Behind us, a car crunches over a snow-packed section of the lot, speeding up and spinning into a donut on the vacant other end, the tracks making slippery black snakes in the white-gray slush.

“Two minutes,” I say.

Will sticks his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t tell you the whole story about Coach Dodd.”

“I got that much, Will. Clock’s ticking.”

“Okay.” Will shakes his head, eyes closed as he blows out an icy breath. “All year, my father kept laying into Dodd about giving up on hockey, giving up on me, spending all his time with the football guys. So one night after spaghetti dinner, Dodd looks at my dad and says he’s got an idea. Best of both worlds for everyone.”

“Why does this feel like an episode of Friday Night Lights?”

“It kind of is. Remember I told you Dodd wanted Watonka to drop the hockey program? I was supposed to help make it happen. That was my end of the deal. We already sucked, so all I had to do was keep the team losing and demotivated, and by next season, the school would drop us officially. In exchange, Dodd would hook me up with his recruiting connections.”

“On about ten different levels, that makes no sense.” I look beyond the parking lot to the black silhouette of the steel plant, smokestacks pointing their accusatory fingers into the sky. “If your whole team sucked, why would recruiters look at you?”

“Why does anything happen in this world, Hud? These guys are Dodd’s college buddies. I just had to be good enough to show I was a talented player stuck on a losing team. I could still get noticed if the recruiters saw potential, and Dodd would make sure of that. In return, he wanted the Wolves to crash and burn. I didn’t want to screw over the team, but I wasn’t about to pass up my one chance to get out of here.”

For sure, for real, just like everyone says.

“So you took the deal.”

Will nods, drawing circles in the frost on the rusty hood. “But then Josh told me about you, and I got this idea. I thought … okay, if this girl can help us train, we might win a few games without Dodd. He could stay with the football team. And chances are we’d still get canceled anyway, but at least I could avoid selling out my friends, and instead of being known as the one talented guy on a suck-ass team, I’d be the guy who led a suck-ass team to break a ten-year losing streak with a couple of unexpected wins.”

“Ah. Nice to know your ego hasn’t suffered any critical blows this season.”

“No, that’s just it.” Will steps right in front of me. “After a few games, my ego checked out. We came together as a team. For the first time in three years, I felt like I was part of something bigger. Like we could really do this. Win—not just a few games, but a lot of games. Dodd kept pressuring me to tone it down, but he couldn’t do anything about it in public. I dodged him for weeks, but tonight, he finally lost it. I was so mad after first period, I just took over the game. I wanted to show Dodd what I could do without him, but that made everything worse. I screwed my friends, embarrassed my father, and Dodd completely freaked. It was like he forgot there were people around.”

“Josh overheard?”

“Yep.”

I stomp my boots on the ground to warm my numb feet. “Did you explain to him about Dodd and your father?”

Will shakes his head. “You saw what happened after the win. Josh laid into me, and I was so upset about Dodd, and when I saw you looking at Josh like … like you always look at Josh … I don’t know. I flipped. I lost it. I’m sorry.” Will looks into my eyes, his voice soft and sincere. There’s no award-winning toothpaste commercial smile, no expensive cologne, no charmingly cheesy one-liners, no soft and distracting kisses. “You did so much for the team. For me. You’re actually kind of … amazing. Just like Josh always said.”

“Josh isn’t …” Was Hudson part of the package, too?

“Hudson?” He pulls me toward him again, but I press my hand against his chest, holding him back.

“I can’t do this.”

He sighs and leans in to kiss my cheek, close to my lips, sending a familiar zing across my skin. But it doesn’t last; it slips out into the night air, disappearing with Will. He gets into his car, reverses out of the spot, and vanishes down the road, brake lights fading into tiny red specks, the deep gray hole in my chest going black around the edges.

I turn my face to the sky. Heavy, wet snowflakes pelt my cheeks, sticking in my eyelashes until I blink them away. How can I be upset with Will when he was just doing what he had to do to secure his future? To find his own golden ticket out of here?

I don’t even know what’s important anymore. What’s worth fighting for, even if it’s not always a clean fight. Skating? Cupcakes? Hockey? My family? The diner? The scholarship? Dani? Will? Josh? My father? The past? The future? Everything I touch slips through my fingers like spilled hot chocolate. All I have left is the competition, the one thing that really can alter the course of my life. Fear and doubts aside, that was the deal. The promise I made myself when I signed up for the Capriani Cup.

Win it, and everything changes.

Now, more than ever, no matter how much it hurts to admit, that promise is the very last hope I’m holding, the only thing in my life that I haven’t yet spilled.

In six days, I’ll skate for those judges.

In six days, nothing else will matter.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Bittersweets

Bavarian orange chocolate espresso cupcakes topped with dark chocolate ganache, chocolate icing, and a flower of orange buttercream

A plume of snowflakes swirls through the light of the Mobil sign next door, black lines on a pale blue glow announcing the price of gas and Newport Lights and something else with missing letters. Lake-effect wind lashes my bedroom window and my thin curtains ripple in the early morning draft, swaying at the edges.

I yawn and stretch and reach up to flick the light switch. From Bug’s room next door, Mr. Napkins squeaks out a lengthy response on his hamster wheel, which I can’t quite translate, because it’s too early and I haven’t had my hot stuff yet—coffee and shower, priorities one and two.

Twelve minutes later, I set my cup of joe on the bathroom sink as I examine my aching body in the fluorescent light, the parts I crash-landed on in training all week finally standing up for themselves. My triple/triple is solid, but my hip is bruised, a purple rose blooming on my skin. I feel a matching one on my elbow, and when I push up the sleeve of my bathrobe to inspect the damage, the door swings open with a rush of cold air.

“Don’t you knock?” I pull my robe tight as Bug looks up with his huge, matter-of-fact eyes, glasses fogging up from the steam of the waiting shower.

He holds up the hamster’s water bottle. “Mr. Napkins is thirsty. What happened to your arm?”

“Nothing.”

“Can I see it?”

“It’s fine.”

Bug looks at the shower stall and back to me. “Hudson, if it’s bruised, you should ice it. Heat will make it swell.”

“Thanks for the tip, Dr. Avery.”

“Saw it on House.” Bug nudges in front of me to get to the sink. He reaches for the faucet. Turns it on. Fills the water bottle. Twists and twists and twists the cap closed. Stretches to shut off the water. Dries the bottle on the hand towel. Turns toward me. And wraps his tiny arms around my waist, pressing his cheek against my robe. “It’s from Mr. Napkins,” he says, words muffled by the closeness of us.

I run my hand over his head and squeeze him back.

“Almost time for Hurley’s,” he says. “Mom said I can peel gum off the tables today. Holy cannoli!” He pumps his fist in the air. And then he’s gone.