RHETT

          The real reason Andy needs a babysitter is because both he and Jackie need to start cramming instead of pulling a Rhett Price and leaving everything to the last possible minute.

          Naturally, since I'm trying to be a better friend to both of them, especially Andy, I offered to look after Daisy so they can have an easier time focusing, something they can't do while constantly interrupting their studying sessions. Daisy is already old enough to not need someone to be checking up on her at all times, but she requires a level of attention that two exhausted and overworked college students can't provide when they need to study.

          For the first time in my college career, I'm somehow not falling behind on my own college work, so it's only natural that I would offer my services.

          Now, I'm sure he's secretly glad he has to study so as to distract himself from the unbelievable offer we've both just gotten. I know I'd be unable to focus on studying, so the fact that he's still adamant on pulling an all-nighter after this is commendable to me—commendable enough I'm willing to do something I have literally no experience with just because it's him. It makes me want to prove my worth to him because I need the validation.

          The conversation in my head goes something like this:

          MY ANXIETY: Do you remember that one time Andy told you straight to your face he thinks you're a screw up?

          ME (sweating, dragging the reasonable part of my brain by the scruff of the neck like a kitten): He was under a lot of stress that day. He and Jackie had just broken up.

          MY ANXIETY: It doesn't change the fact that he still said it.

          ME: So?

          MY ANXIETY (giggling, kicking their feet up in the air): So, you still have a long way to go before you change his mind. Maybe you only got offered the spot with the Islanders because he knows the scout and is trying to make it up to you.

          ME (hands clenched into fists, holding on to every last semblance of dignity left in me): That's bullshit. I worked really fucking hard, too.

          MY ANXIETY: He worked harder, though. Maybe he just feels sorry for you. Maybe everyone feels sorry for you because you're the son of a legend and can't ever measure up to him or to your name. That's a bit pathetic, don't you think?

          I'm often not in the mood to argue with my own brain, so I walk away from the conversation—as far as I can. You can never fully shut your brain off, so it's something that I'll have to deal with at some point, but it's not like it's pointing out something that has never crossed my mind before. Therefore, we schedule the next round of the fistfight for a therapy session, where I'll be better equipped to deal with it, placing us both at an equal playing field.

          "So, Daze, that's why Mom and Dad have left me in charge of looking after you tonight," I tell Daisy, who throws me quite the impressive glare for such a small child—barely three and she's already this mischievous. The glare reminds me of Jackie herself. "They need to study to have really bright futures to ensure you never have to worry about a fucking thing—"

          "Don't say that in front of her," Brie scolds, hidden behind her laptop, and Daisy clings to her leg, sitting on the floor. From what I've gathered, she's preparing the script for her presentation of Female Gaze, which is still months away, but she wouldn't be Brie if she wasn't getting everything ready months in advance. "You'll get in trouble if she repeats it in front of Andy or Jackie."

          I can't ignore how she says Andy or Jackie, as opposed to and. It still feels so unnatural to me to refer to them as separate people instead of the joint entity I've always known them as.

          After so long of stressing over not knowing whether she could call Jackie a friend or not, Brie has finally gotten her answer. It took a lot of begging and groveling from me to ask Andy for permission to overstep, considering he and Jackie aren't at that 'let's at least be friends for Daisy's sake' stage, but I went to Jackie myself and asked her for help.

          Brie does not know this conversation happened—and I think she'd be pissed at me if she knew I went behind her back—but now she has the confirmation that Jackie does, in fact, like her and considers them to be friends. So, there's that. At least now Brie has a group of girl friends, something she once told me she felt she lacked up until now, when college is ending in just a couple of months, and I get to hear all about their outings and gossip.

          Her face always lights up whenever she mentions the girls, especially Paige, and I never thought Paige would be the one, out of all of them, to become the one she's closest to after Nancy. She talks of them like they've been friends for ages, something that transcends the ephemeral college friendships that end when everyone goes their separate ways.

          Paige, known for being much nicer to people she's close to and when she's chasing something, looked at her when she was down and way out of her element and welcomed her with open arms. In situations when I should have been the one to reach out to my girlfriend, like the Magnolia ambush at the party, it was Paige who stepped up, and I'm forever grateful for her support—both of Brie and of myself.

          "She shouldn't even be saying it in front of her favorite aunt," Paige herself points out, lying on her back, sprawled across the floor of Jackie's apartment. As if having Brie around wasn't already enough people in here, Paige decided to tag along, offended no one had asked her, Daisy's genuine aunt, to babysit. The thing about Paige is that she always wants to prove a point. "Don't tell Izzy I said that."

          "I think she likes Brie more than she likes you," I taunt. "Can't blame her, though."

          "No. Everyone likes Brie." Paige massages her neck before returning her attention to her Kindle. "Be careful, Price. I might steal her away from you."

          "You wouldn't dare."

          She cranes her head, looking up at me upside down. "Wouldn't I?" Without waiting for an answer, she sits up so quickly it makes me wonder how she doesn't feel lightheaded. "Brie, would you date me?"

          Brie peeks from the side of her laptop. "Is that a trick question?"

          "Nope. Looking for a honest answer here. Don't be afraid to hurt my feelings."

          Now. That's not something you can say to a people pleaser and expect them to be honest. I've known Brie all our lives; if she can avoid saying something hurtful, she will.

          "Uh . . ." Brie glances at me, with Daisy tugging at the leg of her jeans, demanding immediate attention. "I mean, I'm not attracted to girls, but if I were, I guess so?"

          Brie, bless her soul, has plenty of qualities, but she's better with pets than she is with kids, as evidenced by how she pats the kid on the head like you would to a dog. I'm half expecting her to scratch Daisy behind the ear at some point.

          Paige pauses, then shrugs. "Good enough for me."

          The front door slams open out of a sudden, startling us four, and Daisy immediately reaches out for Brie, who rushes to clumsily pick her up while not dropping her laptop at the same time. Jackie and Andy make their way inside the apartment, stumbling over their own feet and each other, too busy with their sloppy, urgent kisses to even care about watching where they're going.

          I wonder how a night of studying at different places ended up like this. I find I don't actually want to know.

          The door to what I presume is Jackie's bedroom slams. An awkward silence fills the living room.

          "Well," Paige sighs, closing her Kindle's case. "I could've gone on living without ever going through what just happened."

ᓚᘏᗢ

          It's the championship finals, which means my anxiety is at an all time high and I've successfully convinced myself I'm the one dragging the team down. This also means I'm the one who has to raise them all up, so tonight's results fall on my strangely shaky hands.

          Realistically, I know the entire team is here to back me up, just like I would for any of them.

          Andy is the most isolated one, our only goalie on the ice right now, but that's what the defensemen are for—they're the final line of defense before our opponents can get to him, and they've been doing a fucking good job at it. Meanwhile, I've only scored twice, with Jeff taking the lead when it comes to scoring, but it's been a pleasant surprise to hear him be encouraging and supportive instead of arrogant about it.

          I've been playing like never before. Everything I've done the past year—and the past three years—has led me to this very moment. Every workout, every practice, every drill, every game—this is how it all ends. We either win or we don't, and I want to do everything in my power to ensure we do. I've already been drafted, sure, but I'm not a loser.

          I'm Rhett fucking Price. I don't lose. I'm a champion.

          "Out of my way," I mutter, through gritted teeth, and I know no one hears me. It's not directed at anyone in particular, I don't think, and it's a reminder that I've always been the main obstacle in my way. All that self-sabotage . . . what purpose did it ever serve? Did it ever make me feel better?

          I'm shivering like a mad man, but I can't let it stop me from doing my job.

          No one has managed to steal the puck back from me, not after my own steal, skating like I haven't ever skated before. I almost pirouetted away from two forwards, sliding across the ice in a swift movement. They were left scrambling, one of them losing their footing and hitting the glass wall face first, but I can't let my arrogance ruin everything.

          When I glance at Coach Gonzalez, I can't hear what he's saying. I'm not the best at reading lips, either (lips are meant to be kissed. Not Coach's, though. Not by me, at least), but I imagine he's encouraging—urging—me to keep going. The defensemen are on my trail, pushing forward to try and catch me, but I'm better than that. I'm better than them. Only two people in this rink have been scouted by the Islanders, and only one of them isn't me.

          I have a clear view of the goal.

          All I have to do is shoot the puck, which sounds simple enough. However, if I shoot and fail, I might as well kiss our chances at winning the championship goodbye. In my head, Andy, too, screams at me to take the shot before I lose my opportunity.

          In the crowd, I know Brie is cheering me on, gripping my jersey with both hands. She's upright on her feet, standing on her toes to get a better view, and, if this were a movie, it would be the pivotal moment when our eyes meet and she fills me with determination. Even though I can't actually see her or look at anything else besides the goalie, I just know.

          The goalie is a big guy, taller and wider than Andy, but I've dealt with players like him before. They take up a lot of space, with a wingspan big enough to nearly cover the entire goal, but they have a weakness—they all do. Most of them favor one side, as it's nearly impossible to stand still on the ice, and it's ill advised to remain static.

          I would know.

          My world stops spinning as soon as I shoot the puck, the sharp hiss of its journey across the ice slicing right through me, and it's out of my hands now. It's the only thing I see, the only thing I allow myself to stare at, as though it'll change course if I dare to look away even just for a fraction of a second, but there's some fear left inside me. Fear it won't be enough, fear I've failed.

          Come on, come on, come—

          The crowd explodes before my brain can process a thing.

          At first, I can't tell whether it's out of rage or not, especially when the referee ends the game, and all I can do is wonder—wonder whether I've succeeded, whether I've let everyone down. I look around me, attempt to find my family and Brie in the crowd, and I see her weeping in Paige's arms. I can never tell what Paige is feeling or thinking, so searching her face for information is no use.

          Then, someone tackles me. Then another body crashes against mine.

          "Buh?" I blabber.

          "PRICE, YOU FUCKING DID IT," Coach Gonzalez howls in my ear. I blink, drowning in a sea of our colors—bronze, silver, and green—and it takes every ounce of strength left in me to remain afloat, the adrenaline brought by the high intensity of the game slowly dimming. "You fucking did it. Let everyone in the Islanders know I've always believed in you and de Haan—"

          "Coach, you had it for him ever since day one," Keane Mahoney, the love of Paige's life, kindly informs. "Great job, Rhett."

          "Did—did we win?" I choke out, still seeking confirmation. They all stare at me like I've just said something out of this world or, better yet, like I'm stupid. "Guys?"

          Jeff playfully punches me in the shoulder, the blow being extra strong thanks to his gloved hand. "I don't know how to tell you that you scored the winning goal and—"

          "Cool," I manage to say.

          "—WE'VE WON THE CHAMPIONSHIP SO PLEASE STOP FEELING SORRY FOR YOURSELF," Andy bellows, the last one to arrive to the circle, and he's the one I skate towards. Good thing he's taller, physically stronger than me; anyone else probably would've been knocked down by the bear hug I envelop him in. "If you start crying right now . . . aw, what the hell." He pats me in the back, gently bumping his helmet against mine like a cat. "Cry away, my guy. You've earned this victory."

          I sure as hell have. We all have.

          The victory wasn't just for me, or just for him—it was for the entire team, for Coach Gonzalez, for Coach Tripp, for my family, for my friends, for Brie, for everyone who has ever believed in me and in us. For everyone who doubted us, for everyone who thought we couldn't do it.

          No one can take this victory away from us. They can't take it away from me, either, not even myself.

          In the distance, in the crowd, I finally find her, and I slide towards the exit, tossing my mouthguard and skates aside once I'm back on solid ground. I have no time to search for my skate guards, so I push them under a seat so no one will accidentally get hurt by the blades in a hurry to get to us. My blood pumps in my veins, the rush of adrenaline urging me to move faster, dodging anyone who tries to touch or grab me.

          Brie meets me halfway, jumping to my arms, legs tightly wrapped around my waist. She helps me take off my helmet (and throw it aside) and, before I even get a chance to say anything, her hands cup my face and her lips meet mine in a fierce, fiery kiss—exactly what she's ever wanted from me.

          I'm all she's ever wanted. She's all I ever wanted.

          I have Brie. I have the Islanders. I have Andy. I have the championship.

          "Baby, baby, baby," she whispers, once she pulls away to catch her breath, and I see myself in her gaze. Isn't that what this has always been about? How she sees me? And me feeling fantastic about it? "I'm so, so proud of you. You were phenomenal."

          Yeah, it really doesn't get any better than this.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

this is rhett's last chapter in the book but never fret. the epilogue is from his POV. you're welcome (the real ones. not you, demons who only vote for his chapters)