Brenna

"Is Shea picking you up for school today?" Mom asks.

Zipping my winter coat, I nod. He should be here any second. Shea's picking me up because we want to stand united. People will stare at us when we enter. They'll whisper. Our rivalry is known around the Okanagan. Especially at school. With rumours already circulating thanks to the hockey community, we need to support each other. Teenagers are ruthless. 

I sling my backpack over my shoulder. Then I take a deep breath. Although things are running smoothly and I don't give a shit about anyone's perception of me, something feels off. It has ever since New Year's Eve. And not because of the drunken comments I made.

Apologizing to Shea for those was embarrassing. Good thing he laughed them off.

I'm not sure what's going on. Something feels off. I feel like I need to keep looking over my shoulder. Plus, my appetite in minimal. Things just don't feel right. 

For now, I shove that feeling down. Letting my emotions get in the way will ruin this afternoon's date.

Which I need to tell Mom about.

"We, uh, also switched our date to tonight," I say. Mom and I promised each other transparency. Our relationship's foundation is built with trust. "We're still going to Rose Valley Reservoir to skate. Also, we're skipping French. Lapointe emailed students saying today's class is for working on our projects. Since Shea and I are done..." I end my sentence with a shrug.

Mom presses her lips together. "Okay."

Sadness pinches at my heart. Mom still doesn't like Shea. Things shifted between them after New Year's. Whenever Shea's over, things aren't as tense. However, Mom still doesn't trust him.

It's not that I need her approval. Feeling bad for Shea? That's where I'm struggling. Although he's become a better person—and is continuing to redefine himself—his past behaviour has put a mark on his reputation. Dismissing someone's work ethic isn't right. Mom should give him a change. Take my word for his effort. Plus, I don't want Shea thinking he's not improving. Although confidence radiates from him, I've seen his vulnerability. He cares too much about what others think, which sometimes drives him to make decisions that aren't rational.

All that matters is he's trying. He should get credit.

"Mom," I sigh. "Don't hate him. He's a good person."

Mom sighs, setting her coffee down. "You're right. Give me time, sweetie. I haven't experienced the full change."

Mom has a point. She hasn't been around him as much as I have. I flash her a smile. "As long as you're trying. I appreciate it, Mom."

She smiles down at her coffee. Although Mom looks content, the atmosphere between us feels tight. I brush that feeling away. My anxiety is getting the best of me. Wherever this feeling is coming from, I need to figure it out.

Just as I'm about to say more to Mom, the doorbell rings.

Any unease dissipates from my gut. Without a word, I jog to the front door and open it.

A rush of cold air riddled with snowflakes greets me. I ignore it. Shea is standing there. His arms are crossed and his shoulders are slouched. He's almost hugging himself. His winter coat is taut across his broad chest. His black toque is pulled low, down to his mid-forehead. Beneath his jacket, I can see his hot-pink sweater peeking out.

A smile curves my lips as I lean against the door way. "Nice sweater."

He glances down at the fabric. "Why do you think I'm wearing it?"

Chuckling, I step aside and invite Shea in. Judging by his pink cheeks and the way he's almost hugging himself, he's cold.

He steps inside, expelling a deep breath after I've shut the door.

"We can leave soon," I say. "Just need to fill up my water bottle."

"Take your time," he shrugs.

I chuckle. His shrugging used to piss me off. Now I realize it's a quirk of his. It's so Shea.

"I'll be right back. Make yourself at home."

Shea glances over my shoulder. He knows Mom's home because her vehicle is in the driveway. Nervousness radiates off of him because of that. "I'll wait here."

I shoot him a sympathetic smile. "She won't bite."

He removes his toque and runs a hand through his hair. "I know." His eyes flick over my shoulder again. "I can come say hi, though. It would be polite."

"You don't have to," I reply. "Whatever you decide." 

Shea's already kicking off his shoes. They leave behind a small puddle on the tile. He joins my side. We exchange a glance before I guide him into the kitchen.

Mom is still standing at the island, flipping through Pinterest on her iPad. She glances at us, not bothering to hide the surprise on her face. 

"Shea," Mom says. "Good to see you."

Shea's posture is stiff as he stands on the opposing side of the island. He fiddles with the zipper of his jacket. "You too, Ava."

"How are you?"

Shea clears his throat. "I'm, uh, good. You?"

Their conversation continues like this. Questions that are answered with short sentences and long periods of silence between them.

As this continues on, I grab a water bottle from the cupboard and fill it up.

"How is hockey going?" Mom asks.

"Uh, good. Better now that Connor's gone. From my team, at least."

"Hmm," Mom says. "I heard about that."

Silence seeps into the room.

I roll my eyes, shutting the tap off. Then I close the lid of my water bottle.

These two are pathetic.

The awkward tension between them is almost suffocating. Mom is still sipping her coffee. Shea's looking wherever he can to avoid making eye contact with Mom. Blush dusts his cheeks, too.

"O-kay," I drawl. Stepping around the corner, full water bottle in hand, I grab Shea's hand and tug him to the exit. "Let's save the awkwardness for another time, shall we? I'll see you later, Mom."

She smiles. "Have fun on your date."

Shea's cheeks almost turn the colour of his sweater.

I suppress a laugh. It's not polite to laugh at someone. Poor Shea is mortified, despite doing nothing wrong.

"You guys are pathetic," I murmur, nudging him in the ribs.

"Your mom scares me," he murmurs back.

I nudge him again. "Don't be afraid."

Shea snorts. "You're exactly like your mother, Brenna. Why shouldn't I be scared?"

Feeling cocky, I pat him on the shoulder. "I've trained you well."

He snorts again, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. The cologne that fills my nose is intoxicating. "You didn't train me. You woke me up."

* * *

"We're really doing this?" I ask.

Shea and I are standing in front of the high school. Above, Mount Boucherie towers over the building. Who thought about building a high school at the base of a mountain? No wonder winters are so rough here.

Management stupidity aside, the school looks intimidating. I shouldn't be nervous. People know about Shea and I. I don't give a shit about what they think.

At least, I shouldn't.

I'm concerned about the dynamics. Sometimes, when a woman dates, they're considered the type that believes they "need a man." That's not the case. My emotions don't play on whether I need Shea.

They play on what I want.

I want to spend time with Shea. Now that he's improved and we've learned to like each other again, I enjoy spending time with him. I want to spend time with him.

Shea laces his fingers with mine. "Of course we are. It's just high school. They'll forget about us after we graduate."

I raise my brows. "Someone's confident."

He shrugs. "Nothing wrong with being confident."

Truth be told, Shea's words make my stomach flutter. You can never predict how long a relationship will last. When you're caught in the heat of the moment, you want everything to last. I'm not being pessimistic when I say this. I'm being logical. Things may last. Things may not. All that matters is the now.

Which is why I give his hand a squeeze.

"You're right. Confidence is good."

He flashes me a smile, then tugs me up the stairs. "KJ's meeting us outside of the library."

I pull my lips to one side as we enter the building. A rush of warm air greets us. It's stale and stagnant, but at least it's warm. "Strange place for KJ to meet us."

Shea shrugs. "He had to return a library book. That kid reads almost as much as you do."

Huh. That's not something I knew about KJ. He doesn't seem like the type to read. No. I shake my head. Reading doesn't have a "type." It's a universal hobby. Not some category.

"That's cool," I smile. "You should read more often."

Shea wrinkles his nose. "Not much of a reader."

"You just haven't found the right book yet. I'll pick one out for you. It'll change your mind."

His lips twist into a smile. "Someone sounds confident."

I glance at him. "Nothing wrong with being confident."

He wrinkles his nose again. "This conversation is getting repetitive."

My elbow digs into his ribs. "Isn't that the point?"

Chuckling, Shea focuses his attention on the hallway ahead. It's crowded with grade nines. Although I was once an annoying grade nine, they remind me of bugs. An infestation of them. They're everywhere.

We wind through the hallway, passing by kids and lockers. Washrooms and empty classrooms. When we walk around the corner, the area becomes less crowded. No one likes to hang out around the library. They prefer the side hallways, around the bear, or within the cafeteria area.

KJ isn't difficult to spot. He's leaning against his locker, which neighbours the library, and is reading a book. His ankles are crossed and one arm hangs by his side. His navy-blue joggers hang loose on his hips and the grey T-shirt he's wearing hugs his body.

Ugh. Goddamn hockey players. Why are they so hot? No wonder Ella doesn't want to let him go.

Of course, that's not the only reason Ella doesn't want to let KJ go. After getting to know him a little more, he's fun to be around. I like the way he teases Shea or calls out bullshit. Plus, it's because of him Connor's been removed from Kelowna's team.

When we arrive, KJ holds up a finger.

I peer over the edge of the book. He's on the last page before a new chapter begins. I can relate to him. Closing a book when there's one page to go in a chapter is torturous. I always have to place the bookmark where there's a new chapter. Never in the middle of one.

It doesn't take long for KJ to finish. He tucks his bookmark into the book. Then he tucks the book beneath his arm.

KJ's gaze flicks down to our hands. He drops his arms to his side, letting his backpack fall to the ground. The book stays tucked beneath his shoulder. He lets his mouth hang open. Presses a hand over it. "Oh my fucking god," he gasps. "Are you two dating? I, like, never expected it."

That sarcasm dripping from KJ's voice makes me snort.

See what I mean? I love his teasing.

Letting go of my hand, Shea shoves KJ. "Fuck you, man," he laughs.

KJ shoves him back. Shea's shoulder bumps against mine. Once he's regained his balance, Shea laces his fingers with mine again.

Chuckling, KJ gathers his backpack. "Connor's gonna shit a brick. His plan backfired in more ways than one."

Another reason I like KJ is because he's smart. Until he said something, I didn't approach it that way. What he's said is true. First, Shea told me about the bet. Then we avenged Connor. Our process of avenging was humane, but that doesn't mean murdering that insecure child didn't sound appealing. It still does. As we all know, murder is too expensive.

Connor's bet was supposed to drive a deeper wedge between us. Not bring us together, let alone result in dating.

I love it when bad people pay the price.

Well... partially. I'm not happy he's playing for Vernon's team. But I'm not surprised, either. Vernon's coach is a misogynistic prick. He'd take Connor out for a beer and beg to hear the story about his bet. Which he thinks is still occurring.

God, he's fucking dense.

"I guess," Shea replies. He rubs his hand along the back of his neck. "Still should watch out, though. Connor's behaviour was strange on New Year's Eve. He would've fought back. Something was going on. Not sure what."

Anxiety and dread fill my gut. Connor not fighting back is a red flag. Shea's right. We need to be careful. Especially when playing hockey. Now that Connor knows Shea and I are on the same team, he might conduct other ways to remove us from playing.

KJ presses his lips into a flat line and nods.

Assuming Shea doesn't want to discuss Connor anymore, he clears his throat and says, "Should we get to class? Only have to suffer through biology for two hours. Then we get to leave."

KJ scowls. "That's right. You two like to get shit done early. My partner and I are halfway through. Fucking French. Sometimes, I hate myself for wanting to play hockey with the Habs."

Confidence seems to play a major role in today's conversations. A smile tugs at my lips. A little confidence hurt no one. I don't mind people being confident as long as they're not arrogant. There's a major difference.

As we head down the hallway, people in our grade stare at us. They're faces I recognize from growing up in the Okanagan or people I've played school sports with. Looks of shock are common. Some people display distaste.

My hand tightens around Shea's as we head into the basement.

Shea must notice my discomfort because he leans in. "We've got this Harrison. It's like a hockey game. We always win."

I still nudge him in the ribs. "We're on opposing teams."

His grin broadens. "Exactly. One of us always wins. Whoever does can carry the other when they're struggling."

Although I want to roll my eyes, I can't. He's got a point. Relationships aren't always fifty-fifty.

"When did you get so smart?" I tease.

KJ scoffs. "Smart? Don't give him too much credit, Brenna. His ego will explode."

Shea shoves him, and KJ stumbles, clutching the bannister for support. He shoots Shea a scowl. "Asshole."

"Prick," Shea fires back.

The smile they exchange makes me laugh.

"You two are the definition of dysfunctional."

KJ winks at me. "Shea loves me."

All Shea does is roll his eyes. My smile broadens. I think that's a sure sign KJ's right.

* * *

Shea slings the duffle bag over his shoulder. It's full of skates, extra toques and gloves, a thermos of hot chocolate, and our sandwiches we ordered from Subway. I adjust the strap of my snowshoes, making sure they're tight. Then I grab the other bag. Aside from our phones and the Bluetooth speaker, it's empty. It's acting as an extra bag for wet gloves or socks, depending on how our descent to Rose Valley Reservoir is.

Right now, we're at the top of West Kelowna Road, near the water tower. From here, you can access the boundaries of Rose Valley Regional Park. In the spring and fall, it's one of my favourite places to hike.

What Shea and I are doing is new to me. While I have skated on the reservoir before, I've never snowshoed down to it before. Hunter's dad took us here a lot when we were kids. Back then, we would enter the park from the lower area, closer to the newer elementary school. The trail was more a road than a trail. There were no rocks jutting out, and the incline wasn't steep. Perfect for little kids.

This'll be a lot of fun. If my snowshoe doesn't slip off.

"Ready?" Shea asks.

I ignore my grumbling stomach, the lightheadedness I feel, and nod. Despite spending lunch with my friends, I have eaten nothing since breakfast. And that was a piece of toast with peanut butter. Lately, I've been consuming way too many calories and not attending the gym enough. That's understandable since the Holidays just passed. But it's not an excuse. I should work to maintain my level of fitness. Before I know it, playoffs will be here. And we need to win.

Shea and I head up the incline. This is the only incline we'll face until we decide to leave. Actually getting to the reservoir via the trail is all downhill.

Since the trail up the hill is skinny, I'm behind Shea. My breath comes out in puffy white clouds while the cold air stings my cheeks. Reaching up, I adjust my touque, pulling to lower to keep my ears warm. My hair is down, hanging just past my shoulders. My scarf hides some of it.

My eyes survey the area as we hike. Snow covers everything. The clouds are low today, hugging the peaks of the surrounding mountains. In some areas, the clouds obscure the tips of mighty pine trees. Something tells me it'll start snowing soon. The temperature is below negative ten and the air smells crisp. Hunter thinks I'm crazy, but there's always a smell to the air just before it snows. Especially when campfire smoke lingers in the air.

Like it does now.

Although winter isn't my favourite season, I respect it. One reason I love the Okanagan is because we get to experience every season. I couldn't imagine a January without snow.

After I've finished admiring nature, I look ahead. Shea is a metre or two ahead. I've been giving him room in case he slips. Snowshoes tangle with anything. I don't want ours to tangle. Otherwise, we'll both fall.

As I stare ahead, watching Shea climb the hill, my eyes fall to his black joggers. They're tight, showing off the sculpt of his thighs and ass. Those squats have paid off. Why he likes them, I'm not sure. But this would be a good reason. Hypnotize women with his ass and thighs. Goddamn, his ass is hot.

And you know what? I'm not embarrassed about thinking that. It's a fact, not some conspiracy theory.

For god knows what reason, Shea turns around. "Which trail do you want to—What are you doing?"

My cheeks flush pink as I direct my gaze elsewhere. "Nothing."

A grin splits Shea's face. "If you have something to say, then say it."

I almost choke. No way in hell am I telling Shea his ass is hot. His ego will thrive, just like KJ said earlier.

"Come on, Harrison. Don't keep secrets."

His response to my silence is simple. Shea turns around and closes the space between us. The grin on his face makes me cringe. He won't let until I say something.

He rests a hand on my shoulder. That fucking cute, shit-eating grin doesn't fade. "Bren. Don't leave me hanging."

I duck my head. I hate it when he calls me that.

Even though I love it.

Hearing him say my nickname does things to my stomach. It becomes full of jittery butterflies. My chest gets warm.

As I tip my head up, a wave of dizziness engulfs me. It's so potent, I sway. 

Reaching out, I grab the first thing I can to regain my balance.

Shea reacts just as quick. His hand slides from my shoulder to my bicep. His grip is secure, but not bruising. A frown encompasses his face. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I lie. Within the past few seconds, the dizziness has gotten worse. I feel lightheaded, on the brink of passing out. My chest is rising and falling faster than usual, too. Which is strange. I've done this hike before. I'm only a little breathless by the time I reach the top.

Something... Something's not right.

Black dots spot my vision. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. A nauseous feeling fills my gut. Then, when I open my eyes, that dizziness returns. As does a wave of exhaustion. My mind feels foggy.

Shea's frown deepens. "Brenna. Are you okay?"

Those are the last words I hear before I pass out.