21. JT

CHAPTER 21

JT

“It makes no sense,” I repeat for the fiftieth time as Van and I walk from the dining hall over to the athletic center. “No fucking sense. Things were so good last night. I mean, crazy good. Like, am-I-hallucinating-good. I’ve been gone for her since that party Ollie dragged us to, and she was finally on the same page. Until my damn sweatshirt had to go and fuck things up.” After Maggie tore out of the library, I was sure she’d be a no-show for lunch, and I was right.

I figured I’d be eating alone, and that was probably for the best because I’ve been in a shit-ass mood since Maggie did her disappearing act once again. Lucky for me, Van wandered in and sat across from me, his mood just as pissy as mine. We sat there for a good half hour bitching about how crappy life can be sometimes. Van’s a great teammate, but his prowess on the ice doesn’t transfer to the classroom. He bombed a test this morning and is freaking out that he'll be riding the bench if his grades dip much lower.

I’m not super studious or anything, but school has always come fairly easily to me. I don’t work hard to ace all my classes like Pete and Rosco—I save that energy for the ice— but as long as I go to class and put a little effort in, I manage to keep my 3.5 GPA intact.

If only relationships were as simple and straightforward as college classes.

Van’s nodding along because he gets it. “Hate to break it to you, Norris, but women make no damn sense. Just when you think you know someone, think you’re getting somewhere and building something real, poof. It’s all over. I’m not tryna be the voice of gloom and doom, or anything. I’m just saying I’ve been there and it fucking sucks.”

Now it’s my turn to nod. I’ve been head-over-ass for Maggie since the moment I first laid eyes on her, but I’ve gotta be honest: this hot and cold thing she has going on is really starting to get old.

One minute she’s straddling me on her best friend’s couch and the next she’s losing her shit because I play hockey.

Hell, for most girls, that’s a draw. I can’t even calculate how much play my teammates get just because of the jerseys on their backs.

Van and I walk into the athletic center, and I’m not surprised that it’s still fairly empty. Most of the guys are in class or just filing into the dining hall about now. But Coach Baylor should be around, and Anderson, too, which is good. I want to go over some tape from our most recent faceoff with Woodcock last spring. “You heading up to study with the guys?” I ask. As freshmen, Deano and Will have a mandatory study hall, and lately Van’s been showing up and hitting the books. I feel for the guy—really, I do. He’s putting the effort in, but it doesn’t seem to make much of a difference.

“Yeah,” Van answers, checking his phone, “I’ve got some time, though, and I want to check in with Coach and let him know I just bombed my Contemporary Lit test.”

Inwardly, I wince. Coach is always in our corner, but I definitely wouldn’t want to break that kind of news to him. Coach is the kind of guy who wants things exactly the way he wants them. I can pretty much guarantee that having one of his star forwards sitting out for academic probation is not the way he wants to start this season. But I know Coach, and he’ll figure out a solution. The guy might be a bit of a control freak, but that works to our advantage most of the time. If there’s anything Coach can do to keep Van on the ice, I know he’ll do it.

As we round the corner, I see that his light’s on, but the doors open just a crack. I’m about to knock when Anderson opens his office door and peers out. “Baylor’s in a meeting over at the admin center, guys. What can I do for you?”

Van starts telling Anderson about his Contemporary Lit woes, and I head back to the locker room. Now is as good a time as any to get started on my warmup. I’m deciding on a playlist when I hear Coach’s door creak open and see a flash of blonde hair.

What the hell ?

I turn to see who is in Coach’s office, and when I do, I freeze.

So does Maggie.

I stare at her for a moment as my brain tries to figure out why the girl I can’t stop thinking about—the girl who apparently hates hockey—is doing in my coach’s office. I take a step toward her, and she takes one backward, retreating into the space she was just about to leave. I’ve just crossed the threshold when Maggie closes the door behind me before taking a seat on one of the hard metal folding chairs along the wall.

“Want to tell me what the hell you’re doing here? I mean, I learned earlier today that you hate hockey, or at least you’re disgusted by the idea of associating with anyone affiliated with the sport. So, how’d you get into Coach’s office? And why? You hate hockey so much that you’re trying to steal our playbook and sell us out to Woodcock?” My theory is straight out of a bad 80s sitcom, but my brain can’t come up with anything else. There’s literally no logical reason for her to be here. And yet, she’s sitting a foot away from me, looking every bit as fucking beautiful as she did when I left her sleeping on Viv’s couch at three this morning. All that silky blonde hair cascades over her shoulder while the other one is predictably bare. God bless whoever made off-the-shoulder shirts a thing. The lacy strap of her bra peeks out and I see that it’s the same blue as her eyes. Her lips are full and glossy, her cheeks tinged with pink. Her legs are crossed at the knee and she’s gripping onto the bag on her lap like it’s a wooden door and the Titanic is sinking in the background.

She looks beautiful, yeah.

But she also looks tired. Stressed. The fuck over everything.

“What is going on, Maggie?” I ask, forcing some gentleness into my tone.

Instead of answering me, she sets her bag down on an empty folding chair and opens it wide for me to see. “No playbook, I swear. Just my Calc packet, some pens, my favorite lip gloss, and a crushed granola bar I forgot about.”

I nod, though I never really thought she was on a covert mission in the first place.

She stands, taking a minute to tug her shirt down and smooth some imaginary wrinkles. I take that same minute to admire the curve of her waist and the swell of her breasts. I’m confused as fuck and annoyed as hell, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to peel that shirt right off her, tug her leggings down, drop to my knees, and remind her how damn good last night was.

Maggie’s quiet as she walks across coach’s office and behind his desk. She reaches for a picture frame of the top shelf of a bookcase, but it’s too high and she can’t get it. I’m behind her in a second, breathing in her scent just because I can. With ease, I lift the silver-framed picture from its shelf and hand it to her.

I’m close with Coach. I love the guy like an older brother, and I admire the hell out of him. I owe him a fuck of a lot, too. I have no business being in here when he’s not, and I shouldn’t be helping myself, or Maggie, to anything in his office. But my brain isn’t thinking logically right now. She wanted something, so I got if for her. End of story. Rules and manners be damned.

We’re standing so close that I could kiss the top of her head with no effort at all. She could fall into my arms in just a step. But there’s a cavern between us, and I have a feeling it has something to do with that picture. I never noticed it before, but then again, I don’t make a habit of studying the knickknacks in Coach’s personal space. When I’m in here, we’re talking hockey. Hell, we talk hockey everywhere we go.

Coach and I don’t talk about a ton of personal shit. He knows my baggage, but that’s because my stupid mistake almost tanked my hockey career before it started. I know he has a sweet wife, no kids, and a perfectionist streak that keeps him here at the training center at all hours. We have that in common.

The picture Maggie is holding must be ten years old, at least. Coach Baylor’s wearing his pro jersey and standing with an older couple, a blonde woman, and a girl with a ponytail and braces. The blonde isn’t his wife, Jules, because she’s damn near as tall as he is, and the woman in the picture is at least a foot shorter than Coach. Before I can try to decipher anything else in the photo, Maggie starts talking and the puzzle pieces fall into place.

“This was a really good night,” she says, tracing the edge of the frame with her finger. “I’d gotten out of school early and taken the train into the city with Gam and Pop. My mom, Kirstin, met us at the arena. I was so excited to see her. It had been months. She told me she’d see me at Uncle Hudson’s playoff game, but she was never good at keeping promises, so I tried not to get my hopes up. But they were always up, you know? She was my mom. Anyway,” she says, with a shake of her head, “Uncle Hudson’s team won, and my mom was there, and it all felt so good, so…normal. By the time the next post-season rolled around, my uncle was on the injured list and my mom was gone. But this picture, this night, it was a good one.”

Her smile is sad as she hands the picture back to me, and it’s the kind of smile I recognize—the kind that comes from a broken place inside you. I’m only getting crumbs of Maggie’s story, but it sounds like the bruises on heart match the ones on mine.

“So, Coach Baylor is your uncle?” I ask, setting the picture on the shelf.

“He is,” she answers. “My mom, Kirstin, was his older sister. Uncle Hudson was in middle school when I was born, I think.”

“And you’re staying with him now?”

“Yeah,” she says, sitting back down on the metal chair and folding her arms protectively around herself. “I grew up in Bainbridge. I lived with my grandparents, but I went to college out in California. It was great, until it wasn’t. I needed a change of pace and Uncle Hudson and Aunt Jules offered to let me stay with them. I’m graduating in May, so it seemed like a good solution. I just never counted on…” Her words trail off as she looks up at me.

There’s still a piece of the puzzle I’m missing, but Maggie’s sitting here talking to me instead of running off, so I’m doing my best to play it cool.

“You never counted on me, huh? To be honest, I never counted on you either, Cinderella. So…Coach is your uncle…That doesn’t explain why you ran out of the library like you were being chased,” I say taking a seat on one of the metal chairs.

“I saw your hoodie and…freaked,” she explains.

I laugh wryly. “I got that much. I just don’t get why. You can’t date hockey players, but I don’t get that, either.”

Her eyes widen. “Have you met my uncle?”

“Yeah, obviously,” I say, pointing at my shirt.

She shrugs. “I just figured he warned all of you to steer clear of me, because I certainly got the same lecture in reverse.

Now that she mentions it, I vaguely recall him telling us to treat his niece like a sister, and nothing else. It never registered at the time, and I think I’d have remembered anyone telling me to stay away from a girl named Maggie. I sure as hell wouldn’t have listened, but I’d have remembered.

“He probably called me Margo,” she says. “I’m named for my Gam, but there were three people living in our house, and two of them were named Margo, so it got confusing. And kind of annoying. I started going by Maggie in elementary school, but my uncle never got the memo.”

“Yeah, I get the appeal of a nickname,” I say, thinking of my own mother and the word scramble of a name she gave me.

Maggie’s eyes light up for a second. “What does JT stand for? I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

There aren’t a lot of people at BU who know the answer to that question. After I turned eighteen, I legally changed my name to JT, and not just because my mom couldn’t spell. Or was too high to care about cursing her kid with a name like Jhaxxsyn Tieylyr Norris. Sure, I could have changed it to Jackson Tyler, but I had reasons for wanting distance between where I came from and where I was going. Coach and Mickey are probably the only ones who know my birth name, and I planned on keeping it that way. But plans change. “Sure, I’ll tell you. If you go out on a date with me. ”

Her smile fades. “I can’t. You guys are all off-limits to me. And I’m off-limits to you. Besides, I don’t date.”

“Those limits aren’t real, Maggie. Coach made them up. And you say you don’t date, but isn’t that kind of what we’ve been doing? Hanging out at lunch, thinking about each other even when we shouldn’t be, fucking like rabbits on other people’s furniture. That sounds about right.”

“We can’t, though,” she protests.

“Why not?” I ask. “For me, it’s pretty simple. If you want something, you go after it. And I want you.”

The blush returns to her cheeks. “Wanting you isn’t the problem.”

“So, what is the problem? Coach? Because I’ll sit here and wait for him to come back from his meeting. When he does, I’ll let him know that I’m seeing someone. I’ll remind him that I’m a grown-ass adult and so is she. You’re welcome to stay. I’m not ashamed, Maggie. You can hold my hand or sit on my lap while we wait.”

She blanches at my suggestion. “Don’t you dare.”

“Is it really that big a deal?” I ask. I mean, I know Coach can come off gruff, but will he really care if his niece is dating someone? And he knows I’m a good guy. I’m not gonna dick Maggie around or play games. This girl has my heart on lock, to be honest, but if I tell her that, I’ll just scare her away.

“It is, trust me. My uncle is a control freak. He’s got his reasons, I guess, but still. And I’m not in the market for a boyfriend. I love having lunch with you, and I probably think about you way more than I should, and last night was even better than the first time, but…I can’t go on a date with you. I just can’t. And everything that’s happened between us has to stay just between us, ok? I’m serious. Rumors spread like wildfire on a college campus. You can’t sit around and tell your bros about anything we did, okay? Because they’ll tell stories and things will just get out of hand.”

I blink. What the fuck kind of person does she think I am? “ I’m not spreading rumors about you, Maggie. Do you really think I’m sitting around the locker room giving play-by-plays of my nights with you?” I can’t hide the hurt in my voice. Maybe I’m being defensive because I’m still that little kid who got passed between relatives like an ugly heirloom nobody wanted. The only redeeming quality I ever had was my skill on the ice, and fuck, that’s what’s screwing me now.

There’s a knock at the door and Maggie freezes like a statue. I play it off because I’ve obviously had more experience getting in trouble than she has. The trick is that you can’t look guilty. Once you let that nervousness show, you’re done.

Coach Anderson steps inside the office. “Margo, honey, Hudson just called and said you should check your email.” He laughs, shaking his head. “The guy’s younger than I am, but you’d never know it. Hey, JT, you need anything?”

I shake my head. “Nah, Coach. Just waiting on Van.”

Anderson nods. “He’s upstairs with the freshmen, I bet.”

He holds open the door and we both file out. There’s no real reason for either of us to be in there by ourselves, let alone together. Anderson heads back to his own office and shuts the door. This is the part where I should head upstairs to find Van or wander out to the weight room to start my warmup. Instead, I turn toward Maggie. “Tell me you don’t think I’m the kind of asshole who brags about his sexploits in the locker room,” The fact that she might think so little of me stings more than it probably should.

“I don’t think you are,” she says evenly. “But I’ve been wrong before.”

“And you’re wrong now if you even think for a second that I’d do that to you,” I say, turning toward the stairway.

“Wait—” she says, and I don’t know if it’s the crack in her voice or the fact that I couldn’t really walk away from her no matter how much I want to, but I stop in my tracks.

“What do you need, Maggie?” I ask, the question loaded. Whatever it is, I’ll fucking make it happen, even if it means staying away from her forever.

She bites down on her bottom lip. “I…for what it’s worth, I wish things were different. That we could explore this thing between us.”

Her words make things better and worse. “Why can’t we? I know, I know. But let’s take Coach out of this for a second, okay? You said you don’t date, but what if?—”

“What if we did the whole friends-with-benefits thing?” she asks, the words tumbling out of her mouth in a hopeful heap.

That’s not at all where my mind was headed, but I’m not stopping her now.

“It makes sense, right? I mean, we are friends. And we like each other’s, um, benefits. And it’s what people do, right? Viv’s a pro, I’m pretty sure, and she highly recommends it.”

“You like my benefits, huh?” I ask, because I can’t resist.

“So much. And you like mine?”

“Way more than I fucking should,” I answer.

“So…okay. We’ll be each other’s secret situationship,” she says, biting her lip. “It’s decided. Should we shake on it or something?”

The word secret jumps out at me and flashes in neon colors. I hate it, and I need to tell her that. But if I do, this is all over. For whatever reason, secrecy is a dealbreaker for her, so if I want this, I need to go along with it…for now, at least.

“No handshake necessary,” I say, letting my lips ghost over her for just a second. It’s dangerous as hell, and it flies in the face of everything we just agreed to, but I can’t stop myself.

There’s a squeak on the stairs and I glance over just in time to see the heel of Van’s white sneaker pivot in the other direction.

Maggie touches her finger to her lips, blissfully unaware that my teammate just saw us. I’d trust that guy with my life, so I don’t mention it.

“We’re really doing this?” she asks, her voice low.

I hear the locker room door open in the distance, so I take a few steps away from her instead of answering. When Ollie calls my name, I walk away from Coach’s office like I was never there in the first place. But before I join the guys for a workout, I grab my phone.

JT : We’re really fucking doing this.