Under a Different Sky Page 4

  I don’t turn back to thank him. A smile creeps onto my face, and I finish my shift avoiding their table at all costs. That doesn’t mean I can stop myself from glancing over there every once in a while. I’m only human, curious about what he’s doing.

  Nick Kovac is a puzzle I don’t think I’ll ever understand. I’m not meant to.

  Their group finishes eating right before we close. I bus their table as Nick is paying at the counter. He gives me a sidelong glance and dips out the front door.

  “Was that Nick Kovac I just saw checking you out?” Frank slips into the booth, resting his chin on his intertwined fingers.

  I giggle when he flutters his eyelashes at me. “Hardly.”

  “Well, if Nick Kovac looked at me like that?” He holds up his hands. “I’m just saying.”

  “Are you going to sit there or help me clean this place up?” A glance around the diner shows most of the tables are already spotless. The owner, Mitch, is in the middle of counting down the drawers, and the kitchen staff is waving goodbye.

  “While you were busy checking out Nick Kovac, I worked my ass off.” He stands and bows. “Thank you, Frank.”

  “Thank you, Frank,” I call after him, wiping down the table and tossing the rag into the laundry bin that will go out tomorrow morning.

  Frank hands me my purse, and I sling it over my body, tossing my apron onto the counter for Mitch to put away for safe keeping until my next shift.

  “Goodnight, guys.” Mitch nods. “Thanks for all the hard work tonight.”

  I listen to Frank mock Mitch under his breath as we exit out the front. A loud grunt escapes me, like I’ve run into a brick wall. Frank is solid on his feet, barely moving when I collide into his back.

  “What are you stopping for?” I giggle, trying to stumble around him. His hand wraps around my arm, holding me steady.

  “What were you saying about him not checking you out?” he whispers in my ear, releasing his hold on me.

  Surprised by what he’s said, I glance up and am even more shocked to see Nick leaning against the front bumper of his truck. His legs are crossed at his ankles, and his arms are crossed over his chest. The sophomore is nowhere to be seen.

  “Should I head out, or is there going to be a show?” Frank pokes at my ribs, and I push him.

  “Very funny,” I whisper. “Get lost.”

  “Mmmhmm...”— he grins wildly— “just as I thought.”

  “Shut up!” I yell as he rounds the corner to the staff parking lot.

  Nick’s eyes are on me. I can feel them. Am I supposed to be able to feel them? I spin on my Converses, and there they are, bright blue and zoned in right on me.

  “What are you doing here?” I step off the curb, keeping enough distance between us. “I figured you’d be knuckle deep in that sophomore.”

  “Whoa!” His chest heaves with a surprised kind of laughter that shocks me. “Maybe Jason has a point about your mouth, Hannah.”

  “Oh, so it’s okay for you boys to say and do whatever you want, but a girl makes one fingering joke, and decency is lost all of a sudden?” I sit down on the fender beside him.

  “No, what Stevie said was not okay,” Nick whispers. “You have to know that.”

  “I don’t need you to tell me it’s not okay. I know it’s not, and thank you for sticking up for me in there.” I point towards the restaurant. “I heard what you said when I walked away.”

  “Yeah, well, about that shit that happened last night...” His voice is apprehensive and distant, almost like he wants to change the subject. Maybe he’s afraid to admit what happened, or if he’s like me, it sucks to think about how it went down. An ache in my chest remains over hearing his whimpers.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I bump my shoulder into his, and he smiles, which makes me feel like I’ve done something right.

  “Honestly?” Nick’s eyes skim over me. “I don’t.”

  “So, why are you out here, then?” I question.

  “Honestly?” Nick laughs, having repeated what he’d said moments before. “I have no idea. The sophomore...”

  “Please tell me you at least know her name,” I interrupt, glaring at him.

  His shoulders slump forward, and he scrubs his hands down his face. “I don’t know why I keep doing this shit.”

  “Because you’re human, and as sure as I am that the sun will rise tomorrow, tonight won’t be the last time some girl is found on your arm.” I push off his truck and spin back towards him. His hands hang at his sides, and I’m surprised to see the shame he clearly is carrying around.

  “It doesn’t make it hurt any less.” He breaks eye contact.

  I kick the bottom of his shoe, and his head pops up. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me or anyone.”

  “I miss how it used to be. This is going to sound selfish, but when she was alive, my life felt so easy. Pretty girl on my arm. A future I could map out on paper for anyone who asked.” He shrugs, standing from his truck. His hands cup the back of his head, and he brushes past me onto the sidewalk. He’s fighting a losing battle. “You know what the worst part is? I think that’s why I’m doing what I’m doing. My life, up until she passed, was planned out. She was the girl.”

  “And now, you don’t have the same future. It’s like you’re in the same world, and someone came along and picked you up and jumbled you around until the world you live in now is almost unrecognizable,” I say.

  “Hannah, I’m really sorry about last night. Sometimes I’m not sure how to control my anger. I’m angry.” He steps into me, and I pull him into a hug, feeling he needs one. Standing on my tiptoes, I wrap my arms tight around his shoulders. The warmth of his breath on my shoulder seeps through my work shirt as he finds comfort in the crook of my neck.

  “You’re okay. You’ll be okay, Nick.” At my words, his arms wrap around my waist, pulling me closer. He’s holding onto me for dear life.

  The sky is dark, and the only light is from the street lamp outside of the restaurant. I draw back just enough to look at Nick’s face. His eyes are rimmed with red, but the color darkens as his eyes drop to my lips. Suddenly our closeness doesn’t feel innocent. He loosens his grip on my waist, and relief washes over me when he doesn’t fully drop his hold on me. His fingers press into my back, and his eyebrows pinch together like he’s resisting some kind of urge.

  “You’re so different than her.” He reaches up, finally giving my back some relief, and brushes my hair from my face. It’s a mess from the hectic shift. “I mean, it’s like you picked up right where she left off with taking care of me.”

  “Nick,” I whisper his name.

  Like I’ve slapped him, his head pops up and his eyes widen. He steps away, pure shock and confusion skating across his face.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was saying.” He shakes his head, clearly frustrated with himself. “I don’t mean to make it sound like I need to be taken care of. It’s just she’s always been there, and now, it seems like you’ve become my only constant. I guess I’m just saying I’m thankful you’ve been around.”

  The way he says these things has my heart pumping like a hundred wild horses are stomping through my chest.

  “It’s what she’d want,” I whisper, trying to pretend that’s the only reason.

  A cool breeze breaks through the air, and my body betrays me by shivering.

  “You’re cold, and I’m keeping you hostage out here,” Nick says.

  “No, it’s okay. It’s nice to talk, if that makes sense.” I circle my arms around my body, hugging myself to stay warm.

  “It’s funny”— Nick opens the truck door and digs around, before appearing in front of me with a sweatshirt— “she and I dated for how long, and I feel like I don’t know anything about you.” He hands me the hoodie. “Put this on.”

  I hold it up. His name and hockey number are printed on the back, and our school name is on the front. “Thank you.” I pull it over my head, and instantly, the
smell of his cologne and detergent overcomes me. It’s faint, but there, and oh so, intoxicating.

  When my head pops out the neckline, he pulls the hood down. “It’s a little big on you, but it looks good.”

  When I hold my arms out to the sides, the shirt nearly hangs to the bottom of my thighs, and my hands are protected in the overlong sleeves. “At least I’ll stay warm, especially if you plan on keeping me hostage.”

  “I don’t want to go home yet,” he admits. “You want to sit in the truck?”

  “Sure.” I walk slowly, watching him climb behind the wheel before I jump in the passenger side. “Why don’t you want to go home?”

  “My mom looks at me like I’m two seconds away from losing my shit. It hurts, of course, but I’m getting to a place that feels safer.” He rests forward, his hands dangling over the edge of the steering wheel.

  I lean my back on the door, kicking at his thigh. “I mean, you did basically tell our whole town to fuck off, then stole a rather large photo of Mia at the funeral.” When he rears back, his look of disbelief that I had the nerve to say what I did makes me laugh. “Nick, what?”

  “Way to call me out on the shittiest moment of my life, Hannah.” He grabs my feet and holds them steady on his lap. This is when I should pull them away, but I don’t. I like the way this feels. I let them rest in front of me, enjoying the way his fingers feel against the exposed part of my ankle. “You’re something else, Hannah Barnes.”

  A warmth I don’t necessarily like floods my chest. It’s like my body is betraying me.

  Nick squeezes my ankle, and his eyes skim up my leg as his hand moves to my calf. It feels so good to be touched like this, and I must whimper out loud. His head shoots up, and with wide eyes, he releases me.

  “I better get home,” he says absently.

  The air shifts. Something unspoken has happened.

  I drop my legs and pull on the handle to get out. “Goodnight, Nick.”

  Through the glass of his passenger door, we watch each other for a beat or two. He looks away first, thankfully, and I back away from his truck. He waves as he pulls out of the parking spot.

  What the hell was that?

  Chapter Four

  Nick

  It’s Friday night, and the house is cold. The stands are filling up. Fans from across town find the few spots available for them, while the Eagles take up most of the benches. This is what fuels us, a packed house, chanting and yelling with as much energy as us on the ice.

  Where most schools focus on football and baseball, we live and breathe hockey in this town. Our across-town rival has been an ongoing feud since the seventies. It’s not going to die down tonight, that’s a guarantee.

  “Listen up, boys. You’re going to go out there and bleed for each other. Understood?” Coach Barnes yells, looking directly at me, our team captain. “You have nothing to lose by wiping the ice with the blood of a Panther. Now, go out there and prove to them what we already know. They aren’t shit compared to you.” He claps once, and the team starts hooting and hollering, the energy palpable in the locker room.

  Coach Barnes isn’t like most high school coaches. He doesn’t apologize for his methods, and for that, he’s made me a better player and a stronger teammate.

  “Nick,” Coach Barnes calls out over the noise. “Play clean tonight.”

  He hasn’t mentioned what happened the night at his house, my busted hand or my breakdown in his daughter’s bedroom. He never made me work for it at practice, but I knew he wasn’t happy with me.

  “Got it, Coach,” I say, lining up to skate onto the ice.

  It’s a tradition before every game. Each player enters under lights, does a lap around the rink, and ends in our line-up for the national anthem.

  Echoing in the corridor, the stands roar with anticipation, ready to see a real blood bath. Everyone knows what we are getting when these teams come together. Our hatred runs deep, and tonight, I have my own score to settle.

  The announcer excitedly reveals the starting line-up while I give the pre-game speech. We huddle in a giant circle, and I look each of my men in the eyes, my leg shaking from the adrenaline.

  “Let’s hit em’ hard. No man left untouched, boys. Don’t let these guys think for a single second they have a chance against us. We hit them hard, we skate fast, and we finish with a W, okay?” I smack my starting line-up on the helmets. “Let’s go.”

  The music starts to pump through the speakers, a heavy drum beat to hype us up. One by one, we slide onto the ice, circling the rink once and skidding to a stop on our line. The Panthers are already on their line, eyeing us down with their best we’re gonna fuck your lives up faces. The only thing is, ours are better and hold more weight.

  The national anthem plays through the speakers, and our team sways back and forth, prepping our minds for what’s to come. Like Coach said, it’s going to be a blood bath. We move into position as the crowd roars.

  Our center, Jason Little, stands, prepared for a battle against theirs. Jason may be smaller, but he has a quick stick. Sure, as shit, he shuffles the puck to me with ease. I’ve always played left wing. It’s where I’m strongest. One time, Coach tried to pull me into a defenseman position, but I like the thrill of skating up the rink to score. That doesn’t mean I don’t know how to scuffle like a defenseman. That’s never been an issue for me.

  I skate down, checking into Grady Sanderson to prove my point. He catches his fall, and I get past him, shooting the puck at the goal. It sneaks past their goalie, and the light illuminates the rink. I punch at the air as the crowd goes wild. There’s no better rush than being on the ice. Nothing compares to this.

  “It won’t happen again,” Grady says as I glide past him. His shoulder knocks into mine, but I’m unmoved.

  We play this back and forth game for the first two periods. Every time the puck dances in front of my stick, I work it down, scoring two more goals.

  Coach sits me down on the bench, his hands resting on my pads. “You’ve had enough. They’re getting feisty out there, and I don’t want you overstepping. I can see the anger in your eyes. You want to kill these guys.”

  “Coach, come on. I’ve got it under control,” I protest, shifting on the bench to look at him. “Let me in.”

  “Fine, I’ll give you the last five minutes. That’s all. Let Bucannon go in for a little bit.” He glares at the other left winger, silently telling him not to fuck shit up out there. “Hold your own, or else I’m pulling you, Bucannon.”

  “He’s tough, so make sure he knows you aren’t moving out of the way for nothing. He also likes to play it tight in the corners. Let him get closest to the wall. It’s where he’ll overthink and give you enough room to snatch the puck,” I instruct, as he jumps over the wall onto the ice.

  I sit back on the bench, watching my team thrive without me. This is what torture feels like. I hate being on the sidelines, and I’m about ready to combust when Grady skates by our bench, talking shit.

  “Coach!” I yell.

  He nods, giving me the go ahead to go in on Coach’s call.

  Bucannon skates in, and I jump over the wall, hustling to play catch up. I check the clock. Four minutes and thirty-two seconds. Plenty of time to widen the gap in the score. They’re playing hard, aggressive. It’s their only chance. A lot of game is still left to be played, and I need to be smart. I’ve already had three penalties in the first two periods for tripping their defenseman and checking Grady, but that shit was worth the time out in the box.

  Both teams go back and forth up the ice, with none of us catching a break for the goal. We’re here for one thing, and that’s a victory. If the Eagles walk out of here without moving our score, I’ll be happy, but that will only happen if we can defend them off our own goal. Kellan has been killing himself down there, taking a beating in the net. He rode the bench all last year, but he’s proving himself today.

  The Panthers pull their goalie and bring in an extra man to press us. It’s a bal
lsy move with two minutes to spare. You have to give credit where it’s due. This just means they’ll press us even harder, making us outnumbered.

  The faceoff is between Grady and me. We are in neutral territory, making this anyone’s puck. Grady grins, looking between the icy floor and my face. The puck hits like a ton of bricks, echoing through the arena, and if it weren’t for the silence of the crowd, I may not have even heard him.

  “Mia was a real piece of ass. Too bad she’s dead now. I’d have loved to score a chance.”

  I close my eyes, calming myself, remembering what Coach told me. Play clean.

  My stick knocks the puck to Jason, and he hustles down the lane, straight for their open goal. They block him, stealing the puck and working their way down to us. I deliver a clean body check to one of their men, and the puck dances wildly over the ice. Everyone scurries for it, careful not to land in the penalty box.

  The clock ticks down, and Grady tries his best to goad me into a scuffle, knowing damn well I’ll be kicked off the ice. My boys need me.

  “Not even going to defend your girl, Kovac? Rumor has it she made some rounds at our school,” he says, skating backwards in front of me. I’d give anything to knock that smirk off his face. “The only thing sweet about Mia was her pussy.”

  “Fuck you, Sanderson!” I shout as he turns towards the boards, shuffling for the puck. I hit him in the back, pushing him further into the glass. “Don’t ever say her name again.” I give him one last shove and steal the puck. The clock says thirty seconds.

  We’ll set it up real pretty for them, taking our time down the rink and playing smart hockey like Coach wants. I pass it to Jason who then passes it back to me. With all their defensemen guarding us, we keep a good control. Jason body checks one of their players, leaving a gap, but Grady’s too smart for an easy play like that. He cuts me in the middle and throws a shoulder. The hit is clean, and I strike the ice with a thud.

  I’m up just as quick as I fell, and I’m on his heels. Before I can convince myself not to, I check him in the back, downright dirty. The crowd roars with excitement and anger.