Brains Behind the Puck

The Wrong Distraction

I've officially become a professional avoider. If there were a degree for avoiding drama, I'd be graduating with honours. I've buried myself in shifts at the bistro, thrown myself into study sessions with Clara, Emma, and Brandon, and avoided the house like it's filled with rabid dogs or a surprise family reunion. Because, let's face it, with Alex and James being... well, Alex and James, it kind of feels like it is.

My brilliant plan to dodge drama has worked so far. At least until I look at my phone and see another one of James's passive-aggressive "Where are you?" texts. Ugh. Like, seriously, dude, ever heard of personal space? Thank God for the campus cafeteria. It's the only place I can pretend my life isn't a walking soap opera, and I'm not the lead character in an epic love triangle I didn't even audition for.

Guilt has been gnawing at me ever since the game. It's like an unwanted weight that's settled in my chest, refusing to let go. I keep replaying everything—the tension between James and Alex, the looks they gave each other, the way Luke had to get in between them. And it all circles back to me. If I weren't around, would they still be best friends?

I'm just about to give up on eating altogether when a voice breaks through my thoughts

"Riley! Long time no see."

I blink and look up, startled. Matt, the firefighter who helped me during the whole apartment fiasco, is standing there, a friendly smile on his handsome face. Because apparently, my life is now full of handsome, complicated men. He's dressed casually—jeans, a plain t-shirt, a backpack slung over one shoulder. He looks so out of place here, like he belongs in some action movie instead of the middle of campus. Just add a burning building in the background and he'd be perfect.

I plaster on a smile. "Hey, Matt. How's it going?"

"Good," he says, pulling out the chair across from me like we're old pals. "Mind if I sit?"

"Go ahead," I say, wondering if this is how the universe plans to test my sanity.

He settles in, looking all relaxed and easy-going, and I feel an immediate sense of relief. No drama, no weird tension. Just a genuinely good guy—no twisted past, no unresolved emotional baggage. How refreshing. How absolutely boring. Look at him—walking in here like he stepped out of a wholesome family sitcom. I bet Matt never leaves dishes in the sink or causes property damage in the name of bro fights. He's the guy who'd help you move your couch, not accidentally set it on fire. So, why does that sound like a guarantee I won't lose my mind over him?

"So," he starts, leaning back like he's settling in for a long chat, "I've been wondering if you were ever going to call me. Ghosted me, huh?"

Ghosted him? Oh, the irony. I've been ghosting my entire life lately—James, Alex, my sanity. Matt's just one casualty of the full-scale emotional retreat. I blink, trying to remember... Oh, right, that Post-it. The one that vanished into the abyss of my chaotic life. "Oh God," I laugh, realising how bad that sounds. "Yeah, I lost the Post-it, I think? Moving, school, the whole circus. It got lost in the shuffle."

Matt chuckles, leaning back in his seat. "Yeah, well, I was beginning to think you forgot about me. I mean, I know a lot of girls dig firefighters, but I didn't think I was that forgettable."

I raise an eyebrow. "Oh, please. You know you're unforgettable. You probably have an entire fan club of women making scrapbooks about the way you save kittens from trees."

"Guilty," he smirks. "The kitten calendar's coming out next year, actually. My mom's really proud."

I snort. I forgot how easy it is to talk to him—how light the conversation feels compared to the emotional landmines that are Alex and James. Matt's uncomplicated, drama-free, and entirely... safe. No sparks, no adrenaline, but no explosions either.

"Well, since you're so forgettable," I tease, "how about I make it up to you with coffee sometime? You know, so you can prove that you're more than just the hot firefighter I met during a crisis."

His grin widens, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Hot, hmm? And how about I make it up to you for not tracking you down sooner? How's Friday sound?"

I blink, taken aback. Did I just get asked out on a coffee date? By Matt, the good guy? Suddenly, the whole thing feels... refreshingly normal. Normal. How revolutionary. After weeks of James and Alex giving me whiplash, normal sounds downright magical.

"Friday works," I say, nodding. "Coffee?"

Matt leans forward, that easy smile still in place. "What about a hamburger? Dinner?"

I gulp. Scrap that. Not a coffee date, but a real date! Sure, what could go wrong? I mean, except for the fact that my current emotional state is a Molotov cocktail of poor decisions, and this little date might just be the match to light it all up. "Sure, let me give you my number this time," I say, reaching for a bar napkin and scribbling my phone number on it. Damn, I really am a natural-born conqueror.

He takes it, and as he stands to leave, he gives me one last playful look. "Don't lose my number this time, McKenzie. I'll text you the details."

Sure, if I can find it in the chaotic disaster that is my life right now.

I roll my eyes, biting back a grin. "I'll do my best."

As he walks away, I feel lighter—like maybe there's a way to escape the tornado that's become my life. But as I sip my coffee, that familiar knot settles in my chest again. Even with Matt offering me an escape route, the weight of his silence, his kiss, the mess he's left me in—lingers.

And that's when I realize: I'm still not over it.

No matter how good Matt looks on paper, he's not him. And I hate that I even think that. Because he is the guy I shouldn't be thinking about at all. Because, really, what could be better than a complicated, emotionally unavailable guy who gives you emotional whiplash?

But, damn it, my heart isn't listening.