After a few awkward seconds where he watched me and I watched him, he walked over to me with a noticeable air of reluctance. Every step was so slow, he was practically dragging his feet.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” I locked my phone and slid it into my back pocket. “Some tough breaks out there tonight. Good effort, though.”

He shrugged, but his tense expression spoke volumes. “We’ll get them next time.”

“Totally.” I nodded. “So…”

We stood, bathed in painful silence, for what seemed like an hour but was probably less than a minute. Humiliation swelled in my gut. Why had I come? Because I thought Luke would change his mind? Or because I thought he’d realize he made a mistake?

I was the one who’d made a mistake.

Starting with him.

“Come on, Morrison,” Mendez hollered, waving at him impatiently. The team was clustered around the front doors, surrounded by girlfriends and hangers-on, making their way to the exit. Only two days ago, I would have been there too.

“In a second,” Luke called, looking over his shoulder. He glanced back at me. “Uh, I should go.”

“Okay.”

I hadn’t seen Derek yet. He was always one of the last to leave the locker room. But once he came out, he’d be out the door right behind them. I knew where my brother’s loyalties fell, and it wasn’t with me. It wasn’t like he could help, anyway. Tagging along with them was out of the question, which meant I was headed home to cry into a pint of ice cream while watching Grey’s Anatomy re-runs. I didn’t need company for that.

“I’ll text you,” Luke said.

I wanted to say don’t bother, but I nodded and walked away, heading for the women’s bathroom. I could hide in there until they left.

As I pushed open the swinging door, my phone vibrated with a new text.

Amelia: Where are you going? Are you coming with us?

Bailey: Too weird with Luke. Heading home.

Amelia: You sure? I can come with you.

Bailey: No, it’s okay. I’m fine. Just need some alone time.

I used the bathroom and washed my hands as slowly as possible, trying to ensure they would be gone before I came back out. I’d just tossed my paper towel in the trash when Zara texted, responding to a message I’d sent her earlier about Luke.

Zara: I’m so sorry, hon. Are you okay? Are you at home?

Bailey: No, I’m at Northview.

Zara would have no idea what that meant—she was a fellow journalism major, also on the school paper, and one of only a few friends not enmeshed in the world of hockey—so I elaborated.