Page 308

She studies me.

“You know how you always make a wish at eleven-eleven?”

A small smile touches her mouth. “You've only made fun of me for it about a thousand times.”

She smiles faintly. “I still do that.”

“I know.”

I look out over the backyard. “I used to think it was ridiculous. You'd make everybody stop talking because you didn't want anyone ruining your wish.”

“Because you weren't supposed to tell anyone what you wished for.”

“Right. Very strict rules.”

She laughs.

I look back at her.

“I'd stopped believing in wishes long before I came to Evergreen.”

Her smile fades.

I don't need to explain why.

She knows enough about my childhood now to understand.

“But you never stopped,” I continue. “Didn't matter what kind of day you'd had. You'd see those numbers and close your eyes like there was still something worth hoping for.”

I remember her sitting in the back of Coach's truck after one of our games, pressing her palms together when the dashboard clock changed.

*Eleven-eleven.*

Make a wish.

I'd laughed at her.

She'd told me I was missing out.

“Somewhere along the way, you made me want to believe in that again.”

Her lips part.

“When I was a kid, hockey was the only thing I ever wanted badly enough to imagine a future around—making it to the league. Playing in front of a packed arena. Having my name on the back of a jersey.”

I glance at her.

“And then there was you.”

She stops breathing for a second.

“I spent a long time pretending those two things had nothing to do with each other. Hockey was the dream I could chase. You were the one I wasn't supposed to want.”

“Hayes…”

I smile at the sound of my name.

“I had two wishes, Becks. Hockey and you.”