My chest tightens.
“I tried to prove him wrong by pretending he was right,” Daniel goes on. “Pushed the guy I loved out of my life because I couldn’t handle the fallout. Told myself it was easier that way. That I was making my dad happy.” He shakes his head, smiling bitterly. “It didn’t. He never forgotthat I admitted I liked guys, and pushing the guy I loved away, it just broke us both.”
I look away, throat burning. “So what, you’re saying I should just go back in there? Act like everything is fucking perfect?”
“No,” Daniel says. “I’m saying you both got hit by this and are too busy licking your wounds to realize you’re still on the same team.”
I bark out a humorless laugh. “He made it pretty clear he doesn’t want me.”
“He’s not rejecting you, Logan. He’s trying to survive his own shit. He’ll get out of his head and see what’s really important to him.” Daniel pushes off the wall, his tone gentler now. “You don’t have to fix him. Just… don’t let this be the way it ends.”
The words hang there, heavy and honest.
“I don’t even know where to start,” I admit quietly.
Daniel shrugs. “Start by cooling off. Then maybe remind him that you’re not his dad. That you see and love the real him, no matter what.”
I let out a slow breath, the fight bleeding out of me. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”
He smirks. “Occupational hazard of being right.”
I almost smile. Almost. But it dies fast. “Thanks, man.”
“Anytime.”
He pats my shoulder once and heads back toward the locker room, leaving me standing in the cold hallway, my chest still aching but my pulse finally starting to slow.
I stare down at the tile, the echo of his words replaying in my head.
You’re not his dad.
I don’t know if that’s enough to fix anything. But for the first time, it feels like a place to start.
THIRTY-FOUR
TODD
The door slams,and the sound rattles straight through me.
No one moves.
The locker room’s gone silent except for the drip of melting ice and the hum of the fluorescent lights. Every guy in here is pretending to mind their own business, but I can feel their eyes like static on my skin.
My chest feels hollow—like I’ve just been hit but the bruise hasn’t caught up yet.
Peter exhales somewhere behind me, mutters something low to Blue, and they both head toward the showers. Eli hesitates at his cubby, gives me this quiet look that saysfix it,then follows them out.
I stay where I am. Still in half my gear, still holding my chest plate like an idiot who doesn’t know what to do with his hands. I drop it in my cubby.
My heart’s still hammering, my pulse tripping over itself. I don’t even know if it’s from the fight or from watching him walkaway.
I sit down hard on the bench, elbows on my knees, and drag a hand through my hair. The air feels too thin. My ribs too tight.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. I just needed space—to think, to breathe—but somehow all I did was burn the one person who ever made me feel like I could actually be myself.
I squeeze my eyes shut. His voice still echoes in my head.Yeah. Fucking breathe. Right. Without me.
God.
