Breakaway: A Coach’s Daughter College Sports Romance (Beyond the Play)
Breakaway: Chapter 18

I FINISH SCRAWLING the last few sentences of my essay, close the blue booklet, and sit back in my chair. After a frantic hour spent writing about the gothic in Jane Eyre, I’m beat, and even though I have a million other things to focus on—like schoolwork and practice—I just want to think about Penny.

Again.

Does everyone think about their hookups this much? I’m not used to having a girl stick in my mind. We’ve been texting nonstop, which is almost weirder than knowing exactly who I’m going to for sex. She’s adorably chatty, sending me links to Buzzfeed quizzes she wants me to take and informing me of every time she pets a dog and telling me what’s happening in The Americans, which she’s watching with her roommate, Mia. I’d say that she’s working overtime to make sure we stay firmly on the “friends” side of this arrangement, if not for how she acts when we get in the same room. In the past week and a half, we’ve hooked up half a dozen times; memorably, I ate her out in an old basement-level classroom when we ran into each other after class, and she blew me again—while on her knees, looking like an angel in her white nightgown—when I came to her dorm last night.

I tried sexting, in the beginning, but it doesn’t seem to be her style; if she’s in the mood and wants to meet up, she just sends me an interrobang. It’s gotten to the point where when I see that little ?!, or send it myself, my heart quickens. That was what led to me coming over last night, and as soon as I shut the door to her room, she was on me, murmuring, “Wanna wear your hand like a necklace.” I let her set the pace, but by the end, she was begging me to fuck her face, pressing down on her throat with enough pressure that tears pricked in her eyes.

The rough-and-tumble stress relief has been helping. I’ve been sharp during practice, and at one of last weekend’s away games, we won in overtime. In a twist that should have felt horribly awkward but has left me decidedly unrepentant, Coach told me yesterday that he’s been noticing my improvements and restraint on the ice.

If only he knew where my newfound focus was coming from.

I hand in my essay, then head out of the building, pulling my phone from my pocket. There’s a text waiting from Pen, and before I even open it, I’m smiling. Tomorrow, I’ll see her for the skating class, and I’ve already invited her back to my place. Pizza, some studying, abandoning our books for my bed… it sounds like a good fucking evening.

RED PENNY

I pet a cat on a leash!!!

Pics or it didn’t happen

To my slight surprise, she immediately sends back a picture of herself crouching on the sidewalk, petting a cat wearing a harness. The cat is cute, black with big yellow eyes, but I barely glance at it before focusing on Penny. Her hair is in a thick braid, and she has a knit cap on her head. Underneath her coat, I can see she’s wearing a fuzzy black turtleneck. She looks so good in a New York autumn, it’s hard to imagine her as an Arizona native, but when we chatted on the phone a couple of days ago, she had me in tears laughing about the time a lizard snuck into her skate and hitched a ride from Tempe to Salt Lake for a figure skating competition.

I underestimated you, Red

I don’t mess around where cute animals are involved

Speaking of pussy… ?!

You’re incorrigible

I did terribly on my chemistry test. Take my mind off it?

Wish I could, but your dad is making us show up for an extra practice

Boo

Tell him hi

Jk jk

As previously stated: Incorrigible

Even though I could use some time to catch up on my readings for my Milton seminar, I head to the rink. We usually don’t practice on Tuesdays, but Coach Ryder and his staff have put together some new formations, and we have another away game, this time all the way up in New Hampshire, to prepare for. I’m a little early, so I change into athletic shorts and a throwaway t-shirt and hit the treadmill for a run.

After a couple minutes, Brandon steps onto the treadmill next to me. I give him a nod, but he just responds with a stony look before getting started on his warmup. We spend a long time in silence, running side by side. If Evan was with me, this would be a fun competition as we sang along to Foo Fighters. If it was Jean, it would be companionable silence while we listened to Led Zeppelin. This is torture, with no music to save me.

Although I’ve done nothing but try to be a good teammate and leader, Brandon seems determined to hate my guts. Before this, we weren’t close friends or anything, but we’d chat during team parties, play some beer pong together, that sort of thing. Last New Year’s Eve, I spent the weekend at his parents’ lake house in Michigan, and I even hooked up with his older cousin, this hot chick named Amanda who wanted a memorable experience before a stint with Doctors Without Borders. We don’t have to be best buddies, but getting the cold shoulder is exhausting.

“Look,” I say eventually, because we’re about to be on the ice anyway, and there won’t be much opportunity for chatting then, “just tell me what I can do to get you to cut the shit.”

He wipes a towel across his forehead. “You know what.”

I do know what, but it’s surprising to hear him be so bold. “Besides that.”

He shrugs. “Then I don’t owe you anything off the ice. You want friends, stick with your crew and I’ll stick with mine.”

“I’m not going to tell Coach not to make me captain so I don’t hurt your fragile fucking feelings.”

He stops the treadmill suddenly, his chest heaving. He’s flushed, a bead of sweat running from the sweaty blond hair plastered to his temple to his cheek. “You have another year. You’re only a junior, Callahan. And you’ll have a chance in the league for all the validation you’re seeking from your daddy.”

I just stare back; I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he hit me somewhere real. “So?”

“This is my last season playing hockey. It’s been my life for as long as I can remember, and this time next year, where am I going to be?” He laughs shortly, wrapping the towel over his shoulders. “I’ll be stuck in a fucking office, managing stocks.”

“You could have entered the draft. Or you could try to get in somewhere after graduation. The AHL, or somewhere in Europe.”

“You’re not the only one with a hardass dad.” He gathers his things. “I’m not going to stop fighting for this. It’s my year. I’m the senior center. You’re just a junior defenseman who makes a fist whenever you hear something you don’t like.”

“Seriously, Finau?”

He leans in close enough I want to flinch, but I hold my ground. “Tell Coach you’re backing off,” he says, his voice deceptively quiet.

“Oh, there you are,” Evan says from the doorway. “Come on, Coop, we need to get started. How’s it going, Fins?”

“Fine,” he says, still looking at me. I just glare back, because there’s no way in hell that I’m doing that for him in the name of fairness or whatever the fuck he thinks it is, and after a moment, he stalks off.

Evan watches him leave the gym before turning back to me. “Still annoyed about the captain thing?”

“Nothing’s even been decided yet.” I grab my water bottle and take a long gulp. “He’s just being a massive douchecanoe.”

“He can tell that Ryder is close to deciding.”

I grab my bag and follow him to the doors. “Maybe. Or maybe he’ll just tell both of us to fuck off.”

Evan is a great friend for lots of reasons, but at the very top is his ability to switch topics tactfully when it seems like the conversation is about to veer into the pits. He claps my shoulder. “Want to come to my place later? We can get takeout from that Thai restaurant on Westbrook; Remmy’s been wanting to challenge Hunter to a new mission in Call of Duty.”

Hunter is one of Seb’s teammates, and thanks to the two of us, the hockey and baseball teams have become tight. Last year, we were friendly with the football guys, thanks to James, but not so much this year. I should work on homework before tomorrow, since I doubt much will get done when I’m with Penny, best intentions aside, but the thought of an evening spent unwinding with my crew sounds too good to pass up. Milton, or Call of Duty? While my teammates are getting some shuteye on the drive to New Hampshire, I’ll be puzzling over passages of Areopagitica, but it’ll be worth it.

“Hell yes, let’s do it.”