Page 43 of The Callahan Effect

Chapter Eight

JACK

The drive back to Evergreen passed far too quickly.

Spokane's streets were quieter than they had been only a few hours earlier, the excitement of the game gradually giving way to the comfort of a typical Saturday evening, yet I found myself wishing every red light would last a little longer. Mason sat beside me with one arm resting against the open window, occasionally glancing my way. I'd discovered something unexpected during our afternoon together. Words mattered, but they weren't the reason I enjoyed being with him.

For the first time in years, I dreaded reaching campus.

Eventually the entrance to Evergreen appeared ahead of us. Residence halls stood illuminated beneath pools of soft light, students wandered between buildings in small groups, and laughter drifted across the lawns from those celebrating the opening weekend of the semester and our hockey win.

I eased the SUV into the parking lot outside Mason's dormitory and switched off the engine, neither of us making any immediate move toward the doors.

Mason looked across at me.

"I don't want today to end."

Neither do I.

He read the screen before looking back at me, something soft settling into his expression.

"Come upstairs for a while."

I hesitated only long enough to think about tomorrow morning. Ice had to be ready before the team arrived but I had plenty of time before having to be at the arena. I nodded.

The walk to his residence hall took barely a minute, yet every step beside him seemed strangely significant. Our shoulders brushed once or twice without either of us moving away, and instead of settling, my pulse quickened as the elevator doors slid open. The reality of being alone with Mason suddenly felt far less like a dream and far more like something that was actually about to happen.

When the elevator doors slid open, the corridor outside his room was deserted.

Most of the team had clearly followed Ryan's suggestion of celebrating downtown. Mason unlocked the door, stepped aside, and motioned me inside.

"Welcome to my palace."

I laughed silently as I crossed the threshold. The room reflected exactly what I'd already learned about him. Mason was organized and comfortable in his space.

His hockey equipment occupied one corner in meticulous order, sticks lined neatly against the wall beside a rack of freshly cleaned practice gear. Textbooks and notebooks covered the desk beneath the window overlooking campus, and photographs from Florida had found places on the shelves above his bed. Family. Friends. Hockey. Every picture represented something important to him.

The soft click of the door closing behind us transformed everything. We'd spent the past two days surrounded by teammates, coaches, students, or strangers, but for the first time since we'd met, we were completely alone behind a closed door, the quiet of Mason's room wrapping around us until I became acutely aware there was no one to interrupt us.

Mason took a few steps into the room before turning back toward me. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, paced as far as the desk, then stopped again, rubbing the back of his neck as though he was arguing with himself. Twice the words reached his lips before he abandoned them, and by the third attempt I realized he wasn't searching for the right thing to say nearly as much as deciding whether he could risk saying anything at all.

"There's something I've been wanting to ask you since this afternoon." His voice was softer than usual, stripped of the easy confidence I'd become accustomed to hearing. "I kept talking myself out of it because I figured there was a good chance I'd completely misunderstood."

I held his gaze, waiting, my own pulse refusing to settle as dozens of possibilities raced through my mind. For the first time in years, not having a voice felt like an even greater frustration because I couldn't reassure him without reaching for my phone, and that seemed too slow for a moment that already felt painfully fragile.

Mason drew a slow breath before continuing. "When we were at the rink..." He hesitated, searching for the right words instead of forcing the wrong ones. "A couple of times I caught you looking at me, and it didn't feel like the way you look at everyone else." His voice faltered for a moment before he finished. "I've spent the last few hours trying to convince myself I imagined it but I don't think I did."

Relief washed through me so suddenly it left me light-headed. Without taking my eyes off him, I slowly shook my head and stepped forward.

He released a slow breath and the tension in his shoulders eased. The uncertainty that had clouded his expression gave way to something different—hope.

"So I wasn't imagining it." The words were barely above a whisper. He studied me before adding, "I'm glad, because I haven't been able to think about much else since we met."

He took one careful step toward me, leaving enough space that I could still decide whether I wanted him any closer.

"I don't want to assume anything."

His voice had grown softer.