I have absolutely no idea what to do with any of this.
My phone is already in my hand before my brain catches up. I jab Shari’s name.
She picks up on the first ring. “DID YOU SEE IT?!”
I’m half laughing, half shrieking. “WHAT DID THEY DO?!”
“They committed a felony-level Broadway number on live television!” she yells back. “Dex said he was going to keep it subtle! THAT WAS NOT SUBTLE!”
“I KNOW! THEY SANG. THEY DANCED. GABRIEL DID… I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT HE DID!”
“Girl, he did a spiritual cleansing with jazz hands. My soul left my body.”
I drag a hand down my face. “Holy shit, can you believe this?”
Shari snorts loud enough to rattle my speaker. “Honestly? Yes. Alpha hockey dudes are a menace. They fight, they punch, they skate like gods, they screw like they invented it, and then they turn around and have the emotional range of golden retrievers with abandonment issues.”
I wheeze. “They’re like… violent teddy bears.”
“Exactly! Big hot idiots with protective instincts cranked to eleven. They see danger and go full superhero. They see you crying and suddenly they’re writing diss tracks on live TV.”
I flop back against the couch cushion. “Okay, but this was psychotic even for them.”
“Babe,” Shari says, “they love you. Hockey men don’t do subtle. They do dramatic gestures and property damage.”
I snort. “True that!"
Shari laughs. “Exactly. Now go hydrate. I bet you screamed through half that broadcast. I have to text Dex and tell him mission accomplished.”
***
Hours later, I’m pacing my apartment, wearing holes in my carpet. My heart keeps flaring with hope I refuse to trust.
There’s a knock.
My whole body goes still.
No. No way.
I open the door.
Bryce stands there.
Hair messy, chest rising fast, hoodie half-zipped, looking like he ran here straight from a bad decision.
He smells like lemon cleaner and… garlic?
I blink. “Did you eat an entire Italian restaurant?”
He winces. “We had Greek food. A lot of it. This wasn’t planned.”
“What wasn’t?”
He steps in. Not fully. Just enough that I can see the fear and determination warring in his eyes.
“Us,” he says. “This. I should’ve been here a week ago.”
My throat tightens. “Bryce…”
