For all his insistence that the past should remain buried, it's glaringly obvious that my former coach is all about making my life hell. Our first practice with the new defensive coordinator dragged on an extra hour—specifically for us defensemen. While the rest of my teammates were heading to the locker room for showers and freedom, O’Shea kept us on the ice for extra skating drills, declaring us the most pathetic group of hockey players he had ever encountered. The moment he finally called it a day, my teammates and I skated off the ice, our spirits as low as the temperature outside, swearing under our breath. Dripping with sweat, steam billowing from our helmets, we stripped off our gear in the now-empty locker room, leaving the echoes of our frustrations behind us. “What a great guy, right?” Logan shot back, sarcasm dripping from his tone, mirroring my own words from the day prior. “He’s just proving his ego's bigger than ours,” I replied, bitterness lacing my voice. “He’s trying to earn our respect, I guess.” Deep down, I knew it was less about respect and more about punishing me for what I'd done to his daughter. But I kept that delicious tidbit to myself—not out of respect for O’Shea’s orders, but because I just didn’t want to confront the messy history with Miranda. Ironically, my entanglement with Miranda O’Shea tangled up not just my high school life but my college experience, too. Her presence had taught me to be clear about my intentions before any hookup. I thought I had been upfront back then, but clearly I had failed at expressing myself adequately. These days, I ensured that women understood exactly where we stood before they could drown in fantasies of fairy-tale endings. As we rinsed off the sweat and stench of practice in the showers, Logan asked, “Got any plans for dinner?” “Grace is grabbing some Chinese and coming over,” he continued. “I think she’s got enough to feed the whole team.” I smiled at the thought but shook my head. “Thanks for the invite, but I’m meeting Maxwell for drinks. Not sure when I'll be back.” The conversation came to a halt as we stepped into our respective stalls. I barely had time to finish rinsing off when I heard the water shut off. Logan had gone from soap to rags in record time, as if someone had dangled a million bucks in front of him. “Catch you later,” he called, hopping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around his waist as he exited the steamy area. The eagerness on his face to see Grace sparked something odd within me—a fluttering sensation that wasn’t quite jealousy but rather something like disappointment. I got it, though; my best friends were head over heels in love. They would rather share tender moments than hang out with the guys, and I couldn't be mad at them for it. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the beginning of the end for our little crew. I thought about my brother, who had lost touch with his college pals in mere months after graduation. Teammates he once thought he would go to war for were now barely a memory. I recognized that friendships fade, especially after college as people start families, move away, and build new lives. But the thought of losing Garrett, Logan, and Tuck gnawed at me, stirring up a cynicism I wished I could shake off. In less than a year, I’d be heading to law school—too busy for sleep, let alone socializing. Garrett would probably be off chasing his NHL dream in a different city. Logan too, if the Providence Bruins picked him up after graduation. And Tuck? Who knew where he’d end up? Texas? New York? Shit. Why was I wallowing in such philosophical depths tonight? Maybe it was because I hadn’t had sex in three long days—far too long for me—and my body wasn’t happy with the lack of action. Allie was to blame, obviously. “Dean!” A familiar, lively voice snapped me from my ruminative state as I exited the team facility. I turned to see Kelly gracefully making her way towards me, looking like she jumped straight out of a New England fashion magazine. A cozy red scarf hugged her neck, and her brown leather boots clanked softly against the pavement. Her long gray peacoat accentuated her figure, and her blond hair was casually gathered into a messy knot, framing her features beautifully. She was stunning, no doubt. Yet, I hadn’t thought about her or Michelle since squaring off with Allie. That didn’t stop me from feeling guilty about not keeping in touch. But strangely, as she greeted me with a warm hug, I noted the unspoken understanding—no expectations on her part. “Did you have a good weekend?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with playful curiosity. “Could’ve used a little more excitement,” I replied, bitterness creeping in. The sense of longing for something—or someone—was palpable. “Aww, that’s a bummer.” She beamed, a mischievous glint lighting up her gaze. “But I’ve got something to cheer you up! My sister's in town, and I told her all about you. She’s eager to meet you; she's staying with me and Michelle…” I raised an eyebrow, the suggestion crystal clear. “Oh? Well…” “Did I mention she’s my twin sister?” Holy hell. There was an unspoken kind of magic in those words, but my racing heart was met with crickets south of the equator. Come on, I willed, being that I was not one to easily turn down an opportunity like this. Still, my body refused to respond. It was stony, like a machine gone haywire, and I cursed it silently. What I wanted wasn’t them; it was Allie Hayes. “That sounds… incredible. Really,” I forced out but then added, “but I have to pass. I’m meeting a buddy for drinks tonight.” “Anyone I know?” “Uh, maybe. Beau Maxwell. He’s—” “The quarterback for our football team.” A playful glimmer ignited in her eyes. “You could invite him along. Five can be just as fun as four…” For the love of God. I desperately wished to be turned on, but my body wasn’t cooperating. This was not the time for flaccidity; we were talking about a potential foursome! As frustration balled in my stomach, I stumbled through excuses, promising to take a rain check, and strode to my car, cursing my uselessness along the way. Twenty minutes later, I slipped into the cozy back booth of Malone’s. “Sorry I’m late,” I waved to Beau. “Practice ran over.” “Not a problem. I just got here.” He took a slow sip of his dark ale, barely missing a beat as he leaned back, his muscular frame relaxing. I chucked my jacket beside me and glanced at the cute brunette waitress who approached to take my order. “What’s been going on?” Beau asked after she left, wiping the slight sheen of sweat off his brow. “Haven’t seen you since midterms ended.” “Our practice has been a killer. We lost every pre-season game; Coach Jensen is losing it.” “Damn.” He frowned. “Deluca is in the same boat. We’re on the chopping block for playoffs, not likely to even get a bowl game.” His visage darkened with despair, and I felt the weight of his frustration. I knew all too well the position of an exceptional player trapped in a lackluster team. While preseason losses didn't count, they were a dire omen for what lay ahead. Briar had seen some glory during our championship days, but this season felt different—dishearteningly so. While I wouldn’t shed too many tears if my hockey team faltered, I knew Beau had a far more bitter pill to swallow. He had been the star quarterback who led the team from shadows into the spotlight. But as the years went on, his offensive line crumbled around him, and despite his talent, he was now struggling to keep his head above water. “I’m just saying, you could’ve transferred,” I reminded him gently. “LSU would’ve been lucky to have you.” “Yeah, and ditch my team? What kind of jerk does that?” A jerk who sought NFL dreams, I thought but wisely zipped my mouth. His loyalty was commendable, even if it kept him anchored in a storm. “Changing the subject,” he declared, sipping his beer. “I don’t want to start weeping in my frothy pint.” Just then, our waitress returned, delivering my drink with a flirty smile that had us both momentarily distracted. “Let me know if you need anything else,” she chimed, her sway leaving us both watching longingly as she walked away. I gave a slight chuckle, trying to ignore the other thoughts swirling in my head about how Beau had been so infatuated with Sabrina not too long ago. “Caught up with Sabrina at Malone’s on Friday,” I ventured, eventually asking, “You still seeing her?” “Nah. That fizzled out,” he confessed. “She got too busy.” “Busy doing what?” “Your guess is as good as mine. The girl lives in Boston. She shows up once or twice a month and then vanishes on weekends.” I missed the vibe of those carefree days when all we did was hook up without complications. “At least she’s not a complete stranger…” “Yeah, well.” He smirked, but I could tell he was still struggling with his dwindling romance. We shifted back to our teams, swapping stories about promising players and upcoming matches for a while before I lamented the absurd offer Kelly had made back at practice. “Dude, you turned down an orgy? An orgy I was invited to?” Beau laughed, shaking his head at me in disbelief. “What’s going on with you, man?” “I just wasn’t feeling it,” I grumbled, tracing my fingers along the bottle’s neck. “Not feeling it with a pair of identical twins? Who are you? Dean 2.0?” “Seriously. I’m lost. I hooked up with someone, and now I can’t stop thinking about her.” Beau’s eyes widened, disbelief etched across his face. “You’re joking.” “Nope, it’s the truth.” “Dude, seriously? When did you become this guy?” “I don’t like it, either!” I snapped, turning to my beer in exasperation. “Hey, have you ever read Twilight?” He blinked at me, the shock evident in his gaze. “Are you serious right now?” “Okay, hear me out. Bella’s blood makes Edward crazy—it’s almost primal, right? You believe in that crap? Are we hardwired to be drawn to certain people?” “Is this what Allie’s done to you? Made you question your life through the lens of a vampire novel?” Suddenly, I felt almost pathetic. “I’m not saying I’ve read it, but my sister wouldn’t shut up about it. I had to listen to her rants!” “Well, clearly you’re still haunted by it,” Beau chuckled. “What’s your point?” “If I’m feeling this way about her, is it some kind of pheromone thing? Should I just nail her again to get it out of my system?” “Man, I’m a drunken college student. What do I know?” Beau shrugged, raising his glass, “Just do what feels right—not that I should be making advice worth listening to while holding a pint.” He drained it quickly. “Really?” In that moment, laughter enveloped us, friends bonded over spilled beer and the foolishness of relationships in college. As we moved deeper into carefree conversation, I couldn’t shake the feeling that fate had dealt me a hand I could never hope to decipher.