I drag my hands down my face, palms scraping over the stubble on my jaw as I tell my sister what really went down three years ago. Not every detail — I can't bring myself to go there yet — but enough. Enough for her to understand the mess I made.
She doesn't interrupt. Just sits there, listening, her silence heavier than any lecture she could throw at me.
When I finish, I slump forward, elbows on my knees, feeling like I've just carved myself open anyway.
I glance sideways, and there it is — that look on Sam's face. Not anger. Not judgment. Worse. Sympathy. Pure pity. Her eyes soften in a way that makes my stomach twist, like she's staring at something broken she doesn't know how to fix.
And God, it makes me feel even shittier. Like I've gone from being her big brother, the one who's supposed to have it together, to some sad case she's tiptoeing around.
"I'm supposed to be focusing on the game tonight. Thinking about lines, matchups, faceoff strategies. That's my job. That's what the boys need from me right now. But I can't."
Because I can't think straight, can't breathe right, can't even picture the damn ice when all I see is her face — devastated, like I'd taken every sharp object in the world and shoved it straight through her chest.
Like I'd torn her apart with my bare hands.
My voice scrapes out low, cracked. "I can't play with this hanging over me. Can't do anything until I tell her the truth. Until I beg her to hear me out. If I don't? I'm done. Completely fucking done."
"Zach, stop." Sam's voice cuts sharp, firmer than I expect. She pushes off the bed, planting herself right in my pacing path so I nearly collide with her. "Stop beating yourself up like this."
I open my mouth to argue, but she doesn't give me the chance.
"I get it. I do. You want to fix this. You want to explain yourself and maybe get your best friend back. But you can't do that today. Not right this second. Caroline's tied up with her audition—one she's been killing herself to prepare for—and you've got a game in less than eight hours. Heavy conversations like this? They take time. And neither of you has that today."
I clench my jaw, frustration clawing up my throat, but I know she's right.
"So here's what youcando: stop trying to fight two battles at once. Focus on the one in front of you. Tonight, win your opener. Tomorrow, lock in for the second game. Give the guys everything you've got. And once that's done?" She softens, a small, determined smile tugging at her lips.
"Leave the rest to me. I'll do everything I can to get Caroline to the Pond on Sunday. If we win, there's gonna be a party—call it a post-game bash, whatever. Everyone'll be there, and I'll make sure she comes too. And when she does? I'll help you get her alone. Even if I have to lock the two of you in your room until you hash it out."
Her eyes flash with that little-sister mischief, but the seriousness in her voice doesn't waver. "You'll have time. Privacy. A real shot to explain everything. Just... trust me on this."
I exhale hard, shoulders sagging as I drop back onto the edge of her bed.
Do I feel better? Not exactly.
The knot in my chest is still there, tight and choking. But there's something in her voice—solid, certain—that digs through the noise just enough to steady me.
Sam studies my face like she's reading every thought I don't say out loud. Doubt. Restlessness. Desperation. It's all there, clear as day.
But she just smiles that small, determined smile. The one that saysI've got you, even when you're a disaster.
"You've always been the best wingman for me, Zachy," she says softly, nudging my shoulder with hers. "So this time? Let me be the best damn wingman you'll ever have."
I let out a rough laugh, dragging a hand through my already-messy hair. "Fine," I grumble. "I'll trust you."
And for the first time all morning, something in my chest eases.
Not gone. Not fixed.
But it takes the edge off, just a little.
And right now, I'll take whatever scrap of hope I can get.
*****
CAROLINE
"No, Sam. I'm not going,"
