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The St. Anne Lions lost in the playoffs. Semi-finals. In overtime, too.

In the locker room afterwards, everyone is silent, pulling on sweatshirts and looking around at each other. I wipe the sweat from my forehead and pull on my running shoes, my heart still pounding from the game. 

Matthew leans against a shiny blue locker and clears his throat. "We had a great season, boys."

Then all the tension deflates, and everyone starts talking. And shit, I'm sad. And everyone is sad.

"A great season," I agree, and Matthew catches my eye and smiles. 

Coach comes in and gives us the end-of-season pep talk. A lot of players will still be on the team next year. Not me. Not me. Coach gives me a bear hug on the way out.

As Ethan and I are walking through the doors, Matthew runs after me.

"Hey, Beckett," he says, slowing down his walk to match my pace. "I just wanted to say... you were a good co-captain."

He sticks out his hand, and I shake it. "So were you," I say. And I'm not lying.

"NHL. Shit." He shakes his head in disbelief. 

"Yeah."

"I'm glad we played together." 

"Yeah, we were a good team."

"When we wanted to be."

"Yeah, when we wanted to be." I smile, and then Matthew walks away, his hockey bag slung over his shoulder. 

In the car, Ethan doesn't put on the 80s station, and instead to some weird station that's playing slow, sad songs.

"God, Ethan, turn that shit off."

He leans his head against the window and sighs dramatically. "We coulda had it all."

"Yeah." In overtime, too. Shit. We coulda had it.

"I'm never gonna play hockey on the same team with you again."

I shake my head and bite my lip. "Ethan, shut up."

"Dude. Are you gonna cry? Cause I'm gonna cry."

"Dude. We still have the rest of high school together."

He sighs again. "I know."

But I know, too. My career in the CHL is over. Officially. Things are happening, now. Really fast. And I'm never going to play hockey with Ethan again. 

~

At home, Mom just kisses my cheek and leaves me alone for the rest of the night. I stay in my room, flipping through old comic books and tossing my baseball up in the air. 

I glance at the hockey trophies and medals lined up on my shelf, and stand up suddenly to look at them. I haven't thought about these in ages. I run my hand over the cold textures, the statue of a stick or a hockey player.

There's a shoebox hidden behind larger trophies that I pull out, that's crammed haphazardly with cheap, little kid medals. I sit on my bed, the springs squeaking under the quilt, and pull them out one by one.

A few memories come flooding back. My first pair of skates. My first jersey, an emerald green color. Certain rinks around St. Anne where I remember small details, like the smell of the lobby or the broken sink in the bathroom. 

At the bottom of the shoebox, there's a thin stack of photographs that I pull out. I'm eight years old and shooting a puck. I'm six and smiling toothlessly with a stick in hand. I'm five, playing ball hockey in the driveway with Veronica and my father. All of the pictures are grainy and blurry, time stamped in the corner with the date.

There's one photo of just my mother and father, back when they were in high school. I've never seen it before. My mother is young, her blonde hair long and curly, her smile wide and genuine, and she's leaning against my father. My father is laughing at the camera, his arm around my mother, and he's wearing a jersey with the number 21. 

I put the photos back and the medals back and the shoebox back and stick it back on my shelf. I lie down on my bed and stare at the Maple Leafs poster on my ceiling. Shit. 

~

The next day, Mom sends me out to pick up groceries. When I get back, Sam is sitting at the kitchen table with her. 

"Hey," I say slowly, setting the plastic grocery bags down on the counter. They're damp from the faint drizzle spitting down from the sky. 

Mom looks up at me, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Hey, honey."

Sam smiles weakly at me. He's wearing a pale blue sweatshirt.

I toss the car keys on the table. "What's going on?"

"We're just talking," says Mom, and I frown. On the table, there are papers and envelopes fanned out.

"Alright," I say. 

"We just finished up, though," says Mom, and she nods at Sam. 

What the fuck?

We go to my bedroom and I shut the door. "What was that?" I ask.

Sam sits on the ground against my bed and shuts his eyes. His eyelashes are so long. Have I said that before? "University," he says tiredly.

"What about it?"

"Your mom just wanted to talk to me about it."

I sit beside him. "Oh," I say quietly.

He opens his eyes and his gaze meets mine. His eyes are so blue and bright and deep that I almost want to look away, but I don't. 

"Hey, Cameron?" he whispers.

We're so close that I can count every faint freckle on his face. "Yeah?"

"Do you think I'm a bad person if I go to university?"

"No, Sam. You're definitely not a bad person."

He glances away. "I don't know."

"You're not."

"I should be here for my uncle."

"This is your future."

"I know. But I feel horrible. I don't know what to do." He half-smiles. "Trina texted me the other day. Said that if I don't go to university, she's going to kill me."

"Yeah, sounds like her."

"Yeah."

"And, you know, my mom will be here. And Hailey, and Veronica. They'll take care of your uncle. He'll be okay."

Sam rests his head on my shoulder, and I breathe in his hair. "Maybe," he whispers. 

"You're a really good person."

The best. He looks up and kisses me, and he tastes like the stars.

~

Mom gets a cold and doesn't feel like cooking, so I take Hailey with me to AJ's to pick up take-out for the family. She holds my hand on the way there, swinging her ladybug-patterend umbrella with the other hand. It's not raining out, but she insists on taking it anyway.

"Guess what I'm going to get, Cameron?" she says as we walk through the front door. It's busier inside than it normally is, the chatter and laughter loud, and a song plays in the background.

"What?"

"French fries."

I smile and stand in line for the register. "That sounds really good, Hailey."

A voice behind me says, "Hey, Cameron?"

I glance over my shoulder. "Hey - Henry!"

It's Henry. The scrawny freshman. God, that was a long time ago. He's wearing a red sweater and nerdy glasses, and he's smiling sheepishly. 

"How are you?" I ask.

"I'm doing good!" says Henry. "I'm here with my, uh... boyfriend." He blushes. Like someone else I know.

"Hello," says Hailey loudly.

I pull Hailey's hand. "That's great," I say.

"Yeah." Henry smiles. "Anyway, just thought I'd say hi. And congrats on the hockey season, I watched the last game the other day. You're graduating soon, right?"

"You bet."

"Then the NHL." He shakes his head. "Crazy. Well, everyone's rooting for you."

"Thanks, Henry."

"Have you been honestly doing okay? With the whole situation?"

I glance down at Hailey, who's tugging at my hand, bored, then back at Henry. "It's been okay," I say. "A lot of pressure. But..."

"Yeah, I understand," says Henry, nodding. "Anyway, I should go. I'll see you around."

"Bye, Henry."

"And Cameron - thanks, seriously." And then he walks towards the booths along the back wall, disappearing behind customers and waiters.

"Who was that?" asks Hailey.

I pull my view away from him. "A friend, I guess."

"Are you gonna get French fries, Cameron?"

"Um, yeah."

Hailey blinks up at me. "Are you okay, Cameron?"

"Yeah, I'm okay." I squeeze her hand and we step up to order. 

Yeah, I'm okay.


A/N oh my god... do we only have one chapter left? GUYS omg!! maybe 2 more? maybe 1 more though? ohh my god... I'll post on my message board when I'm 100% certain how many chapters there are left and when I'll post them so be on the lookout. GUYS! omg

(edit) it's official, the last chapter will be posted July 31 (today) at 9 pm EST

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