The Year We Fell Down: A Hockey Romance (The Ivy Years Book 1)

—Hartley—

I was looking over my notes from bio lab when someone knocked on my door. “Enter!” I expected to see Corey wheel in to throw me some attitude about the two more RealStix wins she’d pulled off the other night. But it was Dana who came in. “What’s up, girl?”

She bounced into the room and shut the door behind her. “I want to have a party.”

I tossed my bio notebook onto the desk and gave her my full attention. “Sounds like a plan. What’s the occasion?”

“Well, it’s Corey’s birthday on Friday.” She heaved herself onto my bed. “But we’re not having a birthday party, because those are for five-year-olds.”

“Obviously.”

“I want to throw a party anyway, because…why haven’t we done this already? Our room is great, so we’re totally overdue. So my gift to Corey is that I’m making a giant batch of my famous sangria. And we’ll invite everyone we know.”

“Awesome. What do you need from me?”

Dana fidgeted. “Well, are you free on Friday? Because you’re the person Corey knows best.”

“I wouldn’t miss it. And the hockey team has a home game at seven. I could bring Bridger and some of our crew over by ten.”

She clapped her hands together. “Perfect! And there’s one more thing…”

“Now you’re going to ask us to buy the alcohol, aren’t you?”

Dana grinned. “How did you know?”

“Because your fake ID sucks, and Callahan doesn’t have one.” I picked up my phone to text Bridger. “Call your order into the package store on York, and we’ll get Bridger to pick it up Friday night.”

“You’re the best, Hartley.” She popped off my bed and scurried out the door.

Same to you, Dana. The game of roommate roulette was not always kind to First Years. But Dana was awesome, and Corey was lucky to have her.

Friday night, when I approached the outer door to McHerrin, there was already music and laughter spilling out into the night. Nice. “This way, guys.”

A dozen hockey players followed me into Corey’s room. Dana’s Something Special pals were already inside, and I recognized some other Beaumont First Years. Mumford and Sons was playing in the background.

“Welcome!” Dana waved a ladle in our direction. “The sangria is over here.” She stood over a big plastic tub, a stack of cups beside her.

I accepted a drink. “Awesome, Dana. Where’s the birthday girl?”

She pointed, and I spotted Corey propped up against the couch, thanking Bridger for the wine delivery.

“Don’t mention it, Callahan,” Bridger said. “I’m going to have a sample,” he winked. “You know, quality control.”

“Sample the heck out of it, Bridge,” Corey said as he walked away.

“Happy Birthday, beautiful.” Without thinking, I pulled her in for a hug, which felt great. But then I felt her stiffen in my arms. I leaned back, hoping I hadn’t somehow offended her. Sure, we didn’t usually go full-frontal. But it was only a birthday hug.

“You went to the hockey game,” she whispered.

And then I understood. She’d smelled it on my jacket — that icy whiff that was so familiar. I’d had the same strange reaction only hours before, when I’d walked into the rink for the first time in months. Nothing else smelled like that.

I relaxed my arms around her. “Yeah. I took the gimpmobile. Did you want to go?”

“Nah,” she said quickly, trying to cover her reaction. “But who won?”

“We did, of course. And now we’re ready to celebrate.”

Corey looked around. “You brought all these guys? Awesome.”

“Sure. It wasn’t easy dragging them into a room full of singing group girls for a cold drink. But I managed. Hey — I’ll be right back, okay? I’m going to drop my jacket.” I let go of Callahan and crutched into her bedroom. I took off my jacket, and was just reaching into the breast pocket when Bridger came in, startling me.

“Hey, man.” Bridger chucked his jacket onto Corey’s bed.

“Good game tonight,” I said, even though it really wasn’t. But the unhelpful injured shouldn’t be too critical.

“Eh,” he said. “At least we won. Could have been worse. And now there’s a redhead showing me the ‘fuck me’ eyes.”

“You’d better get out there, then.” I needed him to leave so that I could sneak Corey’s birthday present out of my jacket.

“Yeah,” he said, but he didn’t move. “So what’s the deal with you and Callahan, anyway?”

That was a question I hadn’t really been expecting. “We’re tight, that’s all.” I gave the most casual shrug I could muster. Bridger wouldn’t understand. He didn’t have any girl friends, or even any girlfriends. His M.O. with women was simply to exchange body fluids and then move on.

“You two look awfully cozy,” Bridger crossed his arms. “She’d be a really big improvement over Stacia.”

“That’s real nice, asshole. I’ll give Stacia your love next time she calls.” But it was no secret that Bridger wasn’t the president of my girlfriend’s fan club. And the feeling was unfortunately mutual.

Bridger raised his hands defensively. “It’s just an observation. Corey is more your type than Stacia ever was.”

It was hard to argue that point. Before dating Princess Stacia, I’d always gone for the jock girls. Not just any jock. But there was something really sexy about a pretty girl who could also throw a football, and who didn’t mind watching the Bruins. But that was beside the point. “Stacia’s not going anywhere, Bridge.” He’d better get used to it.

“Too bad.” He turned and left Corey’s room.

Alone again, I pulled my gift out of my jacket and dropped it onto Corey’s pillow. Shit, if Bridger knew what was in this box, he would never believe that we were only friends. The birthday girl was going to blush like a tomato when she opened it. It was sort of a gag gift, but sort of not. Given the intense discussion we’d had a week ago, I hoped she’d understand.

“Good party,” I told her when I came back out into the common room. And it was. Tonight they were that room — the one bursting with energy and conversation.

Unfortunately, I was in no mood for a party. I had just spent the past two hours trying not to scream with frustration. It had cost me five dollars to buy a ticket in the student section to watch my own team play Rensselaer. And they’d barely eked out the win, breaking the 1-1 tie fifteen seconds before the buzzer. There was no less powerful feeling than watching your teammates struggle without you. And all the while, the cold air of the ice rink had slowly frozen my leg into a painsicle.

I felt selfish just thinking it, but what I really needed that second was a couple of hours alone with Corey, shooting the shit on the sofa. I needed the warm glance I always got from her when I walked into the room.

Whatever Bridger might make of it, I needed my Corey fix.

I flopped down on Corey’s empty couch, and patted the cushion next to me. She looked down, calculating the effort required to grab her crutches and relocate from the arm of the couch to the seat. It was Crutches Math 101. I did it all day long, too.

Saving her the trouble, I reached up and grabbed her by the hips. A half second later she landed next to me, her face startled. “Good thing this drink wasn’t full,” she said, staring into her cup.

“Good thing.” I arranged my aching leg on the coffee table. “Talk to me, Callahan. What’s the gossip?”

“Wow,” she said. “Check out Bridger. He sure works fast.”

I looked up. And sure enough, Bridger was already making time in the corner of the room, lip-locked to one of Dana’s singing group friends. I rubbed my aching leg and grinned. “The dude does work fast, and not just with the ladies. Bridge gets more done in a day than most people do in a week. Did you know he’s in that program where you get a masters degree at the same time as your bachelor’s?”

“Really?” Corey cocked an eyebrow toward the corner, where Bridger seemed to be eating the girls’ face. “Where does he find the time?”

“Unlike us normal people, Bridger never sleeps. After hockey season ends, he drives a forklift three nights a week in a warehouse.”

“Seriously? You’ve known each other a long time, haven’t you?” She propped an elbow on the back of the sofa and turned her face so she could see me. Corey always gave me her full attention, like there was nobody else in the room.

“Yeah. Bridge and I played on the same league in high school. And we’re both members of another club.”

“Which one?”

My smile was probably more like a grimace. “The Poor Club. Bridger grew up about ten miles from here, on the wrong side of the industrial wasteland.” While Harkness College had a beautiful campus, the city around it was actually kind of a shithole. “And my town isn’t much better. When I first came to Harkness, all the money here was a shock.”

Corey took a thoughtful sip of her sangria. “But at Harkness, everybody lives in the dorms and eats in the dining hall. I love that about this place. It doesn’t matter who’s rich.”

I shook my head. “Wait until spring, when people start arguing about which Caribbean island to spend break on.”

“I’ll be spending it in sunny Wisconsin.”

“Your girl Dana will probably head down to St. Croix or St. John. I’d put money on it.”

Corey’s eyes darted to her roommate on the other end of the room. “Well, her family has a house in Hawaii.”

“See what I mean? My frosh year, the first time someone told me they had a second home at Lake Tahoe, I thought, ‘That’s weird. Who needs two houses?’ I had no fucking clue. This place gives you a great education in more ways than one.”

“Dude.” Bridger appeared beside me, leaning down to ask a question into my ear. “Where do you keep your goalies? I’m all out.”

I chuckled, giving him a shove on the shoulder. “They’re in the logical drawer. Help yourself.”

“I’ll pay you back.” Bridger straightened up.

Whatever. I didn’t have any near-term need for condoms, anyway. “But, dude? Take the party elsewhere, okay?” I didn’t need to find Bridger fucking some girl on my bed. When we were roommates that had happened more than once.

“You got it.” Bridger walked out of Corey’s common room, reappearing less than a minute later. Then he collected his girlfriend for the evening. They swapped spit for a moment in the middle of the room. And then the two of them left together.

Corey watched them go. “Wait…goalies?” I watched the understanding break on her face, and then she snorted with laughter. Embarrassed, she clamped a hand over her mouth. But her eyes danced with glee. “Okay,” she said when she could breathe again “I thought my brother had taught me every hockey slang term. But apparently not.”

“Yeah?” I tipped my head back onto the sofa. “He left out a good one.”

Corey grinned. “If you had a little sister, you’d understand. Or so I’m told.”

Right. I felt a familiar little kick to the gut at the very idea. If life had worked out differently, I would have a little sister. And two brothers besides. But I pushed that thought away. “I get it. Your big brother thinks his baby sister shouldn’t think about those things.”

Her smile got sly. “Hang on…tell me the truth. How much of a dog was my brother?”

“Well, if the scale is from priest to Bridger…” I held my hands far apart, and Corey giggled. “I’d say he was right in the middle.”

“Here’s to mediocrity,” she said, holding up her glass.

“Cheers.”

Corey drained her drink and then pointed at the darkened TV screen. “Do you think anyone would disapprove if we checked the hockey score? I don’t think I can make it through the evening without knowing whether my Puffins are smacking your Bruins.”

She turned her blue eyes onto mine, and for some reason I felt an unwelcome pang in my chest. “Go for it, birthday girl. That said, I wouldn’t want you to get depressed on your big day. Because there’s no way you’re winning this thing.”

“Says you.” With a big smile, she began to look around for the remote.

—Corey—

The Puffins flattened the Bruins, 4 to 1. For a while there, I thought Hartley might start crying into his drink.

So at least I had that going for me. Of all the things on my birthday list, though, a Puffins victory wouldn’t have been at the top. The gift I really wanted was the Bruins fan on the sofa next to me.

Hartley stayed until the party was over. Then he gave me a kiss on top of the head, and another “happy birthday.” And then Dana and I were alone again.

“Let’s leave the cleanup for tomorrow,” she yawned.

“Absolutely,” I said, privately vowing to do it all myself.

I let her have the bathroom first. When I finally got to bed, I found a small red box on my pillow. In black marker, the words MR. DIGBY had been inked onto the cover.

What?

I lifted the lid. Inside I found a purple plastic object measuring about six inches long, shaped like a fat cigar. It took me several long seconds to figure out what I was looking at.

It was a vibrator.

“Oh my God,” I said aloud, the words echoing in my empty room. I could only guess that Hartley had this strange gift idea after our uncomfortable talk about sex after paralysis. Even though I was all alone in my room, I felt heat creep up my neck and over my cheeks.

Hell and damn. When someone gives you a gift, you have to at least acknowledge it. Ugh! He had to know how embarrassing I’d find this. Maybe that was the point?

There was no way I could mention this in person. So I took the cheesy way out. I texted him. And it was just my luck, but he texted right back.

Corey: Uh, Hartley?

Hartley: Yes, beautiful? 😉

Corey: Um…you shouldn’t have?

Hartley: Since U liked RealStix I thought my other favorite hobby might appeal to U too.

If possible, I began blushing even harder. A bolder girl would have replied “thanks for the visual.” But I wasn’t that girl.

Corey: How…thoughtful?

Hartley: Too bad I can’t see your face right now.

Corey: ***face palm***

Hartley: Did I mention that I don’t embarrass?

Corey: You weren’t kidding about that.

Hartley: Goodnight Callahan. Nice party.

Corey: Goodnight Hartley.