Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 129354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
“No, it’s not.” I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. “What should I do?”
“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.” He sets down his cup and scrapes his chair back.
“What are you doing?”
“You don’t mess with a man’s ritual, Brenna.” Dad checks his watch. “What time does the game start?”
I’m already looking it up on my phone. “One thirty,” I say a moment later.
Right now it’s eleven. It’ll take an hour or so to get to Worcester. Relief fills my chest. I can make it there long before the game starts.
Dad confirms my thoughts. “If we leave now, we’ll get there with plenty of time to spare.”
“We?”
“You think I’m really going to let you drive the Jeep in a panic? Christ. I shudder just thinking about the mailbox destruction you’d be leaving in your wake.” My father snorts. “I’m driving.”
Jake’s not answering his phone or responding to my texts. It occurs to me that maybe he blocked my number, but that would be a total dick move. He’s the one who broke up with me. He has no reason to block my number. Unless he thought I’d be one of those girls who called him five hundred times begging for a second chance? If so, then I guess he didn’t know me at all.
The alternative is that he’s too focused on his game-day rituals and isn’t checking his phone.
There’s a light drizzle outside, lazily sliding down the Jeep’s windshield. In the passenger seat, I wonder if there’s another way to get in touch with Jake. I don’t have Brooks’s number, and I deleted McCarthy’s. I suppose I could do some online investigating and track down their social media accounts, but that requires a level of panic I’m not feeling right now.
There’s lots of time, and when we get there, I’ll be bound to run into a Harvard player or someone who could send a message to a Harvard player. Hopefully, I can simply give the bracelet to someone who’ll pass it on to Jake, without me ever having to see him. I’m not sure what I would say if I saw him. Plus, he’s already accused me of being a distraction. Seeing me right before a crucial game might mess with his head.
When we pull into the arena, Dad bypasses the parking lot and drives directly to the entrance. “Get out here,” he orders. “I’ll park the car and meet you inside. Keep your phone on.”
A thought suddenly occurs to me. “Oh no,” I say in dismay. “We don’t have tickets.”
“Sure we do. I called Steve Llewellyn when you were getting dressed. Told him I needed a favor. There’ll be two tickets waiting for us at the box office under your name. Standing room only, though. It was too last minute for anything better.”
Llewellyn is the head coach of Michigan. I guess it helps to have a father with connections. “You’re the best.”
I hop out of the car and dart toward the entrance. As I pick up the tickets, I call Jake again. He doesn’t answer.
Although the game doesn’t start for nearly an hour and a half, tons of people are already streaming inside the arena and filling up the stands. I glimpse a sea of Harvard fans, along with the gold and blue Michigan colors. I scan the Crimson portion of the crowd for anyone who looks familiar. Nada. Then I search for any signs that might tell me where the locker rooms are. I spot one and take off in that direction.
I’m approaching the corridor when I finally encounter a face I recognize.
It’s Jake’s friend Hazel.
Lovely. “Hey,” I greet her. “I’m looking for Jake.”
After a cool appraisal, a flicker of displeasure flares in her eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“I just told you—I’m looking for Jake.” I fidget with one of the beads on his bracelet. I wore it on my wrist for safekeeping. “Is the Harvard bus here yet?”
“No.”
“Do you know when they’re showing up? Have you spoken to him at all today?”
“No.” She frowns slightly. “He’s not answering his phone. I’m here with his parents—”
My stomach twists. Nope. Not jealous. I am not jealous.
“—and none of us can get in touch with him. Maybe his phone’s dead. Sometimes when he goes into hockey mode, he forgets to do basic things, like charge his tech.”
I hate this girl. I don’t know if she does it intentionally, these I-know-him-better-than-you-do jabs. Maybe I’m just feeling insecure, though. Or maybe she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. Maybe she knows him so well that it comes out instinctively.
Either way, it’s a good thing Jake isn’t here yet. Now I won’t have to see him, and he won’t see me. He wants to focus on hockey? Congrats, he can focus on hockey.
“When he gets here can you give him this?” I clumsily slide the bracelet off my wrist. Removing it brings a pang of sorrow. It’s like saying goodbye to the last piece of Jake that I have left.