“Don’t make me pick between the two of you.”
A bitter laugh hits my throat. “You ever think that’s the whole problem? There’s no version of this where we don’t set fire to at least one career. Probably both.”
“You sound like Cole.” His mouth twitches.
“God forbid.”
“You’ve got heart, kid. Always have. Just don’t let it get you benched.”
He walks off before I can think of anything to say. I stand there a second too long, then head for the locker room. I drop onto the bench, elbows on my knees. Every part of me wants to go back out there and tell her she’s wrong—that it doesn’t have to befake, that I’d risk everything to be real with her just once.
But Cooper’s right. If this thing with Alycia Torres is supposed to be fake, then I’m in real trouble.
Cole materializes at my shoulder like a devil with impeccable timing. “A birdy told me Saturday is going to be babies’ first fake date,” he says lightly. “Are you going to keep your hands to yourself, or should I ask your girl to start drafting apologies?”
“Draft your own,” I say, but it comes out flat. I lean both hands on the back of the bench until the wood prints into my palms. “She’s gonna hate this.”
“She already does.”
“Not the work. Pretending to be with me.”
“You know what Michele told me when I was making everything harder than it needed to be?”
“Don’t do drugs?”
“That, too.” He smirks, the edge softening into something earned. “She said, ‘Don’t make me carry the part that belongs to you.’”
I squeeze the bench until my knuckles pop. “What part belongs to me?”
“The risk. The mess. The way it looks. If you want her, you make the parts you can control so clean that she can breathe.” He taps my chest once, a quiet gesture that still hits like an impact. “That starts here, not out there.”
It’s offensively reasonable, and I kind of hate him for it. “What if she never breathes around me again?”
“Then you still made it easier for her to try.”
He walks off, leaving me in the quiet hum of the locker room. I sit there, staring at the space he left behind, the echo of his words sitting heavy in my chest. Because he’s right about all of it. I just don’t know if trying will be enough this time.
Saturday can’t come fast enough.
And for the first time in my life, I’m terrified of getting exactly what I want.
Chapter Nineteen
Alycia
My apartment smells like lemon cleaner and nerves. I scrubbed the baseboards even though no one but me ever notices them. There’s a rag drying over the sink and three candles lined up, like maybe if I light them in the right order, I’ll turn into someone who isn’t currently spiraling. Lavender first. Then citrus. Then the one calledlinen and rain, which smells like luxury detergent and delusion.
None of it covers the memory of how close he stood to me on the ice today. I’m not someone who loses control. I plan, execute, and contain. That’s what I did the second Cooper signed off on the fake dating plan: I built an airtight strategy to withstand fire, and then I came home and cleaned like the plan might work better on a spotless counter.
But I can’t scrub out the way he said my name. The look that slipped out of him before he swallowed it down. The apology that lodged beneath my ribs because it meant he knew exactly what we’repretending not to feel. Every swipe of the rag felt like I was trying to erase the part of me that almost believed him when he said he wouldn’t let me get hurt.
I tell myself I’m fine. This is just a strategy to keep the team out of the spotlight. I’m good at pretending, but the quiet he left me with earlier today followed me home and settled in the corners like a fog that won’t lift.
My phone buzzes across the counter again. The group chat banner flashes:The Chaos Coven.If I ignore them any longer, they’ll call the police for a wellness check—or worse, call my mother. I stare at the rounded corners of the screen and try to decide whether I have the strength to lie to my best friends tonight. The minute it buzzes again, I cave and grab it off the counter.
Maria
Answer your damn phone before I tell Tiff to call your mother.
