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The airport is packed with holiday travelers when I drop Mabel off. She insists on just dropping her at the door, but I still help her get her luggage out from the back of the truck.

"I'll be back a week before school starts up again," she says, leaning back on her heels. "You're not flying out until Tuesday, right?"

I nod. "Coach wants to get in another practice, and by that he probably means lecture."

"Well good luck, and travel safe." She stretches up on her toes to brush her lips against my cheek, but I'm not letting her get away that easily.

I slip a hand under the back of her coat, laying my palm flat against her warm skin, and tug her closer so our chests touch.

"Be safe." I kiss her cheek, repeating what she had done to me. "Let me know when you land."

Mabel sighs contentedly and I move my lips so they hover over hers.

"I'll talk to you as much as I can."

"Same," she whispers back.

Her eyes begin to water, and because I can't stand to see her cry, I close my eyes and finally press my mouth to hers. Mabel's carry-on drops from her shoulder, landing on the ground with a soft thud.
The urge to say those three little words rises within me, squeezing my chest, but I can't. Not yet. So instead, I pour every ounce of feeling into our kiss.
I thread my fingers in her hair and gently nibble on her lower lip. We only break apart when someone whistles in our direction.

Mabel steps back, her cheeks flushed as she reaches down for her backpack. "I'll see you later," she mumbles, fiddling with the straps of her bag.

I press my lips to her forehead gently. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too," she murmurs back.

I stay by the truck, leaning against the front bumper, until I can no longer see her through the glass doors.

✖️✖️✖️

As expected, the next day Coach has us running our asses off. Or rather skating our asses off. He yells at us until he's close to being blue in the face, but for once I don't mind. I take the criticism in stride, using it to fuel my aggression as I chase after the puck in our scrimmage.

When practice is finally over I'm a sweaty mess and my legs feel like noodles. I want to drink about a gallon of water, shower, and head home, but I know that I should probably stay late and update Coach about the ultimatum my advisor gave me. He needs to know that there might not be a next season for me. That he might have to start looking for my replacement.

"Hey, thanks for editing that paper for me," Lucas says, clapping me on the back as he passes by.

"No problem." I pull off my gear and hang it in my cubby. "How did you do on it?"

Luke plops down beside me on the bench, pulling off his helmet. "Dunno yet, which is really grinding my gears. I need at least a C on that paper in order to pass the class, and if I don't, hockey is pretty much out of the question. My GPA will be too low and I'll be benched. Un-fucking-believable, right?"

Luke is one of those guys riding on the hopes of being drafted, but we're Juniors already. There's not much time left, which means if we don't make it to the Frozen Four this year, he can pretty much kiss that dream goodbye.

"I'm sure you did fine," I tell him. "You've really improved your spelling and grammar from what I've seen. That paper is at least worth a B minus."

"Aw, thanks Mr. Woods," he teases, jabbing me in the shoulder. "But for real? You think it was that good?"

"Absolutely."

"Alright listen up," Coach calls out, standing with his arms crossed tightly over his burly chest.

The room falls silent, all jokes and chatter stopping immediately at the sound of his voice.

"Just because it's the start of break this week, and we don't have games scheduled until after the new year, doesn't mean I need you ladies going soft on me." His eyes narrow in our direction. "If you're flying home and your town has a rink, get your asses out there. Hit the gym, run, bike, do something to keep your lazy asses moving. If I catch any one of you coming back here in two weeks playing less than what you gave me today at practice, you'll be benched. Understand?"

We all nod, while some of my teammates voice their affirmations.

Coach seems pleased by the looks of terror he's instilled, especially with the underclassmen. "Good, now hit the showers. Oh, and happy holidays."

After my shower I reluctantly head for Coach's office. I pace in front for a while, debating whether or not I should actually go in, but then the blinds lift and he motions me inside.

"Take a seat Woods, I'm glad you're here."

Slowly, I lower myself into a chair in front of his desk.

He leans his backside into the metal frame. "You're looking good out there lately, kid." He runs a hand over his goatee, smoothing down any stray hairs. "Some scouts will be at our next game, and if you want I can put your name down for them. You could be with the big dogs same time next year if you play your cards right. You're one of the best forwards we've had at DU in years."

Of course now is the time he chooses to compliment me.

"A lot of raw talent," he continues. "It'd be a shame to let you go if that's what you decide, but—"

"I'm not going pro, Coach," I cut him off, hanging my head. "I don't want you wasting your resources on me."

"Wasting my resources?" he echoes. "What the hell are you talking about, kid? Did your head get smashed against the boards too many times?"

"No, of course not," I grumble, "but this might be my last season."

He softens for an instant, his gaze becoming sympathetic, but then it disappears so quickly I almost second-guess that it was there in the first place.

"Is this about that girl you're seeing? She doesn't want you to leave?"

My jaw nearly hits the floor. "What? No, it's not about a girl."

"Oh, don't give me that look, Woods. I might be old but I was in your shoes once, and I hear the gossip. Christ, this team is practically a brood of hens out there with the way you all gossip. I'm glad to hear it's not about a woman though because you should never let someone get in the way of your future." He pauses, pondering something. "Why don't you think you'll be playing next season?"

"My class schedule," I answer lamely. To him, or anyone else so enthralled by hockey, it seems like such a lame excuse. "My advisor mentioned that I probably won't have time to play if I plan on completing my major. I won't be able to make it to all of the practices, and that'll completely shit on my ability as a player."

He sighs, scratching his jawline. "You're going for an education degree, right? You wanna be a teacher?"

I nod, honestly a bit surprised that he remembers.

"We can work it out, Woods. I'd hate to see you have to choose between two of your passions. Nobody should be forced into doing that."

My eyebrows shoot towards the ceiling. "Seriously? You'd work with me on it?"

He rolls his eyes and waves me off, putting up a pretense of nonchalance. "Yeah, yeah. You're a good kid, I'm sure we could work out something. You might not be able to play in as many games, but you should still be in the running for captain next year."

The air leaves my lungs and I have to struggle to fill them back up. Is he being serious? This is almost too good to be true.

Coach senses my excitement, and a warm smile forces its way through his usual scowl. He reaches over and gives my shoulder a rough squeeze. "We'll figure it out, Woods. Just keep me updated, alright?"

I nod enthusiastically and get to my feet. It's like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders, and as I leave his office, it finally feels as though the pieces of my life are falling into place. I've got a beautiful, compassionate woman on my arm, a career to look forward to, and the very real possibility of making captain for the team that I love. For the first time in a while, a tiny flicker of hope swells within me.

I might be able to make this all work.

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Don't get too comfortable now, there's plenty of drama on the way...

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