My Hockey Crush Used Me for Stress Relief, He Hasn't Scored Since I Left

The night before Cole's championship game, he showed up at my door and knocked three times. Our signal for the last eight years. The first time he did it, he was fourteen and too wired to sleep before his first state tournament. He showed up on my porch with a bag of chips and asked me to run drills with him one more time. After that, before every game, big or small, it was always three knocks. Usually, when I opened the door, he had something in his hand. His favorite snacks, game video, or his laptop. Tonight, he's empty-handed. "No video tonight?" "Can't focus." Cole steps inside and shuts the door behind him. "Stay with me tonight, okay?" Tomorrow he's facing Jonas Krieger, Boston College's monster center, the guy every scout has been salivating over for two years. For the past month, I've broken down twelve hundred of Krieger's shifts and walked Cole through every possible third-period scenario. I thought tonight would be like every other night. Until Cole leans down and kisses me. I've been in love with Cole Ashford since the summer I was sixteen. That year, Cole made the U18 national team and kissed me on the cheek. The next morning, he acted like it had never happened. But I held on to that kiss for six years. Tonight, Cole doesn't just kiss my cheek. He kisses me on the lips, and after that, everything unfolds naturally. It's my first time, and even though it hurts so much my hands shake, I don't push him away. When it's over, Cole pulls the blanket up over me and kisses my forehead. "Don't forget to take the pill in the morning." His hand is already reaching for his phone. "I'm not trying to be a dad yet." I clutch the sheet and force the words out anyway. "Cole. What are we?" He looks down at me. His brow tightens. "Championship game tomorrow, Nina. Don't hit me with that right now." --- The next day, Cole scores a hat trick. Third national title of his college career. Frozen Four MVP. Every scout in the building has their phone out. I carry my binder of scouting notes down to the locker room. Before I push the door open, I hear someone laughing. "Yo, Ash. What'd you do last night, man? You were an animal out there." Cole's voice, easy and lazy. "Nothing. Just found someone to help me unwind." "Nina?" "Who else." Cole chuckles, "I mean, no offense, but she's been around me forever." "She knows the drill. Doesn't cling. Convenient, you know? Low maintenance." Laughter. That gross kind of laughter. "So, round two tonight?" "Nah. Not tonight." A pause. "Anna's got a whole thing planned." I stand outside that door, and my fingers go cold one knuckle at a time. My phone buzzes a second later. [Ms. Reyes: Your MIT x University of Toronto Sports Analytics Fellowship confirmation window closes at midnight tonight.] I've been sitting on that offer for a month. Because Cole said he couldn't do the next stretch of the season without me. I look down at my screen. For the first time in my life, I don't think about what Cole needs. I type my name into the confirmation field. Hit send.

The locker room door swings open. I don't get out of the hallway fast enough. Anna Vaughn is already clicking down the corridor in her heels. Anna is a senior at BU, Comm major, campus It Girl. Two million followers on Instagram. Lifestyle content, brand deals, the whole machine. More importantly, her father owns the Vaughn Group, the athletic apparel company sponsoring the entire Hockey East championship run. For the last two months, she's been shooting a docu-series called "A Day With the Future First-Rounder". Coffee runs. Rink visits. "Candid" photo shoots. Every glance between Cole and Anna gets edited into a slow-motion clip. Fans built an entire TikTok hashtag: #ColeAndAnna. Two nights ago, she posted a video. Her, holding a coffee up to Cole's mouth. "Someone says he's not nervous but on his third espresso, though." The comments were unhinged. "Couple energy for sure!" "Win it for her, baby Cole!!" "Our Monster only softens for Anna, that's the LORE!" I showed Cole that video once. He glanced at it and pushed my phone back at me. "Sponsor content. You actually buy that?" Then he handed me the coffee he had already taken a sip from. "Too sweet. Finish it for me." Anna had bought that coffee for Cole, but he handed it to me instead. That tiny little detail kept me secretly happy all day. Now, Anna walks right past me and throws herself into Cole's arms. "Congrats, Champ." She stretches up on her toes to fix his tie, the one that went crooked during the trophy lift. The team photographer's shutter is already going. Cole doesn't move away. --- Onstage at the press conference, Cole and Anna sit shoulder to shoulder. The moderator grins at Anna. "So, is winning even better than winning yourself?" "Obviously." Anna beams at Cole. "I promised him a private celebration tonight." The whole room loses it. Cole doesn't confirm or deny. He just smiles. Then his gaze drifts over the crowd and lands on me. He gives the smallest nod toward my binder. Meaning: keep the scouting notes for him.

The team party is on the top floor of the hotel. I don't want to go. But Maddie won't let me bail. "Nina. Half that trophy is yours." "You found the gap in Krieger's coverage. You called that switch on the power play. You built the whole damn model." "They didn't put you on the podium. Are you seriously going to hide tonight, too?" So in the end, I go. --- Cole is in the center of the room when we arrive, surrounded by his teammates. Anna stands beside him in a red dress, livestreaming to her followers. She's even managed to get her feed projected onto the giant LED screen in the middle of the room. "Okay, guys, I'm lending Cole to you for ten whole minutes tonight..." Comments race up the screen. "Power couple ALERT" "KISS! KISS! KISS!" Anna turns to him with a laugh. "Fans say a champion needs a reward." She loops her arm around Cole's neck and kisses him. The room explodes. Instead of pulling away, Cole keeps his hand planted on Anna's waist. I look down at my drink, pretending I'm not blinking back the sting in my eyes. When I look up again, they're still kissing. But Cole's eyes are on me. He's looking at me like he's waiting for me to get mad, to shut down and walk out the way I always do, so he can come find me later and smooth it over with a joke. I raise my glass at him. "Congrats." Like I'm toasting a stranger. His eyes go cold. I turn and walk out onto the terrace. --- I've just opened the Toronto fellowship email when hands slide around my waist from behind. "Why're you hiding out here?" Cole's chin drops onto my shoulder. He smells like champagne. I pry his arms off me. "Get off." He laughs, low. "You weren't this shy last night." I shove him back, hard. "Cole. I told you to keep your distance." His face finally goes cold. "Because of Anna? Just one kiss?" "Half the team was chanting." "If I ducked her in front of everybody, you know how humiliating that would've been for her?" I open my mouth to answer. But the terrace door slides open. "Cole?" Anna. Silhouette in the doorway. "There you are. I've been looking everywhere." Cole moves fast. He grabs the heavy curtain and pulls it shut, tucking me completely behind it. Like he's hiding something he can't afford to be seen with. "Somebody out here with you?" Anna asks. "Nope." No hesitation. "Just me." They leave together. I stay there in the dark, staring down at my phone. [Confirmation is final. No withdrawals without cause.] I press send.

I pack all night. First, the suitcases for Toronto. Then, everything Cole ever left at my place. The photo from our first state tournament when we were twelve. The puck he signed after making the U18 team. And, tucked under the lining of an old shoebox, a faded cherry Tootsie Pop wrapper. When I was seven, Grandpa opened a small ice rink outside Portland, Maine. I grew up on that ice. Grandpa used to say, win a scrimmage, get a Popsicle from the vending machine. Cole was dropped off there one summer. His parents were splitting up. Nobody wanted to deal with him. He didn't talk. Three days in, he'd already thrown his stick across the rink twice. Every other kid steered clear. I left a cherry Tootsie Pop on the boards. "Beat me in a race, it's yours." He glared. "And if I lose?" "Then you come back tomorrow." Day one, he wiped out thirteen times. Day two, he was standing at the rink door before Grandpa unlocked it. Cole didn't start skating because he loved it. He started because he wanted to beat me. Later, the talent showed up. Coaches circled him. Scouts followed. I was the only one who still smacked the back of his helmet when he took a stupid shift. At eleven, he won the Peewee State Championship. He ducked past every reporter and shoved a Tootsie Pop into my hand. "Nina. Every trophy I ever win, half of it is yours." After that, the wrappers started piling up. Over the last two years, Cole stopped remembering. But I never did. I never threw away a single one of Cole's Tootsie Pop wrappers. I pack them all into a box. To me, they're the half of every medal Cole once said belonged to me. --- Six AM, the doorbell rings. Cole is standing there with a paper bag. "Peace offering." He holds it out. "Cinnamon roll, hot latte. Your favorites, right?" He leans down to kiss my forehead, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. I step back. His mouth lands on air. At that exact second, Anna posts a story. "Mentioned I was craving chestnut cheesecake, and someone drove across the city at 4 AM." Photo: the chestnut cheesecake from that hole-in-the-wall bakery in Cambridge. Limited, twenty a day. Someone in the comments: "Isn't that the place that throws in a free cinnamon roll if you spend over fifty bucks?" Anna: "Yeah lol, but I don't like cinnamon. Told him to toss it." I look at the paper bag in Cole's hand. Turns out even his apology is someone else's freebie.