I clap Leo on the back. “You guys better score a fucking goal today, because that’s the only way to win.”
Leo laughs. “That’s right. I’ll win the game for us; you just keep from losing it for us.”
The national anthem plays, and then we’re all in position, the referee blowing the whistle. And there’s nothing I want more than to be right here, right now. In this game. I’ve been so afraid of screwing up that I haven’t even let myself enjoy the success so far. We’re one game from qualifying to State. We have the best fucking record in the state.
And something about knowing that Claire is out there, having her own moment like this…it makes me happier than if she were here watching the game. I think we can do this long-distance thing. I think I’ll love her even more knowing she’s strong enough on her own, knowing she’s using every part of herself every day, not hiding it or stuffing it away because she feels guilty being happy. And I don’t want to hold back, to not get everything I can from this game just because my dad loved it. I just want Claire and I to be us. A 110 percent us.
The puck slides over the ice, the opposition already pushing it in my direction. Then everything inside my head disappears and I’m in position. I’m ready for whatever this game throws at me.
Chapter 58
–Claire–
One month later
Roger walks outside, a phone charger in each hand. “Need an extra?”
“Sure.” Tate snatches one of the chargers and tosses it into the passenger seat.
I busy myself arranging items in the backseat while eavesdropping on Tate and Roger’s conversation. They’re discussing which interstates to take to Chicago. Which is weird because, duh. GPS.
“…You know Randy Lippman?” Roger asks.
“I think I played hockey with his kid,” Tate says. “Why?”
“He wants to get rid of his seventy-three Datsun—”
“No way?”
I glance over at Tate. He looks like he’s about to go into cardiac arrest. Then disappointment is all over him when he asks, “How much?”
It started with snowmobile tweaks and oil changes in the garage, now they’re moving on to full-on fixing up old cars.
Roger shrugs. “Haven’t negotiated yet, but he owes me a favor, so…” He bends over to check something on the tire. “We could work on that one. Together. If you’re up for it?”
Tate stares at Roger for a beat, something more than car-fixing plans passes between them, and he says, “Yeah, I’d like that.”
“Good.” Roger rubs a hand over his bald head, then he nods. “We’ll work it all out when you get back next week.”
After Roger heads inside, I hold the keys out for Tate to take again, but he shakes his head. “You drive first.”
Tate shoves the last box into the car. It’s packed so high I’m not sure if I’ll be able to see out the back.
After Tate runs inside to say a quick good-bye to his family—I already had my very long and tear-filled good-bye with my parents earlier this morning—Tate and I climb into the car and I start the engine.
Once we’re on the road, I decide to bring up the car conversation with Roger. “Sounds like you’ve got a new hobby. Junk car makeovers or whatever.”
Tate lugs his overstuffed school bag from the backseat onto his lap, to avoid eye contact, I think. “It should be fun.”
“Admit it.” I give his shoulder a shove. “You like your new stepdad. You hang out with him all the time.”
It’s true. They’re always ice fishing or going to some junkyard to dig through stuff and coming back smelling like oil and gasoline—scents that have become weirdly attractive to me.
“I never said I didn’t like him,” Tate protests. “He’s cool.”
We’ve had more serious chats over the last six weeks than I’ve had in practically my entire life, so I don’t push him to talk more. It’s spring break. We’re on vacation. Which is why I lift an eyebrow when Tate pulls out his physics book. “You’re studying? On spring break?”
“Why? Do you wanna pull over and make out?”
I laugh and shake my head. “Not yet. Maybe after we get on the interstate.”
“I found a couple more scholarships through Northwestern.” Tate’s flipping through the textbook now, looking for the right page. “But I need a 3.75 GPA, and I’ve got a 3.5 right now, so this semester I need all A’s.”
“It’ll be worth the extra work. I hear the girls are incredibly hot at Northwestern.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him.
He leans over and plants a kiss on the side of my neck, and I’m about ready to pull over right now. And we’ve gone a mile. “Just one hot coed. With a single room.”
“Single room for a week,” I remind him. Keisha is rooming with me again. But she’s gone for spring break. I wouldn’t be headed back to school until next week except that rehearsals start tomorrow.
I got a part in the ensemble for Les Mis. And to my own disbelief, they cast me as understudy for Éponine. Which means I’ll perform that role in two of the afternoon shows.
The shock of actually winning a part took a while to wear off. I really hadn’t given the musical much thought after I left the stage. My parents were so happy they got to watch, we all kind of forgot about the results aspect. I got the call while we were driving home, and Mom immediately went online and purchased tickets for her and Dad to see the musical opening night and the following afternoon when I’ll play one of the lead roles.
Tate catches me biting my nails, and he takes my hand from my face and holds it. “You okay?”
I exhale and focus on today. It’s hard dumping on other people all the jobs I’ve been doing for months. My mom said to just take it one day at a time. They’ll call when they need me to explain something or whatever. But it’s still hard to leave them. Much more difficult than it was the first time I left, and that was no picnic, either.
At least I get to hold my very hot boyfriend captive in my single room for his entire spring break. Tate needs some R&R after having just completed the state tournament and the hockey season.
“Do you think you’ll want to talk to the coach while you’re on campus?” I ask after a little while of my driving and Tate studying.
I’ve recently learned the ins and outs of NCAA recruiting rules, and Tate is free to visit schools on his own dollar, unofficially, and he can talk to the coaches, too. Coach Bakowski of course has his own rules—he wants the guys to wait for senior year and for coaches to go through him first.
He closes the book and looks over at me. “I don’t know. What do you think? Think second place at State will hurt my chances? Maybe it’s too fresh and I should wait a while.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. “First off, second place at State is amazing. And next, that’s the team’s result. It’s only part of the picture.”
And Jesus. Minnesota is probably the most competitive state for high school hockey. And it’s not Tate’s fault they lost. He played amazingly the whole tournament. But unfortunately, he got plowed over by Cole Clooney, who was attempting to help Tate by stealing the puck from the other team, and as a result Tate got knocked out during the game. For the second time this season. Bakowski had no choice but to put in the cold sophomore goalie. And of course, the other team took advantage of our disadvantage. We lost by one.
Tate still looks worried, so I add, “You’ve already had tons of junior team coaches contact you, right?”
Tate reaches in the front of his bag and pulls out what looks like a stack of business cards. He fans them out for me to see. “Eight junior teams. Hammond got fourteen.”
He tucks the cards away and places a hand on my thigh, rubbing it gently. “Part of it is our town. We get more scouts watching us at State. They’ll compare me to every other supposedly good goalie soon enough, and my name will fall off a bunch of lists.”
“Maybe, but maybe you are really good.”
He shrugs. “I want to go to college. The classes sound
cool and so does living in another city, at least for a while.”
I’m excited about the classes I’m taking this quarter, too. I’m excited about being a student again.
“And you never know…if the leading girl for your character breaks a leg and you’re in the show…” Tate flashes me a grin. “And then some Broadway scout sees you and wants to drag you all the way to New York City…”
“You are clearly insane.” I roll my eyes. “And Broadway scout? Is that a thing?”
“What I’m saying is…” Tate continues massaging my leg and I’m now looking for an exit to take soon. “Both of those things are a problem for future us to worry about. Present us is doing exactly what we need to be doing.”
Oh. The right-now thing again.
“No we’re not.” I spot a sign for a rest stop and steer the car in that direction. Tate’s eyebrows shoot up, but he makes no protest when I park the car in the very back behind a tree.
There are still traces of snow on the ground, but March has brought some sunshine and warmth, which means twenty degrees, sometimes thirty. I cut the engine, and Tate is already leaning over in his seat, unbuckling my seat belt and pulling me close.
I sigh against his lips. “Now we’re doing exactly what we’re supposed to be.”
“I like how you think.” Tate slides a warm hand inside my jacket.
“We have to build up a bank of awesome make-out sessions over the next week so I can survive without you.”
“Agreed,” Tate says. “But I love you, so that’s like a bottomless bank.”
Warmth fills my insides. I touch my mouth to his again. “I love you, too.”
“Yeah, I’m still waiting for my picture,” he teases. “If you mean it, put it in writing like I did.”
I use my finger to trace I love you all over his cheek and chest and back. It’s there for good; it’s not going anywhere.
No matter how many miles we have between us.
Acknowledgments
Super special thanks to Roni Loren and Erica Haglund for all your help. I would never have gotten this book to its final state without your help and encouragement. Thanks to my agent, Nicole Resciniti, to whom I dedicated this book mostly because she’s the only person to have all nine or ten versions of the story. I’m sure she is just as shocked as I am to see it finally released. Thanks to Liz Pelletier and the amazing team at Entangled Teen—all of you are constantly surprising me with your fresh ideas, encouragement, and energy. Thanks to the dude who makes those hilarious Hockey Hair videos each year during the Minnesota State high school hockey tournament. You have provided so much inspiration for this series through your YouTube videos. Lastly, thanks to my readers, new and old; I hope you love Claire and Tate’s story and come back for the next Juniper Falls romance.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Julie Cross lives in Central Illinois with her husband and three children. She’s a former gymnast and longtime gymnastics fan, coach, and former gymnastics program director with the YMCA. She’s a lover of books, devouring several novels a week, especially in the young adult and new adult genres. Outside of her reading and writing credentials, Julie is a committed—but not talented—long-distance runner, creator of imaginary beach vacations, Midwest bipolar-weather survivor, and expired CPR certification card holder, as well as a ponytail and gym-shoe addict.
www.juliecrossbooks.com
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