The blonde’s dress hikes up under my hands as she wraps her legs around my waist, and I press into her harder. She cries softly into my mouth, fingers clawing at my shoulders. I let myself go with it—the heat, the rush, the feeling of being wanted without strings. My hands roam, my mouth trails down her neck, tasting her skin.
She moans, her exhale hot against my ear. The rip of a condom, impatient hands sliding it on my length, and I give her everything she’s asking for, her ragged breaths filling the small space between us. We lose ourselves in each other, in the urgency of the moment, in the desperate press of our bodies. For a little while, everything else fades—the pressure, the expectations, the weight of being Nate Russo, starter goalie. But even as she rides me, even as pleasure builds, there’s this weird disconnect, as if I’m watching it happen to someone else.
It’s everything tonight promises, and nothing I need. This should be enough—the rush, the release, the way this woman mutes the world. It’s what I came for. So why does it feel like I’m only going through the motions?
When it’s over, she leans against the wall, lips swollen, dress rumpled. I let her slide her legs down and steady her, and she gives me a hopeful smile, but I don’t ask for her number or her name. I don’t make promises I won’t keep.
“Take care,” I murmur instead, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple because I’m not a complete asshole.
The hallway feels cooler after the heat of the room. I straighten my shirt, run a hand through my hair, and step back into the chaos of the club. The music hits me in a wave, bass vibrating through my chest, and I scan the crowd for my teammates. There’s Finn, spinning Jessica on the dance floor. Dmitri’s got Erin pressed against the bar. Everyone’s exactly where they should be, doing exactly what they want.
This is the life. This is what every guy dreams of. The upside of being a famous hockey player.
The city burns, the music pounds, and a blonde I’ll never call walks away. But all I can see is a girl from ten summers ago—the one I thought would be mine.
5
MAKE A WISH (NATE, AGE 10)
The ferry horn cuts through the salt air. Summer officially begins the moment we set foot on the island, two months of pure freedom ahead.
My family has been coming to Fire Island for as long as I can remember. My dad inherited a weathered four-bedroom house tucked between the dunes, and every summer it fills with sand, salt, and kids running wild. For years, Leo’s family has shared it with us. The dads head back to the city for work during the week, and Leo’s mom goes with them while my mom, a middle school teacher with summers off, stays behind to wrangle the four of us.
The adults linger at the dock’s edge, stretching out their goodbyes with promises of weekend visits and Fourth of July fireworks. When the ferry bell clangs again, sharp and final, they wave from the deck as the boat pulls away, their voices swallowed by the distance.
My mom claps her hands, a wide white smile flashing as she plants one hand on her hip. “All right, y’all. You know the deal. I run this house, and I’ve decided we’re gonnamake it a good week.”
She gives us that side-eye, chin tilted and eyebrow raised, daring us to test her. “And if you act like you ain’t having fun? I’ll find you some extra math homework real quick.” She snaps her fingers once, sharp and teasing. “Don’t play with me.”
We groan in unison, because when Mom lays down the rules, that’s it. Nobody’s dumb enough to argue. The ferry shrinks to a speck on the horizon. Summer—our summer—has finally begun.
As evening settles in,the sky streaks orange and pink. Leo’s older brother Ryan takes off to meet his friends, calling a half-hearted goodbye over his shoulder. My mom leans against the porch rail, eyes on us. “Alright now, y’all stick together. And don’t forget to bring Eden in, too. I don’t want nobody left out.”
“We will,” Leo says automatically, and he means it. When I wave Eden over, her whole face transforms. You’d think I invited her to Disney World, and the way she lights up makes me want to invite her everywhere.
The three of us, two ten-year-olds and an eight-year-old, head toward the ocean, bare feet kicking up the cool shore.
The beach at dusk is nearly empty, just a few couples enjoying the last light. The lifeguard stand rises ahead, empty now, a small mound of soft ground piled beneath it from all the kids who’ve jumped before us.
We climb the stand, the wood still warm from the sun, salt clinging to our skin. Leo jumps first, arms spread, landing with a shout that echoes across the water. I follow, hitting the mound with a thud that rattles my knees and makes me laugh.
Eden hesitates at the edge, toes curled over the board.
“I’ll go with you,” Leo says, scrambling back up to stand beside her. “It’s fun.”
She grips his hand, and together, they leap, their laughter rising over the waves when they hit the ground.
The next time, Eden jumps alone, braver now, her small frame cutting through the air. We cheer, and she beams, scrambling back up the ladder to do it again.
We take turns: climb, jump, climb, jump; until we’re breathless, our legs coated in grit, the kind of tired where you don’t want the night to end.
By the time we flop onto the beach, the sky has turned deep purple, the moon hanging low over the dunes. Eden shivers, so I yank off my hoodie and drop it on her shoulders. She looks up at me, and my chest does a weird thump. I stare at the water so she won’t see.
The sky isfull indigo when we’re back at the house, the porch light glowing warm against the dark. Ryan sprawls on the couch with a book, barely looking up.
Leo, always the ringleader, bursts through the door. “Flashlight tag on the beach! Who’s in?”
Ryan lowers his book just enough to smirk. “You’re going to get yelled at if you go too far.”
