Getting Lucky Number Seven (20 page)

Chapter Thirty

Beck

The bang of the door slamming behind her echoed through my body. Loud. Empty. Hollow.

Her face. The pain.
My lungs felt like they were collapsing in on themselves, squeezing out every bit of air until no more remained.

I told myself it’d be better for her in the end—I couldn’t pull her into my toxic life. After this semester, there’d be no more college or hockey for me. I needed to take care of this giant shitstorm. Find a way to tell Megan she had a half sister out there, and talk to Aunt Tessa so we could figure out if we should try to keep it quiet or be in control of it coming out the way we wanted it to.

There’d be no more laid back nights with Lyla, pretending my life was something it wasn’t. I ran shaky fingers over my forehead. I wanted to run after her and make sure she at least knew she wasn’t plain—she was sexy and beautiful and full of life, and I couldn’t slowly ruin her one mistake at a time. But how was I supposed to talk to her after what’d just happened?

Still, I had to go after her. She didn’t have her suitcase or a car, and I didn’t want her walking the road alone.

Shit, this is going to suck.

I’d meant to ease into the conversation, but how big of a jackass would I be if I kissed her and pretended we were okay, only to pull the rug out from under her when she fell that much harder? Losing the right to kiss her and have her in my bed made my bones ache, but even deeper under that was the acidic knowledge I’d also wrecked our friendship. One of the most important things in my life, and honestly, the main reason I’d survived this past year.

Megan burst through the door, her jaw set and her eyebrows in an angry V. “What the hell did you do?”

“I…” I shook my head. I had no words, no desire to make up a lame excuse. “Is she okay?”

“No. She was walking down the road, crying, Beckett! Aunt Tessa’s giving her a ride somewhere. I tried to get her to stay, but that only made her cry harder, and Aunt Tessa sent me inside.” Megan crossed her arms. “Start talking.”

“You’re just a kid. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Just a kid? Well, at least I know that you’ll never meet anyone better than Lyla, and if you let her go, you’re an idiot. Pretty sure that makes me smarter than you, regardless of my age.” She stormed past me in a huff—so now all the women in my life hated me. Great.

I walked into the living room, sat down on the couch, and ran my hands through my hair.
Maybe…
I thought of Mom and Dad and the counseling they’d done so we could be a big happy lie. Even if I could get my shit together, I needed to face the facts. My time in Boston was almost up, and most of it was going to be filled with practice, playoffs, and with any luck, the Frozen Four. What was I going to do? Try to fix a relationship that’d end in two months anyway? Why draw out the pain?

So
much
damn pain
—it felt like I’d been steamrolled by a Zamboni. If it already hurt this badly, how much worse would another couple months of holding on and getting that much closer only to separate again hurt? Not like she’d take me back after what I said, anyway.

I lay back and closed my eyes, not even bothering to move when the stupid trim of the floral headache couch dug into my skull. I wanted everything to go away. But since there wasn’t a skating rink nearby—I doubted hockey would even help right now, anyway—and Lyla was long gone, the suffocating pain of missing her, on top of missing my parents while being angry at both of them, just came rushing at me that much faster.

…

I’d put off doing this the entire week, but it was time to suck it up. All I did these days was go to class, go to practice, and return to my empty, depressing-as-hell apartment. Everywhere I looked I saw the lack of Lyla—the giant missing gap in my life. She wasn’t on the couch, insisting on a chick flick. No one texted me cat pictures or smiley faces. There were no cheesy chemistry jokes, complete with the sound of her laughter. My sheets even smelled like her, but she wasn’t there, either, and when I washed them to get rid of her perfume, the absence of her scent depressed me even more.

I knocked on her apartment door. I heard shuffling behind the mock wood. “Lyla, I just came to bring you your stuff. And to see if—”

The door swung open and Whitney stood there, a scowl on her face. “What do you want, asshat?”

“I-Is she okay?”

“No, she’s not
okay
. She’s the nicest girl I know, and you broke her heart.”

I leaned against the frame, trying to come up with something good to say. I wanted to let everything spill out—how much I missed her. How I should’ve told her she was perfect and sexy and the smartest person I knew. That I was drowning without her, and for the first time in my life, I got why they called it a broken heart, because all mine did was sit in my chest and ache with each beat.

Not even hockey helped, and I’d been playing like shit, to the point where Coach asked me if I wanted to sit the bench during regionals. I’d barely bit back saying that it didn’t matter anymore.

Whitney eyed the box in my hand. I’d overnighted Lyla’s suitcase and books to the apartment since I knew she’d stress about it. But because her literature book wasn’t with the rest of her things, it’d gotten left behind, and I’d found a few of her belongings at my apartment. A scarf, a pair of earrings, a couple of movies, and half a dozen girly pens and pencils she probably could do without but seemed like a shame to throw away—how’d she secure her bun without them?

Honestly, I could’ve shipped this box, too, but I needed to know if Lyla was okay. I knew it’d hurt to see her, but I figured it couldn’t hurt much worse, so I might as well shut off the constant curiosity.

Whitney yanked the box out of my hand. “Go before she comes back. Seeing you will only undo the work she’s done this past week to try to get you out of her head.”

I stopped the door with my foot as Whitney tried to slam it. “Just…take care of her for me. Make sure she doesn’t go to a party and end up with the wrong guy—I worry about her getting hurt.”

A humorless laugh came from Whitney’s lips. “She’s been with the wrong guy for the past few months. No one could hurt her worse than you have.”

I already hated myself, but the self-loathing deepened. I didn’t deserve to know she was okay, even if it was what I thought about twenty-four-seven.

“And you can bet that we’ll be hitting lots of parties, where we’ll meet tons of guys. Pretty soon you’ll be nothing but a bad memory.”

My phone rang, and when I went to look at it, Whitney took advantage and slammed the door, the lock clicking into place.

Mr. Hawthorne, of course. Most likely calling to tell me he’d worked out a settlement with Karen Walker. After discussing it with Aunt Tessa and Megan—since I thought she deserved to know before it was gossip—we’d decided to put out a press release about how excited we were to discover we had a new member of the family, and that we’d appreciate privacy as we got to know this miracle soul who gave us one more piece of Dad here on earth. It was over-the-top sugary bullshit, and no one would be giving us privacy, but at least we weren’t busting our asses to hide it so it could blow up in our faces later.

Part of me even thought Dad might be proud. I wasn’t sure where Mom would stand. Perhaps they’d both decided to be with people they loved, since they’d clearly fallen out of love with each other. Guess we’d never know.

I answered the phone, listening as Mr. Hawthorne finalized the details for the press release. He then let me know that Karen had signed the settlement. This weekend Megan and I were scheduled to meet our half sister, Avery. Since Megan was still mad at me over everything that’d happened with Lyla, she’d probably spend most of the time shaking her head and telling me, yet again, what a jerk idiot I was.

I was pulling out of my parking spot when I saw Lyla crossing to her place, her bulging backpack slung on both shoulders, her bright red hair in a bun, at least three pencils through it. I lowered the phone, no longer able to concentrate on anything Mr. Hawthorne said. She was as pretty as ever, but she didn’t look good—stress hung on her features, and the way she dragged each step made me think she was sleeping about as well as I was.

She headed up the concrete staircase to her apartment, and I watched, longing and regret slowly suffocating me. I reached for my door handle, ready to jump out, apologize for being a giant fuckup, and beg her to take me back.

But then I remembered what Whitney had said. The last thing I wanted was to make things any harder for Lyla. So instead of soaking in her profile every second I could while wishing with everything in me for her to look my way, I shoved the gearshift into place and drove out of the parking lot.

The frayed string between us stretched further and further, until it snapped, severing everything we’d had for good.

Chapter Thirty-One

Lyla

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or ashamed of us,” I said to Whitney as I scraped together a bite of double-nut fudge ice cream from the container. Einstein stuck his head between us, trying to steal a taste, so I put him on the other side of me on the couch.

Whitney dragged her spoon across the remains, and then we’d officially polished off the entire carton. “I think it’s impressive. We didn’t even get brain freeze.”

“But we’ve become a cliché,” I said with a sigh. After Beck and I had our big blowup, I’d called Whitney in tears, no idea what else to do. She’d told me to hang tight and she’d come get me. Tessa dropped me off at a Starbucks—and she was at least nice enough to ask if I was absolutely sure I’d be okay there—and within a few hours, my roommate showed up to take me back to Boston.

On the way home she listened to me cry, rant, and lament the fact that I’d let my grades slip to spend time with a guy who didn’t even want me. I’d wrapped my entire world up in a guy, like one of those girls I swore I’d never be, and in return he’d broken my heart into tiny, sharp pieces that jabbed me every time I tried to breathe.

Then she’d told me she and Matt were over, too. He’d finally responded to one of her many texts to say he had a girlfriend now, so he couldn’t see her anymore, and to please stop calling and texting. Over the past few weeks, we’d perfected wallowing in pity and cursing the male species.

I rubbed my tummy. “And now I’m going to feel self-conscious when I have to slide down my skirt for the tattoo.”

“Who cares? We gave up guys, remember?”

I tossed my spoon on the coffee table, satisfied with the loud
clank
. “Right.”

Whitney paused, scrunching up her face the way she did when she couldn’t recall something. “Or were we just going to go for nerdy guys? I forget what we decided last night. All those margaritas…”

“Now that you mention it, I think it was nerds.”

Whitney licked off the back of her spoon. “Sexual chemistry is totally overrated. The hotter the guy is, and the hotter the sex is, the more likely they are to mesmerize you with their penis and then crush your heart.”

I laughed, even though I sorta wanted to cry at the same time. “If you want, I know a guy who’s super awful at kissing—the chin licker, remember? There’s probably no sexual chemistry there. I bet it’d be horrible.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Whitney nudged me with her elbow. “Give me his number.”

We both erupted in laughter. But then it faded and it got quiet, and I knew she was thinking about Matt, and I was thinking of Beck, despite the fact that somewhere around margarita six or seven last night, we’d decided this was the week we were getting our shit together and forgetting about our “almost lovers.” Obviously they were our lovers from a purely sexual standpoint, but we meant it on the deeper, apparently unrealistic level.

I glanced at the time. “You ready to hold my hand?”

“I’m there for you, babe,” Whitney said without missing a beat.

I slung my arm over her shoulder in a side hug. We were sad saps, but we’d grown a lot closer through our mutual heartbreaks, and we’d already agreed to room together again next fall. And when I’d decided I still wanted to complete my bucket list and get my tattoo, she promised to hold my hand and distract me through the pain.

After all, the list was about me, not Beck, even if I’d thought he’d be with me to see it through to the end.

Despite a few missteps, the list had taught me a lot about myself. I liked my body better than I ever had, although I didn’t like when that was the
only
part of me guys paid attention to. It didn’t mean I couldn’t show off my figure, or that I had to hide under bulky clothes. I liked color, loved my flowing skirts with their bright patterns, and my scarves made excellent headbands. It was okay to be different, and it was okay if not everyone got me. I could step out of my comfort zone and be bold. And I sure as hell wasn’t boring.

The tiny flower I was getting inked on my hip would serve as a reminder of everything I’d learned my first year at college. So even though there were moments I wondered how I was going to survive the day when my heart ached so badly—and regardless of the hours I’d spent wondering if Beck and I would still be friends if we hadn’t thrown sex into the mix—I didn’t regret it.

I’d tried. I’d loved. I’d survived.

I was strong.

I was me.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Beck

Here I was playing in the regional final, just like I’d dreamed of doing since the start of the season, and I couldn’t summon up an ounce of happiness. We’d won yesterday’s game in overtime, thanks to a goal I’d made—a moment that should’ve been one of the best of my life—and it’d felt empty.

Since everything fell apart with Lyla, I felt empty all the damn time.

Instinct and years of training had gotten me to this point, but at this level, autopilot wasn’t cutting it anymore. Last period I’d made sloppy mistakes, and UMass had caught up with less than a minute left in the game.

The ref blew the whistle—time out, our side.
Good. I need a minute. Although I’ll probably just get chewed out.

As I skated toward the bench, I tried to shake away the thoughts dragging me down.
Come on, head in the game. Don’t think about her or you’ll finish falling apart.

In spite of the weak pep talk, my gaze went to the stands. I’d stupidly scanned them before the game, hoping Lyla would miraculously show up. That she’d somehow know I needed her to be here and come to the DCU Arena to make playing seem worth it.

Of course she wasn’t there, though—why would she be?

I thought about the evening we’d played hockey over spring break. How she’d known the perfect distraction to make me forget about everything else. How she’d joked that she had a future in the NHL, and I told her it would be cheering for me in the stands.

Pain lanced my heart. Instead of stepping away from the edge, I dove over. Thought about how she’d held my hand and encouraged me to not give up on my dreams. Ever since I’d found out Dad wasn’t who I’d thought he was, I wondered why I’d give up what I wanted so he could have what he wanted. I was working to push past the bitterness and make peace with it, but the more I thought about it, the more I considered Lyla’s assertion that my dad would choose my happiness over resenting a company he’d poured his heart and soul into. I also thought maybe she was right about keeping my options open.

Hell, what was I saying? She
was
right. Right about everything. I’d used my parents’ disastrous relationship as an excuse and withdrawn when I should’ve fought for us. I’d been so sure I couldn’t love her the way she deserved. But weeks away hadn’t changed the way I felt about her. If anything, it only made me realize how much I loved her, and just how powerful love could be. I didn’t know exactly what had happened with my parents’ relationship or when it’d broken, but it didn’t matter. Their mistakes—being scared—they were lame reasons not to take a chance with Lyla.

Lyla, who’d held me together when I was on the verge of falling apart. She knew the good and the bad, and she somehow loved me anyway.

She made me believe love was worth fighting for, and I just…I needed her. More than I’d ever needed anything, including hockey.

The revelation nearly sent me to my knees, especially since I’d ruined things so badly I wasn’t sure I even had a chance at redeeming myself.

“Davenport?” Coach barked, and my teammates parted to leave me front and center.

Shit. I have no idea what he’s been saying.
“Yeah, Coach?”

“This is the last shot, and I need your head in the game. Do you even want this?”

I sucked in a deep breath, the cold air battling the heat blasting through me.
Time to get your shit together, Davenport. No more cop-outs, no halfway. All in.

“Yes, sir! I’ll put it in, Coach.”

He batted me on the side of the head, told my teammates to get me the puck and block, and then it was time to make things happen. First I’d lead my team to victory, and then I’d fix everything else, no matter what it took.

My world zeroed in to my blades against the ice, the hockey stick in my hands, and the puck. My breaths sounded loud in my helmet. Adrenaline pumped through my veins and every muscle tensed, ready to spring into action.

The whistle blew, the puck hit the ice.

The defenders read the play and one of the UMass guys intercepted. I raced toward the swarm of bodies, focused on stopping them from scoring at all costs. Jeff stole the puck away and passed it to me. Cradling it with the end of my stick, I spun and made a fast break for our goal.

One point away from the Frozen Four.

One point till I could start putting the broken pieces of my life back together.

The seconds had to be in the single digit range now, so I pushed harder. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the red and blue jersey of number 25. I threw out my elbow and he slapped at me, our sticks slamming together. But I still had the puck.

Using every ounce of strength I had left, I pushed forward, gaining speed, the goalie now the only thing between me and the net. I faked right, then aimed for the left corner and swung…

The goalie dove for it, spreading his legs and arms wide.

The puck slid through, crossing the line a mere second before the buzzer went off, signaling the end of the game. Sirens erupted, along with cheers from the crowd. The team rushed me, swarming the ice, and for a moment, I could hardly believe it. We’d done it. We were in the Frozen Four, with a chance at becoming national champions.

Cheers and the high of winning filled the locker room air, and the rest of the guys continued to celebrate as I rushed to shower and dress. When I burst out of the locker room, a large crowd waited. My phone bumped my thigh with every step, a steady reminder that my night was only beginning. The images on there had tortured me for days, but now I planned on using them to help make my case—I was going to need all the help I could get, and I was afraid it still wouldn’t be enough.

If she won’t give me another shot…
I immediately shut down that thought, because I couldn’t deal with even the possibility, not now that I knew how empty my life was without her.
I’ll do whatever it takes to fix it, no matter how long it takes.

“Beckett!” Megan barreled into me and I hugged her tight. Aunt Tessa nodded from behind her, looking completely out of place, but she’d come anyway. Ever since finding out the truth about Dad, she seemed to be trying extra hard with Megan and me. She’d even apologized for the things she’d said about Lyla and Mom, which I could tell had been hard for her to do.

“That was seriously awesome,” Megan said. “I’ll admit I covered my eyes there at the end, because I was so scared it wouldn’t go in, but I saw the replay, and wow. I’m really happy for you. Still a tiny bit annoyed about
other
things, but happy.”

Of course she had to get in that last jab. “Thanks,” I said, and then I ruffled her hair since I knew she thought she was too old for it. On cue, she batted my hand away.

A man in his mid-thirties approached us. Through the years, I’d gotten pretty good at telling who the scouts were, and this guy fit the profile. The skill checklists in his hand confirmed it. The fact that he had on a Bruins cap sent my nerves into overdrive, and after the beating they’d taken during the game, short-circuiting was sure to follow. I needed to get it under control, because I didn’t have time for that.

“Great game,” he said, then stuck out his hand. “I’m Jeremy Alexander. Been watching you play for a while.”

The line between my brain and mouth must’ve shorted out, too. I shook his hand, incapable of speech.

“That last period was a bit better than the first two.”

Finally I found my voice. “Yes, sir.”

“The pressure can mess with your head, but you pulled out of it when it mattered.”

I wondered what he’d do if I said it wasn’t the pressure, it was because of a girl. And that she was the same reason I’d turned it around there at the end, too. Even when she wasn’t with me, she was. God, I’d been so stupid and blind.

The rest of the team spilled out, and their family and friends pushed in to see them, interrupting the conversation.

Under other circumstances, I would’ve tried to chat for a while and celebrate more with my boys, but my skin felt too tight and my feet grew desperate to bolt. The girl I loved was out there, and I needed to find her—I didn’t want to waste one more day not having Lyla in my life. Funny how the thought of being denied a committed relationship now scared me a hundred times more than the alternative.

“Nice meeting you,” I said to the scout, backing away before I got gridlocked and stuck here any longer. I turned to Megan and Aunt Tessa. “Thanks for coming to the game. But I gotta go.”

I only hoped I wasn’t too late.