Hate To Miss You (2) | 𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝙷𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚎𝚜 ❈

After

♡

LYLA
FOUR YEARS AND THREE
MONTHS LATER

My phone vibrated in my pocket, alerting me that I had yet another text from my beyond annoying best friend. I fished it from the depths of my brown leather backpack, a small grin tugging at my lips and forcing me to acknowledge that I did love him, he was also just the bane of my existence.

I was pleasantly surprised upon grasping my phone, to find that it hadn't been a text at all, and instead, an incoming call from the man himself. I swiped the screen of the device, unlocking it with a playful sigh.

"What do you want, Hemmings?" I groaned, though the tone of my voice gave me away immediately. He chuckled through the line, catching my real feelings in an instant. Dammit.

"Where are you, loser?" he teased, and I could just imagine him standing like a twerp with his hands on his hips in the middle of the hockey stadium. "The games about to begin and I swear to god if you miss it on the very first game of the season, I'll kill you myself."

"Jeez," I mumbled. "So needy."

"Just get your ass here, Lyla Jones."

He hung up abruptly, causing my eyebrows to pull into a frown and my lips to switch from a smug grin to a childish pout. Stupid Luke. Stupid Prudential Centre and its freaking maze-like hallways. How the hell was anyone supposed to find their way around here? It was completely different to the rink at home, which had been simple and elegant and much easier to find the stadium doors.

Who the hells idea was it to move to New Jersey cause they missed their best friend? Oh yeah, it was my dumb idea.

I guess I should probably give you guys the run down, right?

Well, little old second year of University Lyla had made the stupidest decision of her life, apparently. Abroad study wasn't for me, as it turns out, and I learnt that quickly upon arriving in Europe. It wasn't that I didn't like the country, or the people, or the school, because all of those things were great. It was just that . . . I was lonely, and quite honestly, I was really sad.

And so, I packed up my life for the second time, applied for a transfer back home and here I am--starting community college in New Jersey, Todays my first day back, obviously, and if I can be completely candid, I'm beyond lost trying to find Luke at this hockey game.

Things between Luke and I had been pretty tense at first, particularly at the end of summer all those years ago, but he'd apologised to me profusely, and several several times. He had also insisted he spend every day with me, once he left. He picked me up for work every day, shared his food with me, told me everything about him, I'm still not sure I needed to know most of it, but that's okay.

To be quite honest, I'm pretty sure Luke glued himself to my side back then because he was lonely. Especially once . . .

You know, never mind.

Whatever the case, here we were, best buds, two peas in a pod. Just little old Lyla and her mega dork of a best friend, attending the same university. I was sort of excited, to be honest, to be back in USA with him again. I loved spending time with Luke, and, hey, I had a really sweet new roommate who I'm pretty sure he's in love with.

My phone vibrated in my hand, reminding me that he was still waiting, and that I was still lost.

I really had to find my way to this stadium door, but I seriously had no idea how.

Groaning under my breath, I tucked a loose strand of curled hair behind my ear. Did I mention it was short now?  Yep. That's right. I chopped off twenty whole centimetres, leaving me with shoulder-length locks that I'd dyed a super fun dirty blonde, just to get into the spirit of the whole fresh start thing.

Glancing down at my books that were clutched closely to my chest, I cursed myself for not bothering to take a map of the building, or to at least ask for directions.

I hurried down the never ending corridor that I was almost positive I had already been down twice, turning the corner in a haste and hoping to all of the Gods that had ever existed that I'd be shown some sort of sign, or maybe, the door would just appear in thin air before my very eyes. I'd take either, at this point.

My eyes were cast to the polished floors, watching as my converse connected with the ground at a ridiculous pace that had my heart literally hammering in my chest.

Focused on nothing but myself, my ratty old shoes, and how beyond lost I was, I failed to noticed the much taller human racing towards me at an even faster pace. The problem--he was like a fucking bulldozer who could plough me down in an instant.

The bigger problem—I already knew this.

We crashed into one another with blinding force, literally knocking the wind out of me and sending me careening to what I assumed was my early grave. I landed on the floor of the hall with a thud, and a serious ache in my backside.

My beer went flying, my phone slid across the corridor and my new dorky-cute glasses had fallen down the bridge of my nose, landing at a wonky angle and momentarily blinding me.

I groaned in frustration, as did he.

"I'm sorry," I sighed, pushing my glasses back up to my eyes, and blinking several times to focus my gaze. "That was my—"

Pausing mid sentence, I sucked in a breath as my heart physically came to a complete stand still.

He looked the same as he did back in high school, only, he was a little bulkier around the arms, a little more glorious in the chest, and a lot more defined in his face—specifically his jawbone. His eyes were the same heavenly blue that would force butterflies to erupt in my stomach just at the thought of them, and his hair was the same mess of wavy, brunette perfection.

He wore a full hockey get up, the colours red, white and black, with the New Jersey Devils logo on the front, a while helmet with a visor and the number 86 printed on it in red, a mouth guard toying between his teeth and a hockey stick in hand, and I couldn't have thought of a prettier sight if I tried.

He picked up my phone in silence, mumbling under his breath but never looking up at me.

My chest heaved in anticipation as I climbed to my knees, and waited impatiently for him to finally notice who I was.

What would he say? What would he do? How would he react? Would he even recognise me at all? It had been so long since I'd spoken to him, so long since I'd seen his face.

Chucking blissfully, and throwing me right back to the last night we had spent together, he gathered his stick and my phone in his hands, and reached it out to me. "Nah, I'm the one who's sorry, it was . . ."

I held my breath, a wide-eyed expression on my face as my bottom lip was pulled between my teeth and my gaze focused on nothing but him. His face was completely void of emotions as he reached out subconscious, twirling a lock of baby blonde hair between his fingers before tucking it sweetly behind my ear. His eyes searched my face wildly, almost desperately, as recognition took over, and he realised exactly who it was that he was looking at.

"Lyla?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowed as his fingers remained gliding gently over the skin of my cheek.

I breathed in deeply, feeling my breath hitch as my heart skipped about a million beats. "Hi, Jack."

And just like that, we fell in love
all.
over.
again.