Nope. No. I’m keeping my fucking lips slammed shut.
So when he finally leans in and whispers, “Something’s up,” it doesn’t feel like a question, it feels like an accusation.
I roll my eyes and lean back on my heels, giving him my best deadpan look. “Jesus, what are you, psychic now?”
“You didn’t come to breakfast,” he says, eyes narrowed like a fucking bloodhound on a scent. “Youneverskip breakfast. Not unless something’s wrong or you’re dead. And you’re not dead, which means-”
“I slept in,” I snap, cutting him off and giving him a half-assed shrug that I hope sells nonchalance. “Didn’t know that was a felony.”
He squints harder, “Jacob.”
I sigh. “Hughie.”
“You have a fucking hickey.”
My stomach nosedives.
I don’t even mean to react, but my hand goes up automatically, fingers brushing over the tender spot just under my jaw. My cheeks heat instantly like they’re trying to out themselves as accessories to a crime.
I try for a shrug again even though I know better than to continue attempting to lie to the fucking human lie detector. “So? Maybe I made out with someone. People do that, youknow. Especially when they’re young and dumb and full of bad decisions.”
He stares at me, long and hard. I can almost see the wheels turning in his head as he goes through all the possible scenarios where I would have found some random to hook up with on the fucking road.
“If someone hurt you,” he says, voice low and serious, “I’ll kill them.”
There’s no irony in his tone. I honestly believe that Hughie wouldn’t hesitate to castrate someone if they hurt me. It warms my chest and Ib suddenly feel really fucking guilty for the lying.
I don’t fucking do this with Hughie. He’s my brother and my best friend and there’s never been a scenario where I have to lie to him. Not even a little white lie.
“No one hurt me,” I say softly, shaking my head and feeling that twist in my gut.
Because no, Griffin didn’t hurt me.
But I don’t know if this bruise on my neck is a souvenir from a good memory or the starting point of a heartbreak. Because Griffin is so…amazing. He’s this golden boy and kind soul and funny spirit. He’s hot as fuck and sweet as candy. He’s my ideal man and I know that starting anything with him is a fucking mistake waiting to happen because men like him don’t settle for guys like me.
So I say it again just so Hughie knows I’m being completely honest.
“No one hurt me.”
Hughie looks at me like he’s reading my fucking soul and deciding if he should tell me what he sees. And then, like he’s been holding a grenade this whole time, he lets it drop.
“Griffin wasn’t at breakfast either.”
I freeze.
Just for a second but that’s all Hughie needs to confirm his suspicions.
I don’t look at him. I stare at the ice pack in my hand and let the shame flood me.
He makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan, “Jake-”
“Stop.” My voice is sharper than I intended but I really,really, can’t hear him tell me that he was right. Or that I’m making a mistake. I don’t need to hear all the things he has to say because I already know them. “Seriously. I can’t. Not right now.”
He watches me, eyes dark and unreadable. He just nods once, slow and quiet, and I can still feel him watching as I turn away and start organizing ice packs like my fucking life depends on it.
We win.
The locker room is chaos, but whatever, they earned it. Hughie’s chirping Mack about that one ridiculous block, someone’s blasting EDM on a speaker that should’ve died five years ago, and I’m keeping myself busy packing up tape and trying not to look at Griffin.
