Chapter THIRTEEN Wes

Christmas break is over too soon. My time at home with my mom is too short, and soon, I’m back on campus facing another set of issues.

I never thought I'd be the guy to get butterflies, but here I am, feeling like I've got a whole damn sanctuary of them flapping around in my stomach. It's official. I want Lexi Turner, with her whip-smart mouth and eyes that sparkle like fresh ice on a rink, to be my girlfriend. The realization hits me every time I see her name pop up on my phone, and damn if it doesn't send a jolt straight through me.

"Did you expect to lose?" Lexi taunts as we linger in the arena after tonight's game. The chill from the ice permeates the air, and I can hear the distant clash of sticks and skates from players exiting the rink.

"Please," I scoff, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, "the only thing I lost tonight was my patience with the ref's bad calls." Her laugh rings out, clear and infectious, and I can't help but join in.

We settle into two seats, just rows away from the glass, the perfect vantage point that Lexi used tonight to point out plays and analyze movements with the expertise of someone who was born to be part of this world. She leans in close, reliving the game, and her commentary flows over me, a mix of technical terms and passionate exclamations. I watch her more than the game.

"Did you see that cross-check? Totally illegal. And the ref was blind as a bat," she says, shaking her head with a mixture of exasperation and admiration.

"Remind me never to play against you," I quip. "I'd end up with more penalties than minutes on the ice."

She elbows me gently, her grin all sharp edges and challenge. "You'd love it."

The game ended with our team clinching a victory, and the crowd's elation echoed our own. As we spill out of the stadium with the throng of fans, there's an energy between us, crackling and alive like the static before a storm. We decide to walk back instead of calling a ride, not ready to let go of the night just yet. Our steps sync as we make our way through the park that separates the arena from campus. The campus's glow fades behind us, leaving the stars to cast a dim light on the path ahead. Lexi's hand finds mine, her fingers intertwining with mine, a perfect fit.

"Ever think about playing again?" I ask, nodding toward where kids are playing a late-night pick-up game on the frozen pond nearby.

"Every day," she admits, her voice tinged with a longing that mirrors my own for things we've lost. "But then I remember what I'm working toward. Helping others stay in the game... it's the next best thing."

"Better, even," I say, meaning it. Because if anyone can turn a setback into something amazing, it's Lexi.

"Thanks, Wes." She bumps my shoulder with hers, the good one, thankfully, a silent acknowledgment that we're in this together, whatever 'this' turns out to be.

I can't predict the future, but as I look down at Lexi with her hand in mine and her laughter mixing with the crisp night air, I know one thing for sure—I'm willing to face off against anything life throws at us, as long as she's by my side. My breath forms clouds in the chilly air as we leave the echoes of the game behind, the solitude of the park wrapping around us like a blanket. Lexi's laughter from our shared jokes still lingers, an infectious melody that makes my chest feel lighter than it has in years.

"Hey," I start, halting mid-stride. I've never been one for heart-to-hearts, but with Lexi, things are different. She stops, too, turning to face me in the soft glow of the distant streetlights.

"Everything okay?" she asks, her brow furrowed in concern.

I run a hand through my hair, a nervous habit I can't seem to shake. "There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about." My voice is more serious than before, and I watch her expression shift to match my tone.

"Shoot." She tucks a strand of sandy blonde hair behind her ear, giving me her full attention.

“I've been thinking about what you said earlier... about being there for me, with my family stuff."

She stops and turns to face me, her expression open and attentive. "Yeah?"

"What about being there for me in…other aspects.”

She looks momentarily confused.

"Like...?" she prods, brows furrowing ever so slightly.

A rush of adrenaline causes my heart to thump wildly in my chest. This is it. My chance to voice the feelings that have been grumbling like an undercurrent within me for some time now.

"Like as my girlfriend," I blurt out, surprising myself with the raw honesty in my voice. I know my statement is abrupt and awkward at best, but I can't seem to find a smoother way to say it. My gaze flicks up to meet hers, searching her face for a reaction, a hint of what she might say next.

The silence stretches between us as she takes a moment to process my words. But then, she's smiling - a slow, radiant smile that outshines any star in the night sky. It radiates warmth, softness, the promise of shared laughter and whispered dreams. A sense of relief washes over me, and I can't help but let out a shaky laugh.

"Wes Jacobs," she says, her voice full of that infectious laughter of hers, "are you asking me to be your girlfriend?"

"Um... yeah. Yeah, I am." I feel my cheeks flush a bit in embarrassment, but I don't look away from her gaze.

She looks thoughtful for a moment, her eyes glinting with a spark of mischief, before she finally says, "Yeah. Yeah, I think I’d like that."

A weight I didn't know I was carrying lifts from my shoulders. With a rush of unadulterated exhilaration, I pull her into my arms and kiss her there beneath the stars. Her lips are soft and warm against mine. The kiss is everything — sweet and heated, full of promise — matching the rapid beat of my heart. She wraps her arms tight around my neck, holding me close, her laughter vibrating against my chest as we break apart.

"Wow," she breathes out, her cheeks flushed.

My heart's pounding like it's got its own set of drums, and Lexi's pressed against me, a perfect fit. We're in the shadowed corner of two campus buildings, just a breath away from the window where the moonlight spills in, casting a silver glow on her face. I can see the flecks of gold in her green eyes, wild and fixed on mine.

"Are you sure?" My voice is rough, almost a whisper, because this—us—it's new territory, and I want to be certain she's with me every step of the way.

"Absolutely," she breathes out, and there's no hesitation, just that fierce independence I admire so much. Her hands roam over my chest, finding their way under my shirt, tracing the lines of muscle I've earned on the ice. The sensation sends a jolt straight through me, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

I lean down, capturing her lips with mine again, and she meets me with equal fervor. It's a kiss that seals promises and whispers secrets, a collision of everything we've been holding back. Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, and I oblige, deepening the kiss until there's nowhere else to go but further into each other.

"God, Wes," she gasps when we finally break for air, and her voice is laced with so much more than desire; there's trust, there's raw emotion, there's the beginning of something neither of us can quite name yet.

But then my phone rings, shattering the moment, a harsh buzz that feels like a bucket of ice water. I ignore it, desperate to keep Lexi close, to stay wrapped up in the world we're creating just for us.

"Leave it," she murmurs against my neck, and I'm about to do just that when it rings again, persistent and demanding.

I pull away, reluctantly, and check the caller ID. Mom. This late at night, it can only mean trouble. I swipe to answer, pressing the phone to my ear.

"Mom? What's wrong?" My voice sounds foreign, strained with concern that I know Lexi can hear. A knot forms in my stomach, tight and foreboding.

"Weston," she gasps between breaths, her voice quivering like a leaf in the wind, "the doctor says... the chemo isn't working still. They want to go more aggressive, but—"

"Okay, okay," I say quickly, pressing the phone tighter against my ear as if proximity could bridge the gap between comforting words and her reality. "Let's not panic, all right? We've got options. There are always new treatments to try." I'm speaking in the calm, assured tone that has become second nature whenever these calls come, but the echo of desperation never quite leaves my voice.

"Everything feels like it's falling apart," she whispers, the sound of her fear slicing through me more sharply than any skate blade ever could.

"Hey, remember when the Zamboni broke down mid-game my senior year of high school, and we all thought the night was ruined?" I start, conjuring up the memory of absurdity rather than despair. "But then Coach just had us play street hockey in the parking lot until they fixed it. We adapt, okay? We're Jacobs. We don't break; we bend, and we keep playing, no matter what."

There's a pause, a hiccup of hope in the silence, and I imagine her nodding, gripping the phone like a lifeline. "You always know just what to say to make me smile, even now."

"Of course, I do," I say with a chuckle that doesn't quite sound genuine. "I'm your son, remember? Now, let's talk about what's next. We're in this game together, remember?" I lean back against the wall, feeling the cold seep through my jacket, a stark reminder of the chill settling into my bones that has nothing to do with the weather.

My thumb presses hard against the phone's edge, and I angle my body subtly, trying to create a barrier between Lexi and the trembling voice spilling out of the speaker. She's too close, and it's like my mom's fear is this tangible thing that could reach out and claw at her. I can't let that happen.

"Listen, Mom," I say, keeping my voice steady, "I'm gonna tell you a story, all right? Picture this: It's the championship game, that same game senior year, we're down by one, and the puck's coming at me. What do I do?"

"Score," she responds with a frail attempt at cheer, her voice shaky.

"Exactly," I reply. "Because we never lose hope, even when the clock's running out. We play harder, fight smarter."

I sneak a glance at Lexi, who's pretending to check her phone, giving us the illusion of privacy. But I know she's listening; she's got that crinkle between her brows she gets when she's concerned.

"Remember how I used to shoot pucks in the garage for hours?" I continue, hoping the nostalgia might ground her. "Well, every shot was practice for moments like these. Life’s throwing curveballs, but we've been training for this our whole lives, right?"

"Right," she whispers, steadier now, and I imagine her sitting up straighter, the fighter in her reignited.

"Good," I nod, even though she can't see me. "So, we're going to approach this next round of treatments like it's overtime. We'll give it everything we've got, leave nothing on the table. You with me?"

"Overtime," she repeats, a spark of her old tenacity flickering. "I'm with you."

"Great. Hang tight, Mom. I want to talk to a friend, and then I’ll call you back in a bit with a game plan." I end the call and finally look at Lexi, who looks full of questions. But for now, they'll have to wait.

I pocket my phone, the weight of the call still pressing against my chest. I can feel Lexi's gaze on me, her concern almost tangible. She doesn't say anything, just watches me, seeming to see right through the armor I wear in front of everyone else.

"Your mom?" she asks softly, and I nod. It's all I manage before the lump in my throat threatens to choke me.

Lexi steps closer, her presence a calming force. She's seen me at my best on the ice, but now she's witnessing the cracks in my game face. I catch the admiration in her expression when she thinks I'm not looking—admiration for handling a call that would knock anyone else off their skates.

"Should... should I go back home?" I ask the question more to myself than to her, my voice barely above a whisper. The thought is like a puck to the gut, sending a jolt of cold fear through me. But it's what you do, isn't it? When your team—no, when your family—is down, you don't just skate away.

"Is she alone?" Lexi's practicality cuts through the chaos of my emotions.

"Yeah," I admit, raking a hand through my hair. "And she's scared. I mean, who wouldn't be?"

"Then that's where you start," she says firmly, her own experience with injury giving her a coach-like authority. "Figure out what support she has, then decide your next move. You're the king of strategy on the ice, Wes. Use that off the ice, too."

She's right. My mind works best when I'm strategizing plays, anticipating the opponent's next move—so why not apply that to real life? I pull out my phone again, ready to dial my mom back.

"Hey, it's me again," I say when she answers. "I've been thinking... Do you need me to come home?"

"Because I will, Mom. In a heartbeat."

"Stay where you are, Wes," Mom's voice comes through the phone, firm despite the tremors of fear I heard just moments ago. "You've got a scholarship to think about, and your team needs you."

"But, Mom—" I start, the protest lodged in my throat like a puck stuck against the boards.

"No buts. I didn't raise my boy to drop his stick mid-game," she cuts me off, that familiar maternal determination seeping through the crackling connection. "You're doing so well, and I'm not going to be the reason you lose sight of your goals."

I pace the length of my cramped dorm room, passing Lexi with each turn. She watches silently, her presence a steady comfort. "You managed fine as a single mother," I concede, trying to keep the worry from my voice but failing. "But this is different, it's serious."

"We've faced off against harder times, haven't we?" she counters, and I can almost hear the smile in her voice, brave and unyielding.

"Yeah, we have," I admit, knowing full well the resilience that runs in our veins. But this time, my fear for her is a heavy weight on my chest, like I've just blocked a slap shot with no padding.

"Promise me something, then," she says, and I nod before realizing she can't see it.

"Anything," I say, and it's a vow, as solemn as any I've made on the ice.

"Promise you'll focus on your classes—and hockey." There's a gentle sternness to her words, the kind of tone that's always guided me through tough decisions.

"Okay, I promise," I agree reluctantly, feeling the fight go out of me. But there's one play left in my strategy, a line shift I can make from a distance. "Listen, I'm setting up a grocery delivery for you. It'll be there tomorrow. And Mrs. Kowalski next door, I'm texting her to check in on you, all right?"

"Fine, fine," she concedes, and I imagine her rolling her eyes, though with gratitude rather than irritation. "Just don't make a fuss."

"Me? Make a fuss?" I quip, attempting to inject some levity into the conversation. A small chuckle escapes her, and I feel a tiny victory amidst the uncertainty.

"Take care of yourself, Mom," I insist, the sincerity in my voice as clear as the cling of skates on fresh ice. "That's an order.”

"All right," she replies, her voice soft but filled with love that spans the miles between us. "I will."

The call ends, and suddenly the dorm room feels too silent, too still. My gaze drifts to Lexi, her expression reflecting both concern and admiration—a mix that stirs something warm inside me, even as the rest of me grapples with helplessness.

9 - 10

I thumb the end call button, but before I can pull the phone away from my ear, her voice comes through again, fragile as thin ice.

"Before you go, Wes...are you okay?"

"Sure, Mom, I'm good," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Are you...lonely there?" Her question hangs between us, laden with concern.

My eyes flick to Lexi, who's leaning against my desk, arms crossed over her chest, her jersey hugging her shoulders like a battle standard. A silent strength emanates from her, grounding me. "No, not lonely." But I can't bring myself to tell my mom about us, not now. The words feel too heavy, too real for this fragile moment.

"All right. Take care of yourself, honey."

"Will do, Mom." I hang up and tuck the phone back into my coat pocket. It hangs with a soft weight, echoing the sudden weight in my chest.

Lexi pushes off from the wall opposite me and walks towards me, her movements graceful, deliberate. She doesn't say anything, just reaches out and takes my hand, intertwining our fingers. There's a strength to her grip, a testament to hours spent taping sticks and carrying equipment. It's reassuring, solid.

"Hey," she says, her voice gentle, her thumb brushing against the back of my hand. "You're the strongest person I know, Wes Jacobs. But even strong solo players need a team, you know?"

Her words chip away at the ice wall I've built around myself, and a half-laugh, half-sigh escapes me. "Guess that makes you my MVP, Turner."

She smiles, that deep-dimpled grin that first knocked the breath out of me on the rink sidelines. "Always. You set them up; I'll knock them down."

"Promise?" I ask, only half-joking.

"Promise," she confirms, and something in her tone tells me she's not just talking about hypothetical hockey assists.

"Thanks, Lex," I murmur, squeezing her hand. In the cold, crisp air, we’ve found a quiet corner of the world where panic and worry can't reach me. Just for now, just with her.

"Anytime, Wes," she whispers back, her gaze holding mine as if she's memorizing the play before the puck drops. "Anytime."

I look at Lexi Turner, and my heart squeezes in my chest. I have no idea what we’re really doing—but I’m not going to let her out of my sight, out of reach of my arms and lips, until we figure out what this new connection means.