Chapter 1

one

MOM’S SPAGHETTI

I ’ve always heard about people’s hands sweating when they were nervous and found it odd. It wasn’t until today that I really understood what it feels like to be so nervous your palms are, in fact, sweaty. Don’t even get me started on my arms, because yeah. They are heavy. And I am craving spaghetti now. Not that my mom ever made it.

My stomach turns as Evans glares at me over his cellphone. There goes my appetite. Fuck, he’s got a mean glare. It’s not like I want to be here either. In fact, I thought I’d be able to avoid stepping foot on the Everleigh campus ever again. And the day before Thanksgiving? Could their timing be any worse?

I wipe my hands against my jeans, not that it helps. Evans sighs, shaking his head as he slips his phone back into the pocket of his slacks, giving me his undivided attention. I instantly miss the phone between us.

“You’re a good kid,” he drawls slowly, measuring each word as he speaks them. As if they cost him something to say. In the years that I’ve known him, he hasn’t been like other agents–sorry, advisors–I’ve met or heard about. He isn’t chatty or loud or abrasive. Each word he chooses to use has even more impact because of it.

“But I fucked up,” I say before he has the chance to. I’ve already heard it from so many people, I don’t think I can bear to hear it from him too.

He arches a brow and crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall outside the athletic director’s office. “Did you?”

His question catches me off guard. “Everyone says I did,” I counter.

He tilts his head slightly forward in acknowledgment. “Putting several of your teammates in the hospital is usually frowned upon.”

“But?”

He shrugs. “But, I know you well enough to know they deserved it.”

I snort. Fuck yeah they did.

“I also know that if you’re refusing to tell anyone why you did it, you have a good reason for it.”

My hands curl into fists against my thighs. If people aren’t telling me how badly I’ve fucked up, they’re asking what was worth jeopardizing my future over. An answer I can’t give.

“The only question now is,” Evans continues, nodding to the door, “do they know that?”

And my hands are sweaty again.

My coaches were outraged, shocked, and worst of all, disappointed when they showed up at the hospital. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forget the look on Coach Mulligan’s face when he saw me standing there with my knuckles wrapped and my eyebrow split open. For just a second, it made me question everything. I couldn’t even look him in the eye.

Was I making the right decision? Could I have responded differently? Was it worth losing my shot at the NHL ?

The last question is really the only one that matters, and it’s the one I’m the most confident of my answer.

The door opens and I jump to my feet, my hands behind my back as I wait for the news. The decision they made in a room I was not welcome in. I’ve never felt more helpless or useless.

I don’t recognize the first two men who walk out of the room, but as they nod at Evans, I assume they must be the NCAA officials. Otherwise known as the men who hold my fate in their hands.

Two of my coaches and the athletic director follow them out, not a smile between the three as they shake hands and thank them for coming. Yeah, I’m fucked. My only hope is going to be getting on the team next year and practicing on my own until then.

A whole season of not playing hockey? I’m going to be sick.

The first few weeks of the season have already been excruciating, sitting in the crowd and watching the games from the stands. Not being able to jump on the ice and plug the holes in the Wolves’ defense.

“Come in, Alexander,” the athletic director says, turning back towards his office. My coaches take the lead and I take a deep breath, following them. I’ve never been in this office before, but it’s just as intimidating as the man who owns it.

Fuck sweaty palms. Apparently I’ve just never had anything that meant this much to me to be nervous about to experience this strange phenomenon. “Are you joining, Evans?”

My advisor nods, following me in. Once we’re all sitting around the director’s desk, all eyes turn to me. He leans back in his chair, taking command of the room with one simple motion. I close my eyes, forcing myself to remain calm. The decision has already been made. Nothing I say in here will change that now.

He taps his fingers on a file that rests on his desk in front of him. “You have a reputation for being aggressive, mouthy, and arrogant.” He pauses, meeting my eyes before continuing, “Both on and off the ice.”

I cringe and I can feel Evans glaring into the back of my head. He has always warned me that my attitude problem will come back to bite me in the ass one day. Apparently, one day has arrived. I should probably keep my mouth shut and nod along to all the critiques. Too bad an attitude problem doesn’t disappear in a day.

“Hockey is an aggressive sport.” I meet the director’s eyes when I say it, but I don’t miss the way Coach Mulligan puts his face in his hands. Maybe it’s to cover up a smile?

The director nods, but I can’t tell if he’s amused or annoyed. Maybe it’s a good thing they already came to a decision. “I find it interesting that your professors had nothing but positive things to say about you.”

My indifferent mask drops as I let my surprise show. For the first time, the director smiles when he nods again. “We spoke to many people during our investigation. Coaches, professors, family, friends, teammates. We’ve combed through much of your life, Alexander.”

That’s…not good.

None of the Moores told me they got a call and they would have if that had been the case. So what family do they think they spoke to? And friends? Well fuck. Only the Moores would have anything good to say about me.

“Hot head, loud, and sarcastic were words we heard a lot.” I cringe again but hold his gaze this time. Can't exactly deny any of that. Never met a bear I don’t like to poke. “And yet professors loved you, teammates admired you, and your coaches were all shocked that you would end up in this kind of trouble. So tell me, how does the kid with a chip on his shoulder that he wants everyone to know about, who is called a smart ass with more attitude than sense, also be praised as hard-working, determined–and most surprising of all–respectful, all in the same breath?”

All eyes turn to me as they wait for my answer. An answer I don’t have. I don’t even know who would say those things about me. Coach? I roll my lips as I try to come up with something, anything. “You know who to be a dick to and who not to be a dick to?”

Maybe anything but that.

Coach Mulligan mutters under his breath, shaking his head and Evans smacks my shoulder.

The director laughs. “And there’s that speaking without thinking I’ve heard so much about.”

“To be honest,” I defend, “I did think about it. I just didn’t think about it well.”

“Please shut up,” Evans demands behind me and I slam my mouth shut. Maybe my mom was right and she should have sewn my lips together when she had the chance.

He sits up straight in his chair and folds his hands together on his desk, leaning forward. “I like you, kid. You’re a strong athlete with a lot of talent and promise. I didn’t want to see you leave this team. Maybe we wouldn’t have had to if you had given us anything to work with. Your coaches have assured me that you would not have acted the way you did over something petty. But that does nothing when we’re trying to defend you to the board. You understand that?”

“Yes, sir.” It never stops hurting to hear those words. To be reminded I lost my place on my team due to my own actions and decisions. I chose to put half of the first line in the hospital. And then I chose to keep it a secret why I did it. That’s on me, no one else.

“And you want to keep your silence, even now?”

I nod, forcing my voice to remain even. “Yes, sir.”

His eyes narrow on me. “You’re sure about this, son? Even though this can change your future? Evans isn’t just here because he likes hanging out with you. You understand that, right? He’s here to determine if you will have a future in hockey or if he should cut his losses.”

Evans protests from behind me, but the director holds his hand up to cut him off. “You don’t have anything to say to defend yourself, knowing all of that?”

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep my expression neutral. It hurts even more the second time to hear my dreams shattering to the floor in pieces around me. “That is correct, sir.”

My coach huffs at my side, but I can’t bear to look at him. “Add stubborn to that list of yours, Jim,” he says to the director who only smiles in response.

“Here's the thing, Alexander. Not a single one of us in this room lacks intelligence. You may be keeping your silence, but you’re not the only one.”

What?

He nods to emphasize his words when he sees my surprise. “All three players you had your altercation with have held their tongues. They could have lied, made up a million different stories and used that reputation of yours against you. Yet they didn’t. Why?”

I swallow thickly, unsure how to respond. I thought they had done exactly that.

“They don’t press charges, they don’t demand your expulsion, they don’t say anything. We have enough pieces to realize they’re the ones with more to lose. Whatever the provocation was, they don’t want anyone to know either. Meaning you’re protecting someone. Them, or whatever made you go after them in the first place.”

My hands curl into fists and my chest aches as I hold my breath.

“You’re lucky that was enough to convince the NCAA to make an exception due to extenuating circumstances for a mid-season transfer. You have a lot to thank your coaches for. I’ve heard they’re big fans of muffins.”

My mouth hangs open as I stare at him in shock. All this to find out it was approved? I’ll be back on the ice. I’ll be a Wolf for real now. I can’t help the smile that slowly spreads across my face. My coaches chuckle as Evans pats me on the shoulder in congratulations.

“Before you start celebrating, hear me out, Alexander Channing. The only reason this was even an option was because this entire thing has been kept under wraps. No one knows why you weren’t on the ice or on campus this semester. No one knows about three of our players being admitted to the hospital. If you want to stay on the ice, you make damn sure it stays that way. The NCAA won’t hesitate to reverse their decision if you are making them look bad. You understand?”

I’m already nodding my agreement before he can finish. “Yes, sir. Haven’t spoken a word about it to anyone.”

“Good. Now get the hell out of here.”

The entire drive back is a blur I barely remember. I must have been on auto-pilot for the entire four and a half hours. But before I even know it, I’m pulling up the familiar gravel driveway and parking next to Tate’s SUV .

My phone has been blowing up all day and I don’t need to check them to know at least 99.9% of them will be from him.

There’s no reason to hold back now that I finally have good news to share, and yet here we are.

A tapping on my window makes my head snap up and a snort escapes when I see Tate’s impatient expression as he crosses his arms over his chest. I would bet money that if I looked down, he would be tapping his foot.

I turn my ignition off and open the door. “Missed you too, buddy.”

“Fuck off.” He glares at me, one brow arched as he waits for an answer to the question he shouldn’t even have to ask.

“Watch your language,” Emery snarks from where she’s leaning in the front door. Her blonde hair frames her face in long waves while her lips turn into a mischievous smirk.

Tate mutters under his breath, calling her a smart ass, making me chuckle. He shakes his head. “I think she’s been hanging out with Torryn too much.”

“You only think that because she’s finally talking back to you,” I defend her, making him return back to his previous glare.

“At least it’s better than when she’s giving me the silent treatment.”

I can’t help but laugh at the reminder. Little miss has finally found her fire this year. It took her long enough. Even I was starting to question when Tate was going to loosen the reigns he has on her life.

He shoves me. “Shut up.”

“Dinner’s getting cold,” Emery calls from the doorway before giving us her back and walking into the house. I shrug, but it’s impossible to take my eyes off her retreating form. If I had to put a name to the reason behind my hesitation, I would be staring right at her ass–I mean back. It would be wrong to be checking out my best friend’s little sister’s ass.

“You did kidnap her homecoming date,” I say almost absentmindedly as she steals my attention even in her absence.

He rolls his eyes. “That was Zac.”

“Right,” I drag out each letter, making him shove me again. I stumble as we walk into the house and Emery arches a brow where she stands in the kitchen with her dad and other brother.

“Don’t keep us waiting, son,” Mr. Moore says in lieu of a greeting.

Embarrassment heats my cheeks the same way it does every time he calls me by that name. I rub the back of my neck, feeling a little guilty for not texting Tate back as soon as I heard the news, knowing they’ve all been waiting for one.

“I don’t have much pull with the NCAA,” Mr. Moore continues, “but I could make some calls. See what I can do for you. You belong on the ice.”

His eagerness to help makes me smile while also making my guilt intensify. I shouldn’t be hesitating to tell my best friend and his family anything, and it sure as fuck shouldn’t be because I can’t stop thinking about his little sister.

I shake my head, holding my hands up to stop them all from talking. “They granted the exception.” The air hangs silently around us, almost as if they don’t believe me. My smile grows wider as I lift my head to meet their gazes. “I’ll be back on the ice as a Wolf after winter break.”

Tate’s arms wrap around me as his dad chuckles and offers his congratulations while Zac pats me on the back and everyone talks over the other with questions and criticisms for making them wait to hear the news.

Emery sits back, a small smile on her face as she watches us. I lift a brow in question, and her smile grows wider, but she still stays silent.

Something tugs in my chest. Something I shouldn’t give any power to. Any thought to. But of course, I can’t resist.

Is she going to miss the extra time together we’ve had over the last month too?

Tate pats my stomach, pulling my gaze away from his sister. “We’re going to have to start working on getting you back into shape.”

I shove him away from me, flipping him off before grimacing when I hear his dad’s deep chuckle.

“Somethings never change,” he says, making Emery snort from her corner in the kitchen.

Because she agrees with him?

Tate and I have been just about the same since we were kids. Our friendship started the first moment he showed up at preschool and accidentally tripped me. Most kids probably would have run back to their parents when another kid hit them in the stomach, but not Tate. He shoved me back until his mom stepped in between us and held both of our hands, chastising me as much as him. As if I were her son. The way she told it, Tate and I shared a look of such intense exasperation, only a pair of four year olds could manage, and she knew then and there, we would be inseparable.

She was right.

Their dad is right too, that has never changed. Nor the way we can communicate a thousand thoughts with a single look.

But he’s wrong too.

Because some things most certainly have changed.

My eyes flash back to Emery against my will. I’ve experienced a lot of change in my life, being shuffled from parent to parent until both decided that neither of them wanted me. Living with a grandmother that could barely remember what day of the week it was. My whole life has been full of change, but one thing I was never prepared for was the way Emery changed over the years I didn’t see her.

I didn’t know so much could change in what felt like only a handful of months. When the Moores moved away and Tate decided to change what school he went to, I understood even though it was hard. Our friendship wasn’t going to change. The way his family supported me would always be the same. And I was right.

Our freshman year, it was weird to be across the ice from Tate. To see him suited up and know he wasn’t at my back. That I wasn’t protecting him. To see his family in the stands wearing a different color than the jersey on my back. But after the game was over, you’d never know we had been on opposite sides of the ice. They still took me out to dinner, still cared about how I was doing on my new team, and Tate’s dad still told me he was proud to see me repping his alma mater. He still took the time to tell me what he saw in my game and where he thought I excelled and where I could be better.

And Emery? She was just a fifteen year old girl with braces, rounded cheeks, and eyes just a little too big for her face that still held so much sadness from losing their mom. It made her seem even younger than the two and a half years that separated us. She was someone whose sadness triggered my own, who provoked me into wanting to see her smile and protect her from everything. But she was only ever Tate’s little sister.

I spent that first summer with them. Healed my own grief alongside theirs as we did all the things their mom used to drag us to every summer even when we pretended to hate it. She always knew us better than anyone.

If she were still here, I never would have missed the next two summers with the Moores. Never would have missed the signs that my old teammates weren’t who I thought they were. And I never would have been able to hide my shock at seeing Emery after two years.

No longer the sad sixteen year old, drowning in her grief. Gone were the awkward years of growing into he features. Now her blonde hair, that seems even lighter than it was, frames high cheekbones and wide eyes that hold so much more maturity in their depths than I remember. No more braces or breakouts and I can’t even begin to think about the way her body has grown. Definitely not the way it feels pressed against my side when we’ve watched games together this season.

The age gap between us no longer feels like an insurmountable ocean, but rather a small pond that diminishes with every passing year. If I’ve learned anything this semester, it’s that she fits right in with all of our friends, fits perfectly pressed against my side. Regardless of the way Tate treats her, there’s nothing about Emery Moore that says baby.

Every game we sat side by side, every comment and joke she made at my expense, every laugh and little smirk, it showed me how much things do change.

Because now? Emery Moore is so much more than just Tate’s baby sister and I am absolutely fucked if he ever realizes that.