After that disaster of a game in Vegas, the team rallied and I started to get my mojo back. The games weren’t easy victories as they had been toward the beginning of the season, but they were victories nonetheless and by the time the holidays came around, the Vipers were at a record high in the standings and our opposing teams were learning better than to take us lightly.

Amid this upswing I ended up going home briefly for Thanksgiving, but only because I had promised my mom. I pretty much spent the whole weekend traveling to and from Coronado, navigating my way through uncomfortable conversation topics with relatives, and desperately missing the ice. I knew there was absolutely no way I was doing this again for Christmas.

I ended up lying and saying that I was spending it with my dad’s side of the family. It was the only decision I knew she’d respect and not try and talk me out of. My parents had hardly spoken since their messy divorce, and even though I’d clearly sided with my mom, I did my best not to blame my dad for leaving. He wasn’t a bad person, just a bad husband/father. That wasn’t any problem of mine. Did I feel a little bit terrible for lying to them both? Yes. But I’d feel even more terrible if they thought I was prioritizing hockey over family time, even though I totally was.

I finished all of my midterms early in the third week of October, none of which were particularly difficult, and then I got to sit back and watch as the campus slowly emptied out. In a matter of days, the atmosphere of the place shifted from the literal embodiment of chaos and stress to a calm and tranquil environment that you could stroll through at your leisure.

All of the shops and restaurants on campus were dark and closed down. The window to the coffee shop outside of the library was boarded up and the only real place left to get food was the buffet in the athletic dining hall. I assumed this was because the only students who were allowed to stay on campus during the break without paying a fee were the in-season athletes, which I technically was even though we didn’t have any games scheduled until late into the two-week break. Said game was well after Christmas and everyone else on the team had gone home, but I had no problem taking advantage of the loophole.

I was also pretty sure that I was the only person left in my entire residence hall. I never saw anyone in the lobby coming or going and I never heard the rickety elevator or the sounds of water running in the bathroom right across the hall. I did occasionally hear footsteps on the stairs or out in the hallway in front of my room, but I was more than happy to chock that activity up to ghosts or the maintenance staff. Even though I’d gone through all the proper channels and turned in the paperwork that said I’d be staying in my dorm over the break, part of me was still half terrified that I’d end up getting locked out.

Although Steve and I had worked up a truce and had gotten really good at not driving each other up the wall in these last couple of months, it was good to have a room to myself again. Not that I was planning on doing much of anything that I couldn’t do in his presence. It was just comforting to know that I could if I wanted to.

Also, the temperature outside finally felt like winter, or at least some approximation of the sort. It was usually mid-thirties or forties in the morning when I got up to go to the gym and a nice cool fifty-five by the late afternoon, only dipping into truly cold weather late at night while I was snuggled under the covers. This was by far the best time of the year to live in Arizona. Every time I stepped outside it almost felt like stepping onto the ice, only the cold was everywhere and not just concentrated at my feet. Also, it was cold enough to enjoy, but never cold enough where I had to shovel snow. Some people had gone to the effort of draping their old spiny cacti with Christmas lights, which was something I’d always enjoyed about my home state. Festive decorations over personal safety every time.

That was pretty much where I was at. I was staring at two perfectly serene weeks ahead of me where the only things I had to worry about were hockey and feeding myself. I was out here living my best life… so naturally it didn’t take very long for it all to come crumbling to the ground.

On the third day of my vacation, I spent pretty much the entire day in the rink by myself; McAvoy had handed over his spare set of keys without question when I told him I was going to be staying on during break.

“Clean up after yourself,” was all that he’d said. He and Coach Hawthorne were going to be busy taking full advantage of their much-deserved vacation and I had the entire perfectly maintained arena all to myself.

After I’d gotten my fill of shooting on a net-less goalpost I started laying out rows of pucks across the ice in a makeshift obstacle course. I zigzagged my way through them pushing myself to go faster each time, pretending like I was taking part in the MLH skills competition and that all of the cameras and the best players in the world had their eyes focused entirely on me. I didn’t stop until my thighs were aching dully and I was completely out of breath. I skated over to one of the benches and hopped up on top of it, sitting there on the ledge while I caught my breath. I gazed out at the open ice.

It really was remarkable how comfortable I had gotten here in just over three months. Sure, there had been missteps, and plenty of obstacles to overcome, but I had a feeling that I might actually really miss playing here once I got drafted. I would definitely miss Sal, and the huge rink, and maybe even a couple of the other guys too.

Even more surprising was the fact that I was actually enjoying all of my classes on top of the hockey. Especially statistics. I thought that maybe if I did end up declaring a major here, it would probably have something to do with math. In high school that was always my weakest subject, but here that’s what made it fun to learn. I looked forward to the challenge. Plus, any kind of numbers business had a great sports analogy built within if you were willing to look for it.

It was weird to think about having a future here. A future that was drastically different than the future I’d always been so focused on, but not in a bad way. As long as I got to continue playing hockey, I think I could’ve learned to be happy with it. Eventually. College graduate and Division 1 hockey champion didn’t sound too bad, even if they were the only titles I ever got to have.

Doing my best to shake off the existential thoughts, I hopped down off of the bench and retreated to the equipment room where I found a giant burlap sack. I went back out onto the ice with it slung over my shoulder and promptly made a game out of cleaning up my pucks by lifting them onto the blade of my stick and then shucking them up into the open sack. It only worked about sixty percent of the time, but it was much more fun than trying to clean them up the regular way.

Once they were all accounted for, I took the pucks into the changing room and placed them all back into the freezer where I’d found them. I changed back into my street clothes and deposited my stick on its proper rack before heading to the equipment room and spending a nice long time sharpening my skates. This was a delicate process and the boys often made fun of me for hogging the grinding wheel, but I didn’t like to be rushed. Besides, most of them didn’t even know how to sharpen their own skates, so I didn’t think they had any place to talk.

By the time I was finished checking everything and locking the stadium back up, the sun was starting to dip low in the sky and I was starving. I scarfed down three whole protein bars just while I was waiting for the bus alone.

Back at campus, I made a direct beeline for the dining hall. There hadn’t been much variety these last few days due to the significant decrease in student population, but I didn’t care. Right then, any food would have been delicious. I would have even entertained the notion of a fatty burger and some french fries.

When I got there, there were three other dudes sitting at their own separate tables with their backs facing the door. Two of them were wearing shorts and open-toed shoes, leading me to believe that they had originated from other much colder places in the world that they didn’t have the luxury of visiting right now. I didn’t linger on them for very long as the smell of food was making my stomach squeeze uncomfortably. Tomorrow I’d have to make sure I didn’t overdo it and completely sap myself of all of my strength and energy; as I think we’ve already established by this point, I have issues with knowing my limits sometimes.

I grabbed myself a plate and fork from the bin next to the nearly empty buffet and checked out what was on the menu for today. From the looks of it, just some limp asparagus and a mystery casserole, with pre-packaged fruit cups for dessert. I piled my plate high with copious amounts of each and then went to the other end of the room to sit; I thought I’d be rebellious and face the door since everyone else in the room seemed weirdly opposed to the idea.

I tore into one of the fruit cups first, then the asparagus, saving the casserole for last. It was a generic tuna noodle, and it actually wasn’t half bad. As I was bending down to retrieve my water bottle from the side pocket of my gym bag, the door creaked open. I didn’t think much of it at first, and quickly went back to eating, but then the newcomer turned around with his plate in hand and I got a good look at his face. Mark Olsen, here in the flesh.

Out of all of the students that could have possibly stayed on campus for the holiday break...It was almost as if he were the creepy stalker out of the two of us.

I caught the exact moment that he noticed me, eyes lighting up with recognition as he briskly made his way over. I wanted to sink down into my chair and hide under the table.

“Hey,” he said, setting his plate down across from me. “Is this seat taken?”

I wanted desperately to shout, Yes, pretty man, it is. Please go away! But that was ridiculous and he was already sitting down anyway.

I took a huge bite of asparagus so that I wouldn’t have to speak for a while and then nodded my acknowledgement of his presence.

“Hi…” I said finally. I didn’t really know what else to say. Thanks for taking care of me when I was a drunk, sloppy mess? Or maybe thanks for keeping my most closely guarded secret? Or thanks for just being a really great human in general. That’s probably what I should have said.

Alas, “What are you doing here?” came out instead.

Mark shrugged.

“Eating dinner, same as you.”

I could tell he was avoiding answering the real question and I wasn’t going to pry, even though I was insanely curious.

I nodded and looked down at my food once more. It was much easier to look at than Mark’s face.

“So how have you been?” Mark asked. He took a bite of the casserole and made a face. “God, this is terrible.”

“It’s not so bad,” I said automatically, and then immediately regretted it. If awkwardness was a sport, I’d have me an Olympic gold medal by now. “And I’m fine, thanks.”

Mark swallowed his food and put down his fork. He waited in silence for me to look up and meet his eyes. He was smiling sympathetically, almost as if he could see right into my soul.

“How much do you remember of the last time we saw each other?” he asked.

“More than I’d like to,” I admitted.

Mark laughed and then his face grew serious. He looked around the room and lowered his voice.

“I meant what I said,” he began. “I haven’t told anyone about it. I’m not going to.”

The ever-present knot that had been lodged in my stomach over the last month finally dissipated enough for me to take a worry-free breath. I don’t know why, but for some reason I believed that Mark meant what he said. My secret, and my career, were still safe.

“Thank you,” I said. The desperately earnest quality to my voice surprised even me.

Mark smiled fondly at me and it was like my heart was doing somersaults under my skin.

“No problem,” he said. Then he leaned across the table so that our foreheads were practically touching and asked, “So, do you still think I’m cute?”

My face went hot and I almost choked on my food.

“Um, I... uh, I don’t think...I mean, yeah...maybe a little bit.”

I shrugged helplessly.

Mark sat back and laughed.

“Glad to hear it.”

I glanced around the room nervously, but nobody was paying us any mind. Lesson number 533 of things I’d learned from college: Not nearly as many people were looking at you at any given time as you might think.

My heart hammered wildly in my chest.

“Are you…” I asked, not able to bring myself to use the G word in public.

Mark tilted his head to the side and the corners of his mouth twisted up into a smug smile. He nodded.

“I am. How kind of you to notice.”

My stomach knot made a sudden reappearance, this time for different reasons. I wanted to take in his words and twist them around into something flirty and clever like he always seemed able to do, but all that fell out of my open mouth was one dumbstruck syllable.

“Oh.”

After that, Mark was kind enough to change the subject.

“Man, this cafeteria is so much darker than the other one. Do you think it’s always like this? You’d think all the straining to see would be bad for hand-eye coordination.”

I had only ever seen the regular dining hall on my campus tours prior to enrollment, but I hadn’t really noticed much of a difference other than the abhorrently unhealthy food.

“Well, hand-eye coordination isn’t everything,” I said.

Mark laughed even though it wasn’t that funny. The laugh he used around me seemed to be slightly different from the one he used around everyone else. It was breathier somehow and a little bit too loud. I wasn’t sure what it meant, but I hoped that it was a good thing. I had the overwhelming urge to dig my thumb into his cheek dimple.

“Do you want my last fruit cup?” I asked, feeling brave.

“Sure,” Mark said. “Anything’s gotta be better than this monstrosity.” He gestured down at the uneaten food on his plate.

I handed it over and watched his hands as he peeled back the plastic film over the top. He had nice hands. On the smaller side, but with overly large boyish knuckles. There were calluses at the tips, particularly on the middle and index finger. They were the kind of hands you didn’t really notice until they were wrapped around your throat...or other parts of your body maybe. Sleeper hands. That’s what Mark had. It’s probably what his nickname would be if he played hockey.

“What?” Mark asked, catching onto my sudden amusement.

I shook my head. “It’s nothing.”

Mark let it go and we both ate in silence for a bit. We were now the only two people left in the building. Our compatriots in isolation had finished their meals and retreated back from whence they came.

“So, what are you majoring in?” Mark asked once the quiet became overbearing.

“I haven’t decided yet. What about you?”

“Drug counseling,” he said with no hesitation.

My eyes widened. It made sense with his nurturing personality, but I wouldn’t have guessed it at all. It seemed that Mark wasn’t actually bad boy at all. He was a bad boy wrangler, in training. This boy was so full of surprises and contradictions. I wanted to learn them all.

“That’s so cool,” I said. “I know about a dozen psych majors, but nobody into something as specific as drug counseling.

Mark nodded. “Yeah. It’s a bit niche. This school only started offering it as its own program less than a decade ago.”

The way he talked about it made me think there was a story there. There was pride, but also a practiced amount of distance in his eyes that totally gave him away. You know one of my secrets, Mark Olsen, but what about one of yours? I was afraid to ruin the newfound flow of our conversation by asking though.

Finally, a maintenance worker came in to clean out the remaining food and empty the garbage bins for the night. She stopped a few feet from the entrance and glared at us both, hands on her hips.

“Kitchen is closed,” she said in her thickly accented English. “Please get out.”

We gathered up our things and did as she asked, neatly depositing our dishes in their proper receptacles.

Outside, under the dark cloudless sky, Mark naturally fell into step right beside me. I was just walking blindly with no destination in mind, content to follow Mark right off the edge of the Earth but after a moment it was obvious that we were heading in the direction of my residence hall. Mark had taken it upon himself to walk me home; the chivalrous bastard. That knowledge coupled with the cold air against my head and the back of my neck made me shiver. I hadn’t planned on staying out this late or else I would’ve thought to bring a hoodie.

Mark shrugged out of his signature leather jacket and draped it over my shoulder. I dipped my head low and stared down at the loose sleeves dangling by my sides. My dark skin might not have shown any obvious signs of embarrassment, but I made up for that by being a complete and utter spaz.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

Mark brushed his hand against the small of my back for barely a second and then pulled away. I could feel the ghost of his fingertips long after they were gone.

“Don’t mention it.”

Before I knew it, we were standing outside of my residence hall, every window completely dark as far up as the eye could see. We stood facing each other in front of the lobby.

“Thanks again,” I reiterated, “for...everything.”

Mark was looking at me like a riddle he hadn’t quite figured out yet. His light eyes were practically glowing in the pale moonlight.

“Did you want to leave campus with me tomorrow morning and actually get some real food?” he asked. “I know this coffee place that makes really good croissants.”

I didn’t usually consume either of those two things, but there was no way in hell I was saying no to an offer like that.

“That sounds nice,” I said, heart reverberating through my skull. “Let me just get your number…”

Mark reached out a hand and grabbed my wrist before I could dig into my back pocket for my phone.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I know where you live.”

I swallowed hard, eyes never leaving his. With anyone else those words would have been concerning, but with Mark, they sent a wave of heat rushing down my spine. I wanted him to know where I lived. I wanted him to crawl inside my skin and live there forever. I wanted him to show me how to be brave like him and calm my anxious thoughts. I wanted him. I wanted this, whatever it was brewing between us. The intensity of the realization was almost too much to bear.

“Right,” I said.

Mark smiled brilliantly. “Sounds like a date then. I’ll swing by around eight. You cool with that? We can do it later if you want to.”

I nodded dumbly, not bothering to tell him that for me eight a.m. was practically brunch. “Eight is good.”

“Awesome,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

He took a step back and I called out to stop him. He looked up at me in confusion.

“Your jacket,” I explained.

His expression softened and his eyes filled with amusement.

“Give it to me tomorrow,” he said in a subtly teasing tone that begged to be argued with. I refused to rise to the bait.

“Okay,” I said, pulling the jacket tighter around my large shoulders.

Mark shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet and gave the surrounding area a cursory glance before taking my hand in his and slowly bringing it to his lips. He brushed them against my knuckles. They were warm and pillow soft. They made a tiny smacking noise as he pulled away.

Whatever emotion he saw written across my face must’ve pleased him because he gave another one of his heart-stopping grins and paused to run his fingers through his thick mane of hair.

“Goodnight, Carter,” he said, voice low and husky. I decided then that I loved the sound of my name on his lips. I wanted to hear him say it again and again and again.

At that, he turned around with his hands in his pockets and started walking away. I watched his retreating form disappear behind a building and then stayed there collecting myself until the cold air finally crept up under Mark’s jacket, forcing me to go inside.

I felt my way around the darkened lobby and used my phone’s flashlight app to help me get up the stairs without tripping. Once I was safe in my room back on floor five, I dropped my gym bag on the floor with a heavy thump. I could hear the newly sharpened blades of my skates clanking together, but I didn’t have it in me to care.

Almost as if in a trance, I sat down on the edge of my bed and pulled Mark’s jacket off of my shoulders and bunched it up under my nose. I gave it a good whiff. It smelled just like the herbal and vaguely sweet smell I always associated with him.

Still pressing the jacket to my face with one hand, I reached down and began to relieve the mounting pressure in my pants with the other. I took my time with it and worked myself slowly, crying out loudly when I was done.

This, this was a prime example of the kind of thing I could only do when Steve wasn’t around.

I fell asleep with the jacket tucked under my pillow and Mark in my thoughts.