It was just a kiss
MY DAD’S BEEN DOING HIS HOCKEY KINGS SHOW FOR A FEW YEARS now. It first
aired a year after he retired, but that wasn’t his original retirement plan. Initially, TSBN offered him a nine-figure deal—and yes, I said nine—to be a sportscaster. But several months before he was slated to start, he and another recent retiree, Jake Connelly, did a guest spot on ESPN to commentate on that year’s Stanley Cup Finals. That one measly episode drew the highest ratings the network had seen in years. TSBN instantly saw dollar signs and realized Dad was better suited doing commentary than calling games. They pitched Hockey Kings to Dad and Connelly, and the rest is ratings history.
The two of them discuss all things hockey. NHL, college, international. There’s even some high school content. Everything’s on the table and the viewers love it. My favorite part, though, is the segment titles. The producers like to get creative with them. They also have serious hard-ons for alliteration.
Which is why tonight’s C-block topic had a title card with the words BRUTAL BRIAR BLOODBATH on it. Apparently, news of this morning’s scuffle made it all the way to the big sports networks.
“A little melodramatic, don’t you think?” I ask my dad when he calls me a couple of hours after he goes off the air. “It was, like, the least bloody brawl I’ve ever seen. A handful of blood drops, tops.”
“Hey, gotta get those views somehow. Blood sells in hockey.”
“You host a show with Jake Connelly, the most beautiful man in the world. Trust me, you’re going to get the views.”
“Nope, nope, nope,” he groans. “You know how I feel when you talk about Connelly’s stupid looks. It triggers my crippling inferiority.”
I snort out a laugh.
“What is it with you and your mother thinking that guy is handsome?
He’s average, at best.”
“Oh, he’s definitely not average.” “Agree to disagree.”
Chuckling to myself, I pull a pair of sweatpants out of my dresser drawer. I’m going down the hall to Whitney’s room tonight to watch a movie.
“Have you spoken to your brother today?” Dad asks.
“No. He texted last night, just some silly meme, but other than that, nothing in a few days. Why? Is he AWOL again?”
My twin has a habit of losing track of his surroundings when he’s writing music. His phone is constantly dead too. Which means Mom is constantly worrying and then texting me to find out if I’ve heard from Wyatt.
“No, no, he’s around. I talked to him this morning. He doesn’t have any gigs lined up, so he’s thinking he might come home for a few weeks.”
Unlike myself, Wyatt doesn’t attend college. He announced that decision to our parents the morning after our high school graduation, despite having been accepted into three of the best schools in the country, including Juilliard. He sat them down, all business (or as businesslike as one can look in ripped jeans and a threadbare T-shirt) and told them college had nothing to offer him, his path was music, and don’t bother talking him out of it, please and thank you.
Three weeks later, he moved to Nashville. And he’s not even a country music guy. His style lends itself more toward a folksy rock-pop mix—I don’t think I could accurately pin it down. All I know is, he’s good. Incredible, actually. He inherited the musician gene from Mom.
But the thing that sucks most about my brother? He also inherited Dad’s
talent. Dude can play hockey too. And play it well.
He just doesn’t want to.
My brain can’t wrap itself around that. Who wouldn’t want to play hockey?
What the hell’s wrong with him?
“Anyway, I was thinking, if he does come home, maybe you can make it back too. Next weekend or the weekend after?”
“Yeah, I could probably swing it. Our season opener isn’t for a few weeks.”
“How did the men look, by the way? This morning, I mean.”
“I have no idea. Like I said before, they were two minutes into a drill before Jordan went off on one of the Eastwood guys. Luke Ryder finally broke it up.”
“That Ryder has a bad attitude. I have no idea how he’ll fare under a coach like Jensen, who has no patience for that crap.”
“Honestly, I can’t see how any of them are going to fare well.”
“If you’re worried about Case not making the team, don’t. There’s no doubt he’ll start.”
“Nope, wasn’t worried about that at all, but nice segue. Is the fishing expedition beginning now?”
“Who’s fishing?” Dad says innocently. “But I mean, since you brought it up…”
I roll my eyes at the phone. “We’re not back together, if that’s what you want to know. I know you’re obsessed with him, but you need to move on, my friend.”
“I’m not obsessed with him,” my father protests. “I just like the guy. I thought he was good for you.”
I thought so too.
Until he went and cheated on me.
But my dad doesn’t know that. We’re a tight-knit family, but there are certain things I draw the line at when it comes to sharing. I don’t discuss my sex life. I don’t tell them how many drinks I might imbibe at a party, or if I take a hit of an occasional joint.
And I certainly don’t talk about how the guy I was madly in love with kissed someone else the night after I told him I loved him. Nope.
“Anyway, I gotta go now,” I say before Dad can grill me some more. “Movie night with Whitney and Cami.”
“All right. Say hi to them. Love you, Stan.” “I will. Love you too.”
I end the call just as a text from Case pops up on the screen. His ears must’ve been burning.
CASE:
Can we please talk?
I stare at the message. My thumbs hover over the keypad, but I can’t bring myself to type a response.
I know I should. It was easy to dodge his texts and calls over the summer, but now that we’re both back on campus, it’d probably behoove us to clear the air. Yet at the same time, I don’t know what there is to say anymore. We’re broken up. I’m not interested in getting back together, and I’m not ready to be best friends with him again.
CASE:
I should probably add—I’m at your door.
For fuck’s sake. He’s taken the decision out of my hands, and I’m a bit annoyed as I stomp toward my door and throw it open.
Sure enough, Case is there at the threshold wearing sweatpants, a black hoodie, and a backward baseball cap. He bites his lip when he sees my displeased expression.
“I know. I’m a dick. I shouldn’t just show up here.” “No, you shouldn’t,” I agree.
“Also, I should give this back.” He holds out the key card required to gain entry into Hartford House.
I quickly snatch it from him. Shit. I forgot he even still had it.
“But now that I’m here…” He casts that familiar smile that usually melts my heart into goo.
Tonight it’s only half goo, because I’m mad at him for showing up uninvited.
“I only need five minutes.” At my reluctance, he implores me with those pale blue eyes. “Please?” he says huskily.
I open the door wider. “Fine. But I’m on my way out. Whitney’s waiting for me.”
“I’ll be quick,” he promises.
He walks into the common area, his tall muscular frame dominating the modest space. I have a two-bedroom suite in Hartford House, one of the nicer dorms at Briar. It’s also one of the oldest buildings, almost entirely covered in ivy, and since it was built before the university started maximizing every square foot of space, the rooms and suites are much bigger than those in other dorms. Hartford is located on the very edge of campus, right near all the running trails, which is perfect for me—a few times a week I’m able to wake up and get a quick run in before practice. I’ve never been a gym girl. I like being outdoors, even in the winter.
Rather than immediately diving into emotional territory, Case starts us off with a safe topic, sliding both hands in his pockets.
“This morning was brutal,” he tells me. “I know you guys were watching.”
“Yeah. It looked tense. Did Jensen give you shit afterwards?” “Oh yeah.” He grimaces. “And then he named me cocaptain.”
Surprise flutters through me. “Really? Why didn’t he just keep Demaine as captain?”
“Oh, he didn’t pick. The guys did. And it gets even better—Jensen says we need two captains to try to unite the team or whatever. Which is fucking garbage. Nobody’s uniting shit.” Bitterness splashes off every word. “Anyway, the other captain they picked? Luke Ryder.”
My eyebrows soar. “Are you kidding? They voted him captain? That dude’s got the personality of a cactus.”
Case snickers. “Accurate assessment.”
Several seconds of silence tick by, and I brace myself for the change of subject. I feel it coming the way I always know when it’s going to rain. I’m
a barometer for rain and awkward conversations. “I’ve really missed you.”
His grief-stricken confession hangs between us. My heart can’t handle it when he says things like that.
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Case…”
“I know I have no right to say that. I just…I miss you. I can’t help it.” He hesitates. “Do you miss me at all?”
He gives me that earnest expression, and it’s another hit to my already aching heart. It sucks because Case is a genuinely good guy. He wasn’t being malicious when he did what he did. I truly don’t believe he meant to hurt me. He made a mistake.
No, corrects the sharp voice in my head. He didn’t make a mistake. He made a choice.
“G?” he prompts.
“Of course I miss you,” I answer, because I’ve never been able to lie to him. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we broke up.”
That brings a stricken look to his face.
Letting out a defeated breath, Case walks to the black leather couch my roommate’s parents bought for us when they realized the prior sofa we were using had come from a garage sale in Hastings. Mya’s parents are…snobs is putting it nicely. But they’re snobs with great taste.
Case sinks onto the couch and drops his head in both palms.
It takes all my willpower not to go over there and wrap my arms around him. I’ve always hated seeing Case upset. It’s just such an unnatural state for him. He’s generally a positive person, taking everything in stride. And like I said, he’s a good guy. With a truly good heart. That makes it impossible to hate him.
Finally, he lifts his head. “I want you back. Please, baby.” His voice cracks slightly. “I hate not being with you.”
Little fissures form in the armor I’ve erected around my heart.
“I know you hate this too,” he pleads. “Being apart. Like this summer, not being with you? It was brutal. Just fucking unbearable.”
Yes and no. I did miss him this summer. I’m not going to deny that. But I also wasn’t crying myself to sleep and composing lovelorn messages in my Notes app, paragraph after paragraph about how much he hurt me and what it would take for us to be together again.
The truth is, I don’t know if it’s even possible. I’m not a cold or rigid person. My friends tell me I forgive way too easily. And I have forgiven Case, truly.
But I also can’t forget what he did.
“You cheated on me,” I remind him. My tone is flat. “It was just a kiss,” he says miserably.
A rush of anger and indignation heats my throat before I can stop it. I open my mouth, but he’s quick to speak before I can.
“I know, I get it. We don’t agree on what cheating is. I don’t think what I did is exactly cheating—”
“You made out with someone else! That’s not ‘just a kiss,’ Case. And it’s cheating.”
“It was stupid, okay? I fully acknowledge I fucked up.”
This is the same fight we had in June after he confessed what he’d done. The same fight we kept having when he tried to win me back. I’m sick of it. “You want to get back together, and yet you won’t even admit that what
you did was cheating.”
“It was a mistake.” His features become strained when he clocks my inflexible expression. “All right. I cheated. Okay? I cheated, and I’ve regretted it every second of every day since it happened. I was drunk, and freaking out because it was getting so serious with us, and I…freaked out,” he repeats, hanging his head in shame.
I feel awkward standing there in front of him, so I walk over to sit down. I keep a couple feet of distance between us, but he turns, shifting his body so he’s angled toward me. His legs are so long that one of his scuffed-up sneakers grazes my socked foot.
“You told me you would think about it,” he reminds me in a soft voice. “About trying again.”
I release a weary sigh. “I did think about it. But like I told you the last time we texted, I don’t want to get back together.”
His face falls. When he reaches for my hand, I let him take it. He laces his fingers through mine. His hand feels so familiar. Warm and dry, the pads of his long fingers callused.
He implores me with his eyes. “Please. I just want to prove that I’m not messing around here or playing games. I made a mistake and I own it. But the only thing I need you to know right now, the thing that matters most, is that I love you.”
My heart flutters at that. He has no idea how long I’d waited for him to say those words. The entire year and a half we were together, in fact. I fell for Case so fast, but I forced myself not to say it too early, afraid to scare him off. And then, when I finally uttered those three words for the first time, he didn’t say them back. Sure, he was suddenly throwing them around after he kissed someone else. But the night I said I love you, he didn’t say I love you too.
The reminder turns the fluttering of my heart into a deep sting. “You’re skeptical,” Case says, eyeing me.
“I don’t know what I am. I…can’t give you any answers. We broke up.”
He nods slowly. Runs a hand through his golden hair, drawing my attention to the strong line of his jaw. Any girl would take one look at that perfect face and throw herself at him, tell him, Yes, of course I’ll take you back!
But I’m not so quick to let him back in. Not after everything that happened.
“Okay. I understand,” Case says after a long silence. “I’ll get out of your way then.”
Guilt trickles through me. I squeeze his hand before he can pull away. “Hey,” I assure him. “I’m still your friend. You know if you ever need
me, ever, all you have to do is call, right?”
“I know, and I’m always here for you too.” He tugs me to my feet. “C’mon, I should go. And you’ve got Whitney waiting for you.”
At the door, Case lets go of my hand and holds out his arms. I can’t resist stepping into them. Letting him wrap them around me in a hug that feels like home.
For a moment I’m tempted to tilt my head up. To let his lips come down on mine and just lose myself in his kiss.
But then I think about his lips on somebody else’s, and the urge dies.
