“Feel better.”
He turned and walked down the hall.
I waited until he rounded the corner.I slammed the door and threw the deadbolt.
I slumped against the wood, my legs water.
The silence in the room was deafening.
Austen sat at his desk, staring at the blank wall.He reached up and fixed his glasses.
“That was…” he started, voice trembling.“That was close.”
He tried to laugh.It came out as a jagged exhale.
I didn’t laugh.
I pushed off the door and walked to my bed.I sat down heavily.
My hands were shaking.Not from the adrenaline of almost getting caught, but from the realization of what would have happened if Ryan had pushed harder.If I hadn’t locked the door.
He would have seen us.
And by morning, the locker room would know.Harper would know.My dad would know.Sure, I think Ryan and Javier suspected something, but they didn’t have proof.
“Luke?”
Austen was looking at me.He had turned his chair around.The fear was gone from his face, replaced by tentative concern.
“He’s gone,” Austen said softly.“We’re good.”
“Are we?”
The words hung there.
I looked at him—hair messy, shirt inside out, lips swollen from my mouth.Ten minutes ago, that sight made me want to lock us in forever.
Now, it made my stomach turn.Not because of him.Because of the target it put on my back.
“I shoved you,” I said.
“Reflex,” Austen said quickly.
“I panicked.”I rubbed my face with my hands.“If he had seen…”
“He didn’t.”Austen stood up.He took a step toward me.“We handled it.”
He reached for me.
I flinched.
I didn’t mean to.The wall was back up.The mask was back on.
Austen stopped.His hand hovered in the air for a second, then dropped to his side.
“Okay,” he whispered.
He stepped back.He walked over to his side of the room.He took off his glasses and set them on the desk, next to the puck.
