I shake my head. “Don’t do that. People are watching. They expect us to be something. If I mess this up...”
Beth tilts her head. “If you lose him, would you rather it be because you were honest, or because you made it look perfect until it broke?”
I don’t think I have an answer to that one. I’m starting to wonder where the influencer ends and the real Luna begins. The lines are blurring.
I glance down at my Insta account, idly scrolling. My thumb hovers over the “new post” button. There’s a picture in my drafts, me and Beau on the ice. It’s of the in-between space when our practice was over and his was beginning. He’s grinning, fresh and ready to go. I’m holding his helmet over my face like I’m hiding, even though I wasn’t. I was covering up my flushed face and sweat-soaked hair.
I don’t post it.
Instead, I open our texts. The thread is full of memes, dumb voice notes, and middle-of-the-night selfies. I scroll past the good morning texts. Past the one where he sent a photo of Bluebeard curled up in his laundry basket. Past the brief apology from earlier.
I don’t know what I’m looking for. A clue? A map? A version of him that explains this one?
After my friends leave, I curl up in bed, imagining what I’d say if he were here. I’d ask him why he didn’t show. Not with anger, but with that soft ache you can’t quite hide. I’d ask him if he still wants this, or if I’m trying to keep the momentum going while he’s moving on with his life.
This isn’t me, though. I’m not one to dwell on a guy and obsessively wonder if he’s going to call. I take action, askquestions, and if it turns out this thing didn’t mean as much to him as it did to me? Well then, I’ll move on with my life.
Chapter 30
The Ice Cracks
Beau
There’sstillcondensationonmy helmet when I toss it into my locker. I don’t even bother wiping it down like I usually do, just let it slide off the edge and puddle onto the tile.
JJ’s laughing about something two stalls over, chirping Dev for forgetting his lifting gloves again. I should be part of it. Usually, I would be. But today? The noise is too much.
I slip out, leaving my stick leaning against the rack. I don’t even make up an excuse. They’re all too occupied goofing around. No one stops me. They probably think I’m heading to the training room early or going to talk to coach. It’s easier to disappear than I would have thought, given how nosy the guys usually are.
Outside, the cold hits my face with the sharp bite of late winter. It feels thinner somehow, stinging my cheeks. I shove my hands deeper into my jacket pockets and cut across the lot, stepping over a slush pile that soaks through my left shoe. Great.
The drive back to my house is short. Too short. I’m not ready to be alone with my thoughts, but the moment I sit still,everything from the last few days loops like a glitching video file. Luna’s voice reading her last text to me, “Don’t worry about it. JJ did amazing.”
Eventually, I drag myself out of the car. My shoulders are stiff, muscles still cooling in a way I’ll regret later. I’m supposed to stretch. Ice. Hydrate. Take care of my body like it’s a machine that needs oil and timing and care.
But I haven’t even been taking care of my mind, so what’s the point?
The rest of the guys headed to Wright’s after their workouts, but I couldn’t bring myself to go. To pretend everything is fine. At least it’s quiet, but maybe I’ll throw on a podcast or a mindless show, so I don’t start spiraling again.
But I’m not alone.
Cece’s curled up at the kitchen table, sketchpad in front of her and a steaming mug between her palms. She doesn’t look up right away, just chews on the end of her pencil and squints down at whatever she’s working on.
My first instinct is to turn around. Pretend I forgot something, but then she glances up and gives me this small, surprised smile. Like she didn’t expect me home this early, which… fair.
“Hey,” she says. Her voice is soft but not pitying. Just Cece. Always Cece. “Didn’t expect to see you. I thought you guys were staying for a workout today.”
“We usually do,” I mutter, tossing my keys in the bowl by the door. “Skipped it.”
Her brows lift slightly, but she doesn’t press.
“I was just waiting for Dev,” she adds, flipping the page on her sketchpad.
I nod, walking past her toward the fridge, even though I don’t know what I’m looking for. Something to do with my hands, maybe. Something that makes me feel like a normal personinstead of the guy who’s coming apart in his own skin. Nothing appeals under the bright interior light, so I slam the door shut.
“Didn’t expect you back so soon,” Cece says gently. “You okay?”
I pause, fingers curling into the edge of the counter. The question hangs in the air between us. It’s not a polite throwaway question, but I know if I say yes, she’ll let it go. She always lets me choose whether or not to talk, which is why she’s one of the few people who can get me to open up. And I don’t want to lie today. I’m tired of lying, especially to myself.
