"Kill it!" Coach screams at me.

I make an utterly embarrassing, inhumane noise as I leap to whack the ball across the net, breathing a sigh of relief when it touches down inside the boundary line.

I crumble into an unappealing position of aching arms and legs.

I'm technically only a reserve for the team and brought on when it's considered necessary, but Coach Marnie clearly thinks we're in the Olympic showdown.

"Good, St. James. Might have to start bringing you on more. Consider us done for the day." She nods in acknowledgement of the point as Valerie, a good friend from the team, hauls me from my sweaty heap on the floor.

"You been working out over summer?" Val asks as we walk off the court, not a single blonde hair on her head out of place, despite the absolute hell of practice we've been through.

"Does it honestly look like I've been working out over summer?" I struggle to catch my breath, wiping my slick forehead. I thought acting as a ranch-hand for the three months would pay off, apparently not.

Luckily, my bruise hasn't come up too bad yet. Although, I have got almost a tubes worth of concealer over it. I've probably sweated it off.

Val snorts as I lunge for my water bottle, drinking it like it's the very last thing I'll ever ingest. "Got any plans for tonight?" She asks.

"Hana's making us go to the senior hockey game. Potentially a party afterwards, if they win," I roll my painful shoulders, picking up my headphones and sliding them around my neck.

"A senior party? Lucky you," she whistles, "you might get lucky, if you know what I'm saying." She winks.

"I doubt Row—" I start.

"—He who we fucking shant name! Sure, he's good looking, but really? You could do so much better than him, Len, and you know it." She shakes her head.

"Do I know it?" I scoff, tipping up my bottle to get the dregs from the bottom.

"He'd be a lucky son-of-a-bitch to have you. Don't let him get you down." She crosses her arms across the navy volley-uniform. I pick my joggers from the bench and pull them over my shorts.

"God, you sound just like Quinn right now." I snort, rubbing my eyes in attempt to wake myself up even a fragment.

"I don't know if that's an insult or a compliment, but I'll take it as the latter." She grins, hooking me under my elbow and dragging me from the hall.

The sports facilities at Verity Heights are insanely impressive. A whole separate campus dedicated to rinks and courts. Some of the best in the States.

I think about what Rowan said yesterday. 'At least sports will get me somewhere.' I haven't spoken him since that conversation.

I push the thought out of my head, replacing it with the mental image of what I'm going to wear tonight.

"You 'wanna get brunch?" Val asks as we reach the intersection.

"I would, but I'm honestly like an eighty year old and desperately need my mid-morning nap." I chuckle, "next time, though."

"No worries. Have fun tonight, text me any juicy details!" She chirrups, already skipping away.

"I highly doubt there'll be any!" I call after her, snickering as I pull my headphones from around my neck and over my ears.

It isn't a far walk from the campus back to Harbour Heights. I halt on the crossing as a ridiculously big coach pulls around the corner, driving through the gates.

'Nevada State University' It says on the side. Guessing they're the opponents for the hockey game.

I spent my breakfast time scanning over the basic rules. I'll feel pretty fucking stupid if I haven't got a damn clue what's happening.

The words puck and showdown have spiralled in my mind, and they're about the only two things I memorised. The rest is down to pure luck for me to remember.

I blink as I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket, checking to see who it is. Luckily, I did back it up before my old one got so rudely destroyed.

The second I see it's Aunt Enid, I immediately hit the green button.

"Thought for a second you'd hit decline, hon." She chuckles down the line, and just hearing her voice alone makes me smile.

"I would never. How are you feeling? With the new round of treatment and all?" I ask, keeping my eyes on my feet to avoid stumbling over anything.

"Not too bad, hon. Loving the wig, though." She says. I know she's lying, not about loving the wig, but there's no way she's feeling 'not too bad'.

"It's made already? I'm glad my hair was in good enough condition." I snort, earning a strange glare from another pedestrian. I return it.

"I'll send a picture across if your uncle can show me how. Any updates so far? How's lover boy?" She asks, meaning Rowan, who I didn't fucking shut up about all summer.

"Well," I start, turning a corner and checking the crossing is clear. "He's definitely not lover-boy, to say the least."

"Not yet, maybe. You're a gorgeous girl with a big heart. He'd be damn lucky." She states, and I chuckle.

"You have to say that because you're my aunt, you're biased." I shove my hands into my pockets, digging for my keycard.

"I don't 'have' to say anything. I'm a truthful woman, aunt or not," she takes a breath, "anyway, I'll let you go for now, hon. Just wanted to check in."

"Alright, can you promise me something before you go?" My voice lowers in tone.

"Depends what it is." She says.

"If anything changes with your condition, you have to let me know the second it does, okay?" I urge.

"I've promised you this every call before, hon. I will do. Take care of yourself, I'll check in later." She imitates a kissing sound down the phone.

"Look forward to it. I love you." I smile as though she can see me.

"I love you too, Lennon." She replies, and a few seconds later the line goes dead.

My music instantly starts playing as the call cuts off, making me hiss from the drastic change of my aunts sweet voice to Old Time Rock And Roll.

I lower the volume, swiping my keycard on the entrance to Harbour Heights and heading straight for the elevator.

As I press the button for the third floor, my throat tightens as I think about my aunt. As I think about her and my uncle Keith. If it wasn't for them, I have no idea where I'd be right now.

Definitely not here.

I swipe my keycard on our door.

—

"What do people wear for hockey games?" I ask Hana, barging into her room unannounced with a heap of clothes over my arm. She screams.

"Fuck! You scared the crap out of me," she clasps a dramatic hand over her chest as I plonk down on her bed next to Quinn, spreading out my selection.

Quinn tilts her chin at the clothes, "definitely not anything like what you've got there. We aren't going to a wedding."

I shoot her a side glare.

"No need for any of that, anyway. I've already got our outfits." Hana beams, hopping out of her desk-chair and skipping to her closet.

Quinn and I share an uncertain glance, watching her intensely as she pulls out a heap of jerseys.

A heap of black, navy and white.

"Absolutely not." Quinn deadpans as Hana throws them over my pile of choices.

"Why?" Hana whines, scooping up the one with Greene on the back and hugging it towards her chest. "Miles said it would look good if we wore them."

"Miles can fuck right off. I'm not wearing this old shite. I don't even want to go to this game." Quinn scoffs, rummaging through the array.

"They're fucking massive." I gawk, holding one up in front of me. It sports a white 'VH' on the front, with a lightning strike through the back of the letters. Very fitting for the Verity Height Storms.

"The hockey guys are massive. These are just their old sophomore uniforms." Hana winks, sliding the jersey over her head. The hem rests just below her shorts.

"Massive twats, yes." Quinn snorts, "You wouldn't catch me dead in this."

"Come on! It's my birthday next week, consider it an early present if you do this for me. Please?" Hana glares at us with almost-animated puppy-dog eyes.

I look to Quinn, who after a minute of twitching her eyebrow, finally sighs. "Fine. You owe us one for this." She groans, and Hana whoops.

"Does it matter whose name we have on the back?" I ask, picking at some fraying thread.

"Probably not." Hana shrugs.

Quinn holds one up that says 'Hart' on the back. "I'll wear this one, then. Look's like the best condition of a bad bunch."

I pull the one I was holding over my head, checking the label is at the back. "And I guess I'll take this." I say, jumping off the bed to look in the mirror.

I turn to see the back side, looking over my shoulder at the printed name.

"Well, looks like I'm supporting the captain later." I chuckle, gazing at the bold white letters that spell 'Whitlock'.

—

Hockey games, even in college, are insane.

I haven't got a damn clue what is happening, but Hana has bagged us a seat right in front of the clear wall-thingy's.

"So that's the enemy team." She yells over the noise, pointing with a scowl at the red jerseys skating onto the rink.

"You make it sound like we're at war." I snort, leaning forward towards the panes.

"They probably think they are, delusional dicks." Quinn rolls her eyes. Much to her disapproval, Hana managed to knot a navy ribbon in the top of her curls.

The red-jersey Nevada Vultures skate into some sort of formation, and then the array of blue jerseys begin to flood out of the entrance.

"Here they are! There's Miles!" Hana whoops, smushing her fingertip against the plastic. I squint a little, and just manage to make out the name Greene. That's the only way to tell it, though. They're all wearing helmets.

I could've done with Harlequin Guy wearing a jersey like this, considering he didn't take his damn helmet off. At least I'd have an inclination of who he is.

There's someone else I'm looking for on the rink. I'm completely curious to see the man whose old uniform I'm sporting.

"There's Whitlock," Quinn nudges me, pointing towards the centre of the rink. All I can see is his surname, and a ridiculously tall body. I guess the skates give them all a little height, though.

I watch as he skates flawlessly in a small circle, as though scanning the benches.

I freeze as he seems to look right in our direction. Holds his gaze for a few seconds, then turns back towards his opponent. I guess he recognised Hana.

"This is a face-off." She whispers, nervously shoving a Pringle into her mouth.

I watch intensely as the match begins. Whitlock immediately gains possession of the puck, passing it off to the side to another member of the team.

They move in a way that has my jaw on the floor. So damn dangerous, but so fucking thrilling.

Some other dude on the team gets the puck, challenging the opposition before playing it to Whitlock, who whacks it right into the net.

We all jump up and cheer, and I actually feel a little excited. Miles seems to spot Hana, raising his glove briefly in our direction before continuing with the game.

A minute passes, the current team skates to the edge, being seamlessly replaced by another half who jumps onto the ice.

"What's happening here?" I ask Hana.

"Line change, I think." She shrugs, waving to Miles as he waits on the bench. Whitlock sits next to him, and I can see the tawny-skin of his neck. That's about all I can see.

Damn. Helmets really ruin all the fun.

Within another minute, they're back on. Then off. Then on again. Scoring points like god-knows what.

"They're actually really damn good." I whisper in awe, feeling more invested as the seconds pass.

"Told you it would be fun! I think the she-devil is even a little intrigued," Hana chuckles, gesturing towards Quinn who isn't even listening to us.

She's got her eyes trained on the rink.

"Didn't think I'd see the day," I laugh.

At some point, after what I'm guessing is about forty minutes, a whistle sounds three times. Hana stands up, cheering.

"That's it?" I gape.

"They aren't playing full length matches, yet. But yeah, we won, baby! Looks like we're getting out later after all!" She whoops.

Even Quinn claps. I hear some snickers from the back of us, and turn around to see what it is. Two girls sit on the row behind.

"Fucking sophomores," one says with a sly chuckle. Quinn spins her head around so hard it almost gives me whiplash.

"Do tell me, are either of you fucking Miles Greene?" She deadpans. Both of them glare at her with ajar mouths, unable to talk without stuttering. Hana slaps her arm.

"Exactly. Fuck right off." She wafts her hand behind her in disregard of them, and I burst into laughter.

"I wish I could be more like you," I marvel. Reckless with words, undeniably confident.

"No you don't," she says, rolling her shoulders and standing up.

"You guys go ahead and start getting ready for tonight, I wanna' catch up with Miles first." Hana says with a grin, waving us away.

"Go get your man. We'll see you back at Harbour," I link Quinn's arm, leading us away from the chaos.