The Year We Hid Away: A Hockey Romance (The Ivy Years Book 2)

-BRIDGER-

“LOOK AT THAT!” Lulu said, bouncing ahead of me.

I raised my eyes from the pavement to see what she wanted to show me. It was a giant, inflatable Santa Claus in the center of some poor slob’s lawn. And there were animated reindeer mechanically bowing their heads beside it.

It was the tackiest thing I’d ever seen.

Lately Lucy had the big eyes that kids got when Christmas approached. She was old enough to know that Santa was a myth, but young enough to get carried away by somebody’s cheesy lawn ornaments. “Fancy,” I said lightly.

“Isn’t it?” We both came to a stop at the pathway that led to the school. Kids were streaming past us now, because the bell was about to ring.

“You have your lunch in there, right?”

She patted her pack and nodded.

“All right. Then give me a hug.” I bent over to give her a quick squeeze. She hadn’t started blowing off the goodbye hugs yet. Though I knew my days were numbered, because she wouldn’t let me hold her hand anymore when we walked through a crowd.

“Bye Bridge,” she chirped over her shoulder as she ran off in the river of children.

“Bye!” I called after her. A moment later, her red ponytail had disappeared, and so I did a one-eighty and hoofed it back to campus.

We were down to the last week of classes, followed by a week of Reading Period, followed by exams. My classmates were waving in the end of the semester like flight controllers on the tarmac. But the end of the term only brought me trouble, because Lucy and I had nowhere to go. Her vacation didn’t start until a week after exams were finished. So even if I fell on my sword and confessed to Hartley that we were effectively homeless, Lucy would miss a week of school if we stayed at his place. Because I had no car to get her to school from Hartley’s house.

As usual, all my choices sucked.

Putting one foot in front of the other one, I got to Stats class on time. I sat in the front row and took good notes, even though I really didn’t need to. It was hard to shake the idea that I wouldn’t be helping Scarlet study for this exam. Her rejection had been burning a hole in my gut for days.

It should have made me feel better to see that she looked miserable, too. Whenever I passed her walking into class, she snuck looks at me. She was pale and tired, and those hazel eyes fell to the desktop every time I caught her seeking me out.

To tell the truth, I felt damned uneasy about the whole thing. She’d thrown me over in a way that left very little room for interpretation. But she didn’t look like someone who was happy about having a new guy.

She looked like a wreck.

Unfortunately, being pissed at her didn’t make me love her any less. And it didn’t matter that I actually had more important problems to think about. I kept turning the events of Thanksgiving weekend over in my mind, searching for an explanation that never came.

Thursdays used to be one of my two favorite days of the week. But now the morning was just pure pain. After stats, I walked alone into music theory, careful to take a seat far from Scarlet. Avoiding somebody was hard work. When she was in the room with me, it was like there just wasn’t enough air for the both of us. My chest felt tight, and it was impossible to concentrate.

“Hi, Bridger!”

I looked up to see someone sliding into the seat next to mine. “Hi there,” I replied, careful to keep my reaction polite but uninterested. Her name was Amelia, and she’d sat next to me during Tuesday’s lecture, too. Amelia was in one of the a cappella singing groups. We’d hooked up once last year after a party in Corey Callahan’s room. Actually, we’d hooked up during the party. And after. But it was just the once, and a year ago, too.

“We’re going to review structure today,” the professor said at the head of the class. He wrote some terms on the white board as he talked. Sonata. Minuet. Concerto. “First, let’s go over the various musical notations which instruct the musician to repeat a portion of the piece.” He wrote D.C. al fine, and D.C. al coda.

“Awesome,” Amelia said beside me. “I like repeats.”

Christ. Subtle, much? Ignoring her, I scribbled down everything the professor wrote, since I couldn’t count on Scarlet to help me prepare for this exam. And I sure the hell wouldn’t be asking Amelia.

I was taking a few notes about the format of a sonata when my phone vibrated in my pocket.

-SCARLET-

The goalie’s job was to see the whole rink, all the time.

So even if I didn’t want to notice the pretty girl who’d sat down next to Bridger for the second time in a row, I couldn’t help it.

In the newspaper that morning, I’d read that my father’s trial was expected to last “two or three months.” Even if that were true, there would be appeals. And after the criminal case was finally resolved, there would probably be a civil suit, too. By the time it was all over, Bridger wouldn’t even remember my face.

When I sent my awful text to Bridger, I knew it would ache to see him afterward. But watching that attractive upperclasswoman flip her hair for Bridger’s benefit gave me an outright stab of pain. I wanted to kill her with my bare hands.

Now there was a great idea. Another Ellison commits a crime. We could have our own wing in a prison somewhere.

Three cheers for gallows humor.

The professor droned on about concertos, and I didn’t take notes. I’d read this part of the textbook already.

A goalie notices everything, whether she wants to or not. So even though my view of Bridger was obscured by the flirtatious girl beside him, I knew right away when he pressed his phone to his head. And when he trotted out of the lecture hall, panic on his face, I saw it all.

A minute ticked by, then two. But he didn’t reappear. His notebook was still on top of the desk where he’d left it.

Finally, Bridger came shooting back into the room, his face red. I saw him trot over to his stuff, grab it up and turn back around in a flash. As he ran back toward the doors, I got one more look at his face.

Devastation was the only word to describe what I saw there.

As fast as possible, I shoved my things together and left to follow him. But by the time I got outside, Bridger was a ginger streak running down College Street. I jogged after him. Maybe Lucy was sick at school? But the look I’d seen on his face had freaked me out. Bridger didn’t rattle very easily. News of a tummy bug would not have affected him like that.

Still in pursuit, I saw Bridger draw up to Beaumont House. Instead of continuing on towards Lucy’s school, he scanned his card and pushed through the gates.

Weird.

By the time I got there, puffing from the run, the iron gates were shut already. My ID wouldn’t open them, either, because Beaumont was not my House. All I could do was to stand there, doing a little dance of impatience, waiting for a Beaumonter to wander by and let me in.

“Hey there. It’s Scarlet, right?” I turned around to see Bridger’s friend Hartley waving his ID in front of the sensor. “Are you and Bridger going to have lunch in the Beaumont dining hall for once? Or do I have to put both your faces on the back of that milk carton?”

“Hi,” I squeaked, grateful to be let in.

“Hey — are you okay?”

Actually, no. I stood there for a long moment, trying to decide what to say. Bridger had specifically kept Hartley out of the loop, and I understood his reasons. But even so, it had just occurred to me that I couldn’t get into Bridger’s entryway without help.

Screw it.

“I think something’s wrong with Bridger,” I said.

Two minutes later, I ran up the steps of Bridger’s entryway with Hartley on my heels. Finding the door to Bridger’s room open, I paused on the threshold. I was just in time to see Bridger kick Lucy’s mattress across the wood floor. Even as I opened my mouth to say something, he leapt over to it again, picked it up and hurled it at his own bed. “FUCK!” he shouted. Then he picked up a pink bunny and whipped it at the window. Making a fist, he punched the back of his metal desk chair, throwing it to the floor.

“Stop it!” I screamed.

Bridger didn’t even look up at me. He put both hands on the surface of his desk, and hung his head in defeat.

“What the fuck?” I heard Hartley whisper behind me.

“Bridger, please tell me what’s happened.” I walked over to the chair and set it up again. “Please.”

His shoulders heaved, and his fists clenched. He was still breathing hard, and his eyes and his face were red. Even though I was a little afraid of him, I walked closer. I put a hand on his chest. “What’s the matter?”

He took a shuddering breath, which I felt beneath my hand. “They took her out of school.”

“Who did?”

His gaze was unfocused. “DCF—the social workers. They took her out. I don’t know where she is.” His eyes had the glaze of someone who was in shock.

“Who called you?” I asked.

“Her teacher,” he said, his voice cracking. “They came to the classroom with the principal and asked for Lucy. When Mrs. Rose asked, ‘what is this regarding,’ they said ‘her mother has passed.’”

“She died?”

“That’s what they said.”

“I’m so sorry.”

His head drooped. “I’m really in the shit now.” As I watched, his eyes welled.

With two hands, I rubbed his back. I was probably the last person on earth he wanted to touch him. But I couldn’t help myself.

He shuddered. “I told her I wouldn’t let her go.”

“You haven’t.”

“Strangers have her. She must be out of her mind.”

“I know, Bridge. We’ll get this cleared up. You’re going to have to ask for help.”

“Fuck that. Nobody will help me. They’ll tell me to let her go.”

“We’ll find someone who knows what to do. You just need to ask the right people.”

At that, he stood up and shoved my hands away. “Ask for help, like you do, Scarlet? Thanks for the tip.”

“Bridge?” Hartley asked quietly. I’d actually forgotten he was in the room. “Has Lucy been living here with you?”

“Yeah.” His voice was flat.

“Dude, why?”

Bridger chuffed out a bitter laugh. “Why do you think?”

“I mean… why didn’t you say anything? My mom would have…”

“I know,” Bridger snarled. “Teresa, who worked her ass off for twenty two years and got nowhere, would put aside her new life to help us out. I didn’t want that. And I couldn’t have made it legal without risking losing her to the system, which is exactly what just happened anyway…”

Turning his back on us again, Bridger opened his laptop. When the screen blinked to life, he typed “Connecticut department of families and children” into the search line and waited.

“What are you going to do, Bridger?” I asked. “Call them? Go there?”

“What do you care, Scarlet? Shit.” He clicked on Contact Us.

“I care a great deal,” I said quietly.

“Bullshit! I’m out of my fucking mind over you, so I never saw this coming.” His voice rose to a shout. “And now you want to help?” He yanked his phone off the desk and began dialing.

“Bridger,” I whispered.

He pressed the phone to his ear and waited.

“Bridger,” Hartley echoed.

“No,” Bridger bellowed into the phone, as his face reddened with devastation, “I do NOT know my party’s extension.” He closed his eyes.

I stepped forward again, wrapping my body around him from behind, my face pressing into his back. “Shh,” I said. “It’s going to be alright.”

“No,” his voice was rough. “It isn’t. I did everything I could, and it’s all fucked up anyway.”

Hartley walked over to the window seat and picked up the pink bunny. “We need someone who knows their way around the department of social workers, or whatever it’s called. And we need someone who can help you with legal stuff.”

“I think you should go to the Beaumont House dean,” I suggested.

“No fucking way. That’s who I’ve been ducking since the summer.”

“Wait…” Hartley said, looking up at the ceiling, as if the answer was written there. “I think she’s right. You were breaking the rules before, but right now you aren’t anymore. So now he can only help you. That’s his job, anyway.”

“I don’t know. I can’t think,” Bridger said. I ran my hand through his hair. It felt so good to touch him again. Even if the timing was awful, I just didn’t want to let him go.

“Look,” Hartley said. “I’m going to duck into his office and see if he has an hour for you today. I’ll tell him it’s important, but I won’t say why.”

“All right.” Bridger sounded numb.

At that, Hartley left the room and closed the door.

“Shit,” Bridger cursed. “I don’t know anything about the system. I don’t know anything about social workers, except that I never wanted to meet one. I have no idea how it works.”

Neither did I. But I realized that I knew someone who might. I set my bag down and dug out Uncle Brian’s letter. I tapped his number into my phone, my thumb hovering over the “send” button.

I stopped myself just in time.

“Bridge, can I use your phone? It’s important. My uncle is a social worker. He’s not in Connecticut, unfortunately. But he might know what to do.”

“Something wrong with yours?” He pulled his phone off the desktop.

“It’s sort of bugged,” I sighed. “My father’s attack dogs know every call I make, and read every text.”

“What?” His eyes got huge. “That’s so fucked.”

“Yes, it is. It’s also why I haven’t talked to you in ten days.” I hit “send” on Bridger’s phone and held it to my ear.

Bridger put his forehead in his palm. “You should have just told me.”

“Hold that thought,” I said, as I listened to a phone ring at the other end of my call.

On the fourth ring, and just when I was losing hope, a man’s voice answered. “This is Brian Ellison.”

“Uncle Brian?” I said into the silence. “It’s… Shannon.” After all this time, my old name felt foreign on my tongue.

“Shannon,” his voice was rough. “Wow. I’m so happy to hear your voice. Is this your phone number?”

“It’s my boyfriend’s.” Somehow I managed to prevent myself from checking Bridger’s face when I called him that. But it wasn’t easy.

“I wrote you a letter a couple of months ago. Did you get it?”

“Just last week. Because I changed my name, and everything got confused.”

“Oh,” he said, his voice quiet. “I didn’t know that.”

“Why would you, you know? But do you have a minute? There’s a problem.”

“For you, I always have a minute. What’s the matter?”

“It’s not my problem, but it’s really important. I need some advice about how social services in Connecticut would handle a situation. There’s a child — she’s eight — and the mother has died. But her brother is an adult who wants custody. And it’s urgent.”

He was silent for a moment. “That sounds serious. Does this have anything to do with J.P.’s mess?”

“Not a thing. But it has everything to do with people I love.” Please, I begged him silently. Please help.

“Can I come and discuss it in person?” he asked. “I could be in Harkness by… five o’clock.”

Relief flooded through me. “That’s an amazing offer. But won’t the social services offices be closed by then?”

There was more silence on the line. “Why don’t you tell me the story. Who is this little girl?”

“My boyfriend’s little sister,” I couldn’t help looking up at Bridger. His eyes were glued to me, but his face gave away nothing. “He took her out of his mother’s home last summer. Because the mom had a drug habit and some scary friends.”

“Shit,” Brian said into my ear.

“She was living in his dorm room until this morning, when social services came and took her from school. Because their mother died. And they probably assumed that she’d been living at home.”

“And the father?”

“Deceased.”

“What a mess,” Brian sighed. “I’m so sorry.”

“I am too.”

“Okay. What’s your boyfriend’s name? Can I speak to him?”

“Of course.”

I handed the phone to Bridger. And while I tidied up the things that Bridger had kicked around the room, he spoke to Uncle Brian, filling him in on all the details.

Ten minutes later Bridger thanked my uncle and disconnected the call. He set the phone down and turned to me.

“What’s going to happen?” I asked.

Bridger raked a hand over his face. “He’s going to call around, and try to figure out where she is, and if I can see her. And then he’s going to call back and talk to me about how to try for custody.”

“Wow. Okay.”

“Thank you for calling him.” Bridger didn’t even look at me as he said this.

I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but it wouldn’t go. “I would do anything to help you.”

“If that’s true, then where the fuck have you been?” He looked up then, his eyes cool. “I am so incredibly angry with you right now.”

The disappointment on his face made me feel shaky with fear. “I know you are. But I needed to keep my head down, so my father’s security guys would leave me alone.”

“And how’s that been working for you?” There was a sarcastic edge to the question that made my eyes burn.

“I’m sorry, Bridge.”

“Your phone is bugged? Is that why you broke up with me with a text message?”

I nodded.

“You wanted them to see that?”

Again, I nodded.

“Can I assume there’s some fucked up reason why that seemed like a good idea?”

I knew I deserved his anger, but it scared me anyway. “The asshole-in-chief started asking a lot of questions, pointing out that you were the only one I ever called. He actually threatened you. And then?” I swallowed. “He said, ‘who’s Lucy?’”

“Fuck.” Bridger’s eyes got wide. “You should have just told me.”

“Why? So you could have two people to worry about instead of one?”

“But I do anyway!” he shouted. “I’m so twisted up over you, I never saw this coming!”

“So this is all my fault,” I spat.

His shoulders drooped. “I didn’t say that.”

“All the ugly in my life was bleeding into yours.”

“…Where there was already a shit ton of ugly,” Bridger finished. He lifted his eyes to me again, an unreadable expression on his face. My heart tripped over itself like it always did when he met my gaze. He was only three feet away, yet I felt like we were separated by miles.

The door opened as we stood there glaring at each other.

Hartley came in, clearing his throat. “Okay, the bad news is that the Dean is at a conference in New York today. The good news is that his assistant blocked out an hour for you tomorrow at noon.”

“Thanks, man.”

“And I’m coming with you,” Hartley added. “Would you let me do that?”

Bridger turned to face his friend. “Yeah, that would be good.”

“We’re going to get her back, Bridge. We can figure this out.”

“Yeah.” His voice held zero conviction.

“What do we do next? We could borrow a car and drive to the social services department.” Hartley shifted his weight from foot to foot by the door, and my heart swelled to see that Bridger had friends who were ready to help him.

Bridger jammed his hands in his pockets. “Actually, we’re waiting for Scarlet’s uncle to call us back. He’s looking into everything.”

“Okay. What else, then?”

“Go to practice Hartley. You’ll help me tomorrow.”

Hartley hesitated. “You sure?”

“I am, man. Go.”

But his friend didn’t move right away. “I guess I finally get why you quit hockey.”

Bridger sat down heavily on the bed. “Yeah. Now you do.”

“You moron. I’m pissed that you didn’t tell me.” Bridger looked up at me, and we locked eyes while Hartley continued his rant. “I’m sure you had some noble fucking idea about handling it yourself.”

“I know.” Bridger’s voice was flat.

Hartley heaved a great sigh. “You were a lot of help to me last year. Kinda kills me that you didn’t ask.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Without another word, Hartley turned around and left the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

After a couple of beats of silence, I spoke up. “You just had the same fight with Hartley that you picked with me.”

Bridger’s answer was almost a grunt. “I noticed.” For a moment he only rubbed the back of his own neck. And then he moved fast. One moment he was sitting across from me, but in the next he’d closed that gap. He put his hands on my hips and hoisted me into the air, catching me in his arms. Then he backed up again, dropping onto the bed, cradling me in his lap. “I wish you would have explained it to me,” he whispered.

I couldn’t answer him, because I was trying really hard not to cry. It felt so good to have him holding me again.

“I need you, Scarlet. Even when things are really ugly. Especially then.”

Tipping my face into Bridger’s neck, I took a deep breath of him. He smelled of soap and comfort. I’d missed this so much. “I need you, too.”

His voice became raspy as he asked me a question. “Is there some other guy?”

I shook my head vigorously. “I don’t even know any other guys.”

Bridger only sighed into my hair, and gathered me closer. We sat there a long time, just holding each other. When Bridger’s phone finally rang, I jumped off his lap.

He lunged for it. “Hello?” After he listened for a minute, I saw his shoulders relax. “Of course. Thank you. Let me get a pen.” When Bridger began scribbling something onto his notebook, I got up to look over his shoulder. It was an address in the neighboring town of Orange.

“I’ll call them before we come. Yeah, Scarlet has a car here. Sure. Okay. Thank you.”

Bridger turned to me, holding out the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”

I took the phone from him. “You found her?”

“She’s with a foster family who takes in emergency cases. Bridger is going to be allowed to bring Lucy some of her clothes, and visit her tonight.”

My eyes went to Bridger, who was now rustling around, pulling small t-shirts out of a drawer. “Wow, thank you.”

“It’s nothing. But, listen — he’s not the type to do anything stupid, right? She has to stay with the foster family until this shit gets sorted out.”

“No, it will be fine. He wouldn’t… snatch her or whatever you’re thinking.”

“Good. Because he’ll be no help to her in jail.”

“I’m sure he understands that.”

“Emotions run high in these situations. People do stupid things when they’re afraid.”

Don’t I know it.

“Look, Sweetheart, I want to drive down there tomorrow. I’ll help Bridger figure out some things, but also I’ll get to see you too.”

“Wow. Okay.”

“I think I can get to you about nine. Can you make time for me then?”

I could if I skipped my last Italian study session before the exam. “Sure.”

“Great. Can you give me your phone number?”

I hesitated. “We’ll just use Bridger’s number, okay? Not mine.”

“Shit. Are your parents tracking you?”

“Yeah.”

He cursed. “Hang in there, Sweetheart. I’ll see you tomorrow.”