SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL, J.HUGHES

THIRTY ONE

MORGAN'S POV

End of May 2018

"They say that one day I'll play in the NHL," Jack says, his hand glued to his chest, eyes twinkling under the moonlight.

If someone had told me two years ago that I would find myself here, on Jack's dock, in my green prom dress, I would have laughed in disbelief. "Liar," I would have scoffed.

But here I am, sixteen years old, laying beside him on his dock.

Jack is the epitome of every girl's fantasy—the guy who effortlessly commands attention, the one who ignites dreams and desires with just a smile. And yes, I've dreamt about him too, ever since my brother joined the hockey program.

Attending every game became a ritual, an oportunity to witness Jack's prowess on the ice. I'd bring my homework along, refusing to miss a single moment where Jack took center stage. To me, he's worth more than any price tag—I'd gladly fork over thousands of dollars just to watch him play, and I know I'm not alone in that sentiment.

One day people will pay to watch him play.

The other day he planned this whole surfing day with his family, so that he could officially show everyone that he's seeing me. It was the first time he was inviting a girl home to meet his parents, although they're not entirely unfamiliar to me. I've seen them countless times at the arena, where Jack's mom, Ellen, always sits next to my own mother. It's become a ritual of sorts—a silent amusement between hockey moms, bonded by the chilly confines of the rink and a shared affinity for a certain beverage disguised in inconspicuous containers.

Ellen and my mom, they share a knowing glance as they discreetly sip from their covert wine glasses, pretending as if we're all oblivious to their little secret. But let's be real here—no one's fooling anyone. We all know that those innocent-looking glasses hold something far stronger than coffee. It's their way of braving the frigid temperatures of the arena, warming themselves from the inside out amidst the icy confines of what might as well be a frozen fortress.

Turning on my side, I blurt out, "But what if you get drafted to Canada or even LA? That's, like, so far away."

Jack's response is surprisingly calm, almost like we're discussing homework or something. "I know, but I'll be with you. I'll figure it out."

His words send a little thrill through me, but also a surge of nervousness. This conversation feels way too grown-up for a couple of sixteen and seventeen-year-olds. The idea of our futures, potentially thousands of miles apart, feels daunting. Yet, there's a strange comfort in his confidence, as if he's already mapped out a way for us to stay connected despite any distance.

"I guess we'll just have to see what happens," I say softly, trying to match his casual tone while my heart races with the weight of the unknown.

I can't help but giggle as Jack pulls me closer, his arms around me feeling both comforting and exhilarating. "First, I'm gonna win the 2019 World Juniors, then we can stress about my draft," he adds, trying to lighten the mood.

"We?" I repeat, a hint of disappointment creeping into my voice. "I mean, it's still a year away and, like, we're not even official yet."

"Do you wanna be?" Jack asks, sounding surprisingly casual.

"Your girlfriend?" I echo, my heart pounding a little faster as I wait for his answer.

"Yeah, and maybe one day we'll get married, have like two or three kids," he says, sounding way too confident for a guy our age.