Practice that afternoon passes free of any instances. Though the drills we did lived up to the title of Hell Week- the core and cardio work had half of us sprawled on the floor and the other half standing on shaky legs-, that was down to the workout itself. Tristan and I mostly avoided each other, almost as if we were dogs shocked one two many times by an electric fence who decided to move carefully when in proximity with one another.

Still, leaving the building after practice ends is a relief. For the first time since Tristan transferred and we met— more so collided, like a pair of dueling wolves— I left practice feeling relaxed. Content.

"You're in a good mood," Hunter comments. I'm practically bouncing at his side, kicking a decent sized rock as I do. Hoping to draw him into my playful mood, I nudge the rock into his path. With an eye roll to accompany the movement, he knocks it back toward me, and I laugh.

"Of course I am. Practice was good. Hard, but really good." This time, I send the rock flying forward almost ten feet, keeping an eye on it as we walk leisurely across the parking lot toward Hunter's car. "Something about workouts like that really make me feel like an athlete, you know?" I grin up at him as he turns his head and glances down at me. "Like, we got better today. Tomorrow we'll be that much stronger, that much faster, that much more skilled."

Even the thought of the improvement we made collectively as a team makes my heart race. I'm practicing buzzing with excitement. Because of travel hockey, we know and are on varying terms with players at different schools, and our rivals, the Lincolnwood Lynxes, are especially determined to beat us this year.

But, despite our continued success over the past few seasons, we aren't going to roll over and expect victory. As seen today, my team is ready to put in the work.

I practically wriggle with excitement. If my legs weren't so shaky, I'd suggest going on a run out of adrenalin alone.

However, I would regret doing so immediately, and Hunter would force me in some way or another to follow through.

Now, he just looks at me. A partial smile tugs at his lips. At first, he doesn't say anything, and I encourage his response by asking, "What?"

Hunter shakes his head and turns his face away as he digs through his bag for his keys. "Nothing." After finding them, he meets my gaze again. "I know what you mean."

I beam up at him. "I know." Punching his bicep lightly, I break away from him to get to the passenger side of the car. "That's because you're just as crazy as me."

He shakes his head. "No, it's because we're both highly competitive athletes."

Laughing, I drop my bags into the backseat and slip into the passenger seat. "I know, but its funnier to think we're just crazy."

"You are crazy," Hunter scoffs. "Don't include me in it though."

A smirk spread across my face. "If you didn't want to get roped in with me and my crazy then you would have dropped me a long time ago."

"There's still time," he mutters. Putting the car in reverse, he rests his hand on the back of my seat and turns, looking out the rear window as he backs up the car. "Don't tempt me."

This time, I'm the one rolling my eyes. "Oh please Hunter, you would be lost without me. Who would accompany you on your long car rides each day without my sparkling personality to brighten the mood?"

The car stops. His head turns toward me, and he stares with a deadpan expression.

I grin extra hard at him.

Shaking his head, Hunter sighs. The car starts moving again, and Hunter drives me home. Despite his apparent frustration, however, there's an expression of amusement on his face throughout the entire ride, and when he thinks I'm not looking, he even smiles. 

* * * 

For the first time in almost two weeks, my dad, Sheila and I are all home for dinner. With our extremely different schedules— my practices, Dad's practices and travel, and Sheila's shifts at the hospital— we haven't eaten together in weeks. I haven't even seen the two of them in the same room in several days, and as we sit together around the dining room table, I'm beyond happy just to have a quiet evening with the two of them.

"Honey, this looks fantastic." Sheila leans across the corner of the table and kisses my dad on the cheek. "Thank you so much."

"Yeah, thanks Dad." I pipe up, smiling.

Dad grins at the two of us. "Of course." Taking Sheila's hands, he laces their fingers together and squeezes gently. "There's nothing I'd rather do than make dinner for my girls."

While Sheila was working another 12 hour shift and I was at school and practice, Dad was home cooking his famous barbecue brisket, which cooks for eight hours in the oven. This meal is one of my all time favorites, and Dad makes it all the time when he gets home from long trips.

Whenever he's home, my dad loves to cook. He learned back when my mother died, and I was barely a toddler, too young to remember and too young to be of any help. Those first few months had to be the hardest of his life. At twenty three, just short of four years in the NHL playing with the New York Islanders, his fiancée died, leaving him and their seventeen month old baby alone. My grandparents lived in California, and the closest family we had were three hours away.

Dad took a hiatus from the league rather than stick me with a full time nanny. We scraped by with the money he made from coaching and personal training, which had flexible enough hours that Dad did not have to put me in daycare every day. Once I entered school, Dad considered homeschooling me so he could rejoin the league and I could travel with him, but I was such a social child that my dad quickly decided against that path.

Only when he met Sheila, and their relationship progressed to the point that she moved in with us and became another parent for me, was he able to come out of retirement without uprooting me and without leaving me with a nanny.

When he's traveling, Sheila runs the household while still working, which has to be a massive stress on her, so I help out the best I can. But, when my dad is home, they make a great team, balancing the household responsibilities between the two better than any parents or couples I know. And, somehow, they still find time for each other.

When we're almost finished— my plate has a few bites of brisket left from my third helping that I'm picking at but am not quite able to stomach— Dad takes Sheila's hand and asks, "How about I clean up while you get ready, and then we can go?" There's happy hour at their favorite bar, and they're going to meet some of their friends, including Coach Mac and his wife, two of my dad's teammates and their significant others, and Sheila's best friend from college. With Dad being home for two weeks, with the rest of this week off, and Sheila finally having tomorrow off, tonight was the perfect time for them to go out and enjoy themselves with their friends.

"Oh no, you spent all day in the kitchen—" Sheila starts to argue, but Dad cuts her off.

"And you worked all day. Let me do this for you."

"I'll help!" I cut in. "I don't mind."

Both of my parents smile at me. "Thanks, Ali." Dad stands, lifting his and Sheila's plates as he does. "We can knock it out quickly. The dishes can go in the dishwasher, and then we'll run it."

Nodding, I gather my plate and cup and follow him into the kitchen.

"Are you sure you're okay with us going out tonight?" My stepmother asks. "I feel bad we're leaving you alone."

"Don't feel bad," I say to her, smiling over at her as I do. "The guys are still coming by. We're just going to chill out, watch some TV. You guys should go out and have fun."

"Okay." Sheila leaves the table and passes by me on her way to her bedroom. As she does, she wraps her arm around me in a loose hug. "Thanks hun." She pulls away, smiling up at me. "And then tomorrow we can watch a movie or something. How does that sound?"

"Perfect."

She disappears into their room to get ready, and I join my father at the sink. He starts rinsing off plates while I load them into the dishwasher.

"Thanks again for dinner, Dad."

"You're welcome, Ali." He starts washing the items in the sink, including a massive carving knife and a cutting board. "How was the first day of Hell Week?"

I usually pour over every drill and workout we do at practice with him, breaking down my performance as well as those of my teammates, so unloading every detail of the day comes easily to me. Dad nods along, commenting here and there, as I talk. "It's certainly living up to its name." I sum up with a grimace. "I swear, its even more hellish than last year, and it's only day one. We haven't even gotten to finale."

On Friday, we will be running our team fitness test, which is by far the most dreadful, nerve-racking, break your damn back workout I have ever done in my life, and I actually enjoy tough workouts. Everyone hates it, including me, and I'm certainly not excited to run it this week, but I would rather just get it over with than continue to stew in my anxiety and stress.

Dad laughs. "Oh, that's right. Do you feel ready for it?"

I shrug and start putting away the leftover food. "I guess. I can do the pushups. I can do the situps. I can do the sprints. I just have to put them together." A lot. My goal is to beat the sophomore record, set by Hunter two years ago, and it sure as hell won't be easy.

At that moment, my phone rings from where it sits charging on the counter. I pause, holding the spoon for the baked beans in midair before setting it down and going to my phone. Will's face and name pop up, and I answer it with a smile. "Hey Will!"

"Hey," he starts, sounding far less excited than I do. "Tyler is bailing. Paige wants to go ice skating, and Ty said yes, as if he doesn't skate enough every day." Paige is Tyler's girlfriend of two and a half years. As the weeks pass and we get closer to the end of the semester— and the impending senior graduation that will make Hunter, Tyler, and Paige close this chapter of their lives and move into their futures— Ty and Paige have started to spend more and more time together. Usually we wouldn't mind, but when he cancels plans we already had together, none of us are too happy.

Somewhere in the background, I hear a muffled shout that sounds suspiciously like Tyler, and Will snaps back, "Fuck off, you traitor." He sighs, talking to me again when he says, "He won't even drop me off at yours before he goes."

Another argument starts, and I sigh, leaning against the counter to wait it out. After a good forty seconds, they take a breath between shouts and insults, and I cut in. "Hunter could probably grab you, Will. Or maybe your parents could drop you off. My dad is supposed to be driving them, anyway."

"I—" Will stops. "Actually, that may work. I'll ask them. Thanks, Ali."

"No problem." My lips tug up. "And try not to pick anymore fights with your brother, okay? I actually want to hang out with you, and I can't do that if he kills you."

Will scoffs. "What are you talking about? I could take him."

Pausing, I say slowly, "No honey, you couldn't."

"Oh fuck you," he grumbles. "You're supposed to be on my side."

I laugh. "I am! But I don't like to lose, even in hypothetical gambles." Will goes to object again, and rather than lose myself in an argument with him, I just say in a rush, "Anyway, see you soon, bye love ya!" Then I hang up.

Dad is staring at me.

Grinning cheekily, I say, "Don't worry! He'll make it in one piece." Maybe.

* * *  

Though we had no ideas for what to do tonight when we made the plans, Hunter, Will, Caleb and I end up smushed together in the den, all sitting together on one of the three seating options available, binge watching a horror show on Netflix. Caleb and I are sharing a blanket, and on the other side of him sits Will with his legs held against his chest. Hunter is next to me as well, sitting in his usual silent, stoic manner, watching intently as the child screams on the screen.

Caleb is muttering to himself, wondering aloud under his breath why he agreed to watch a show that "rose straight from hell itself".

"Shut the fuck up," Will whispers. "You're being a baby."

Scoffing, Caleb says, "You're being mean." Still, he settles further into the couch and stops commenting on every little thing.

At just half past eleven, when we're halfway through the fourth episode, Will's phone rings. He grumbles, pulling his phone out of his hoodie pocket, and I pause the episode as he answers the call. "Hello?"

Whoever called him speaks, and Will's expression falls. Glancing over at the three of us, he frowns, mumbling, "Can't you come back and get me later?" The response is clearly not the answer he was hoping for because he sounds dejected as he says, "Okay, fine. Let me know when you're on your way." He hangs up and puts his phone away.

Hunter, Caleb, and I stare at him as he scowls at his phone. After a moment, he looks back at us. "Ty said he would come get me, but that he was coming as soon as he drops Paige off. He'll probably be here in, like, fifteen minutes."

I peek over at the television. We just started the almost hour long episode, and we have over thirty minutes left.

"Are you sure you have to go?" I ask. "You can just stay the night."

He shakes his head. "No. We have school tomorrow, and I'd rather go home tonight than worry about it in the morning. Just finish the episode, and I can catch up tomorrow or something."

"No—" I start to object, prepared to tell him that we can wait for him, that while the show is good, watching it all together is the fun part.

Caleb interrupts me, however. "I can take you home."

"What? No," Will says. "Caleb, I don't live anywhere close to you."

I'm lucky because my house is in the center of their houses, which form a misshapen triangle, but that makes everyone else way out of each others' way. Hunter's house is technically closer to Will and Tyler's, but even that is a good twenty minute drive. 

Caleb shrugs. "So?" He settles back into the couch. "We'll leave after this episode. I'll drop you off and get home with plenty of time before curfew. Maybe I'll even get brownie points for getting home early." He flashes him a smile, but Will still seems unconvinced.

"Caleb, its not fair of me to—"

"To what?" Caleb nudges him with his elbow. "You aren't asking; I'm offering. So call your brother back and tell him I'm taking you." Will opens his mouth, and Caleb quickly adds, "Or else I'll call him, and you know damn well his old ass would be happy to just go home and go to bed."

Rolling his eyes, Will quickly calls Tyler, and though he's not looking at me— or anyone, really— I can read his expression like a cereal box: he's deliciously embarrassed, that perfect mix between shock and delight you feel when your crush does something nice for you.

I press my lips together, looking away from him and facing forward again. At my side, Hunter shifts, and I can't help but steal a glimpse of him. He has his phone out, and after typing a short message, he puts it away.

Turning back to the TV, I clear my throat. "Okay, lets finish this."

By the end of the episode, we're all itching to watch another one— the one child disappeared, the mother has hallucinated her husband's death and is planning her own, and a demon is loose in the house— but Caleb and Will really need to leave or else Caleb will miss curfew.

I get up to hug them both, even though my legs are already tight and sore from practice, but Hunter remains seated. Caleb ruffles Hunter's hair— in response, Hunter swats at his hand, shooting him a glare as he does— and Will does the guy handshake with him.

"Bye! We'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight." Will waves as they walk toward the den's door.

"Love you," Caleb calls cheekily. He opens the door and holds it for Will, who ducks into the hallway under his arm, and then they're gone.

For a moment, I stare after them, suddenly feeling all too aware that Hunter has stayed, that we did not need to discuss him staying later, that he wants to stay...

I turn around, slipping around the couch and falling back into my spot. Now that Caleb and Will have left, leaving half of the decent sized couch empty, I could— and probably should— give Hunter some more space, but I don't. I'm not quite as close as before, but together we still only take up half the couch, if that.

Grabbing the remote, I exit the TV show. "How late can you stay?" I ask, scrolling through Netflix absentmindedly without truly reading any of the titles. I'm trying not to worry too much about his plans; I know I will be up regardless, perhaps even until my parents get home, but I also don't have to drive late at night. If he leaves soon, or even now, I'll completely understand.

But that doesn't mean I want him to go.

Hunter shrugs. "For a while," he says. "I can just text my mom and tell her we're still watching a movie or something." Hunter's parents, who I adore and who adore me, are pretty lax. All of the discipline that Hunter has cultivated is because he made the decision to work hard in order to succeed. Out of all of us, his parents care the least about his curfew, and as long as he texts them here and there to update them, he's off the hook.

I smile, grabbing the blanket and pulling it up to my chin. "Okay!" I turn my body so I'm facing him. He crosses his arms over his chest as he looks over at me. "What should we watch?"

We can't find a movie that catches both our interests, so we end up putting on a replay of an old Rangers game. Dad, who has played on the New York Rangers since he returned from retirement, is skating along the bottom of the screen, handling the puck with ease as he bypasses two opposing players.

As the minutes pass, I relax, and now Hunter and I lay perpendicularly on the sectional. My head is resting on his shoulder, and somehow the tight, corded muscle is very comfortable to lay on. During one of the commercial breaks, I pull out my phone and open snapchat. Will has sent me something, and when I open it a laugh bursts from my lips. "Oh god, look."

I show Hunter the video, which is of me trying to climb up Caleb like a ladder to reach the shot glass that Hunter's six foot four frame had placed atop the fridge. Will's hands shake so hard from laughter as he records the video that the quality is absolute shit, but the material itself is hilarious.

Behind me, Hunter laughs. "I've said it before and I'll say it again: you're a crazy bitch."

I laugh again. "You don't separate a girl and her shot glass, Hunter." I watch it again, smiling fondly at the memory. Almost a year ago today, the final roster had been announced, and our group had come back to mine to celebrate. Dad had been traveling, and Sheila had a shift at the hospital, so Caleb and Tyler secured the alcohol, and as a group, we celebrated Will and I making varsity as freshmen.

Will, who is almost sickeningly sentimental, must have been going through his Snap Memories. He does so often enough that I'm always prepared for him to send a hilarious yet random photo or video.

Feeling inspired, and perhaps a bit nostalgic myself, I go to my memories. A year ago today, we were also in Hell Week. Based on the posts I have saved, it was the Bone Grinder workout that Tig named back in his day on the team. The number of burpees, lunges, and planks that made our literal joints ache are insane. If I remember correctly, that will be the main course for Wednesday's practice, and it will hurt like hell.

Quickly skipping through those pictures— while I love the aftermath of intense workouts, I certainly don't enjoy taunting myself with them— I find a video that makes me pause.

The phone is set up leaning against the wall. I'm several feet away, dancing stupidly with Will to some bullshit tiktok song. We're laughing so hard that Will can barely even complete the moves.

And in the background is Hunter, his arm wrapped around the shoulders of Stella, his scummy ex girlfriend.

He's yelling at us to get our asses moving or else we could walk home, but all I can stare at is how he holds her close to his body, as if her moving even an inch away from him would be too much to bear.

Behind me, Hunter has stopped breathing.

I grimace, craning my neck to try and meet his gaze. "You good?"

Hunter doesn't say anything.

"Hunter?"

Still nothing.

I sit up. Carefully, without jostling him too much, I shift in my seat, turning to look at him. His eyes are still staring at my phone, at the end clip of the video focused on him and his ex. "Hey."

The combination of my movement and my voice finally catch his attention, and he looks up at me. Something about the empty exhaustion in his eyes sends a hairline fracture through my heart. "What?"

We look at each other for a few long seconds. Slowly, I lean back against the couch, trying to get comfortable again. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." The words are an automatic response, one that he's given so often I don't even really acknowledge them.

"Does seeing her still bother you? Honestly?"

Hunter stares up at the ceiling. "I mean..." He swallows. "A bit."

Wrapping my arms around my legs, I rest my chin on my knees. At my silence, he sighs and adds, "Not usually, no. I mean, I go through my day and I'm completely fine. It's just... whenever she does come up, I..." This time, when he stops talking, he stays quiet.

Without thinking, I reach out and put my hand on his arm. "Yeah, I know." My ex has lingered far too long, and for very different reasons, but I know the difficulties that accompany shitty breakups.

Hunter and Stella dated on and off for years. She cheated on him multiple times, with excuses varying from "I was really drunk" to "we were fighting and I wanted to get back at you." Finally, when she slept with the captain of the baseball team on their anniversary night after telling Hunter she was too busy with homework to attend dinner with him, Hunter decided to stop being an idiot and actually break up with her.

Usually, she would convince him to give her one more try— more likely, she made him think it was all his fault— within a month, but its been almost four, and for the moment he's still stayed strong.

"I know I need to forget her," he blurts out. "I want to forget her, but I just... I can't." He flies into a sitting position. "She's been terrible to me for years and all I can think about is when she was nice, or funny, or generous, even though the bad times far outweighed those, I still..."

"Still focus on them," I whisper. Like a weed, my thoughts start to grow out of control, and for a moment all I can see is him... Mason: laying beside me in bed, laughing in the driver's seat, sitting in the stands for my games. I hear his laugh, smell his cologne, feel his arms around me.

Then come the bad memories, slinking in like a fog. There's the yelling, the sharp retorts, the underhand comments.

And then, the even worse memories, the ones that have me flinching over half a year later.

"Yeah," he murmurs.

We look at each other, and there's an understanding that passes between us. Our situations are very different, but we both know how it feels when a significant other leaves us feeling worthless.

"That stops happening, right?" He asks, and the suddenness of the question and his wide, earnest eyes make me pause. Hunter is older than me, and while that has never really mattered much in our friendship, I definitely find myself depending on him for advice, especially advice that pertains to the future,

To hear him ask me if things get better, if the hard parts go away, is... strange.

"I don't know," I admit. "I mean, I assume so." If possible, he looks even more downcast at my answer, and in an effort to reverse that, I add, "But it does start to get better. I mean, sometimes, the memories come back, but as time passes they come back less often." I keep looking at him, even as he glances away, staring straight ahead at the entertainment center the TV is mounted on. "Staying busy helps. So does being around certain people."

Hunter sighs. The sound is soft, low. For a moment, neither of us say anything.

Finally, I can't stand looking at how upset he is. I lean forward, slipping my hand into his and giving it a squeeze. He looks at me, really looks at me, with all his focus and attention.

Swallowing past a lump in my throat, I say, "It really does get easier. We'll... just have to keep you busy, that's all."

His lips tug up at the corner. "Thanks Alison." He lets go of my hand, and before I can let his action bother me, he wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his body. The position is a little awkward, but its still a good hug, because its him. Years of hockey and weightlifting have done him well, and Hunter could easily smother me if he wanted.

I have never felt as safe as I do when I'm in his arms.

He must get tired of the strange way he has to twist his back to reach me because he shifts again, leaning back against the pillows on the couch. This time, however, he doesn't let go. If anything, he holds me even tighter, and after taking a handful of seconds to adjust my body, I end up laying with my head fully on his chest. We're still perpendicular, and we're still watching the hockey game, but now my ear rests above his heart. His hand lingers on my shoulder, moving idly up and down my arm.

In this moment, laying as we are, I feel more content than I have in a long time, and this is how we lay until the sound of a car pulling into the driveway wakes me up from my doze.

I hug him goodbye, my eyes bleary after sleeping, and before he goes, he pulls the blanket back over my body as I settle back down. His fingers brush my hair back from my forehead, lingering what feels like several extra seconds in my exhausted haze, before he leaves.

I'm out before my parents come through the front door. 

AN: hey everyone!!! its super late but i finally finished this chapter and im so happy that i just want to post it right away. the good news is that the new four chapter are already written, so you won't have to wait almost a month for the next chapter!!!

anyway, i hope you enjoy this chap!! please vote, comment, and let me know what you think!!!!!

love, soph