him and frown. He's back to sitting on the bench. He isn't holding the envelope anymore but he's staring down at the floor with his elbows resting on his knees. Something isn't right with him, and even though I'm pretty sure it has nothing to do with me, I can't help but feel unsettled about it all.
I finish two rounds of the suicides and when he still hasn't blown his whistle -- or even looked up to check out my progress -- I skate over to the boards.
"Hey," I say, and he jumps. "What's up with you today?"
He shakes his head. "Nothing, I told you. How many suicides did you do?"
"Two rounds."
"Weak." But there's a smile -- a real smile this time -- on his face. "Okay, let's try something else." He tugs on the laces of his skates and gets to his feet.
I head out onto the ice and Shane follows me.
"Goal line," he says.
When I turn around, I realize he's holding out two hockey sticks to me. I take them from him with a frown.
"Pull me to the other net," is all he says.
"What?"
"Hold the sticks like this," he says, positioning them so that I have one in each hand. He grabs onto the shooting end of the sticks behind me. "I'm not going to do any work but you're going to tug me to the other goal line by pulling on the sticks."
"What the heck? Why?"
He laughs. "Because it'll get you in good shape, that's why."
I roll my eyes and sigh, but set up to do as he tells me. He knows better than I do.
It takes me a few extra seconds to pick up momentum but soon I'm huffing and puffing across the ice to the other goal line with Shane chuckling softly behind me. I stop just outside the neutral zone and spin around.
"You think this is funny?" I ask.
He immediately stops laughing and tries to look serious, which just makes me want to laugh. "No. Not at all," he says. "This is very serious."
"I know what this is," I say, letting go of the sticks. "You just want a free ride around the rink at my expense."
