I pull Chloe a little closer—it feels too good, feels too much like Barcelona, feels like everything I’ve been missing—and she’s looking up at me with wide eyes and that expression, thattrustshe had six months ago before I destroyed it, and I hate myself a little more.
No flash. Just the soft click of a phone camera that’s going to blow up my life in about thirty seconds.
“Thank you SO much!” The fan is already looking at her screen, probably already posting. “You two are perfect!”
Perfect.
In my wildest dreams.
“We need to go,” I say, hand still on Chloe’s back, already steering her toward the door. My voice has dropped back to normal—clipped, urgent, real Brody instead of Candy. “Now.”
Chloe’s moving on autopilot, still too shocked to argue.
The air hits like a slap. Single digits, clear sky, that Minnesota cold that makes your lungs hurt. Our breath comes out in clouds between us.
I get her around the corner, away from the windows, away from witnesses. My Mustang is parked down the block, black against the dirty snow.
Finally, some privacy.
Except now I have to explain, and I don’t know where to start.
Chloe pulls away from my touch. Steps back. She’s breathing hard—cold air, shock, anger starting to break through the surface.
“What—” She stops. Starts again. Her voice is sharp, cutting. “What the…what wasthat? Did you just tell a stranger I’m your girlfriend?”
“I panicked.”
She stares at me. “Panic? That wasnota panic response. No, panic is telling them I’m your cousin, or better yet, a stranger you’ve never met in your life. Panic is telling them I’m another one of your fans—a fan of what, I’m not super sure, but we can get back to that after you explain why exactlyyourbrand of panic turned usInstagram officialwhen I don’t even know your last name!”
“There were people watching, and I didn’t want to make a scene?—”
“Oh. Right. Sorry. Because body-slamming me didn’t draw any attention.” Then her expression changes and…oh no—“Did she call you Candy Kane?”
The way she says my nickname, like it’s something distasteful, hits harder than it should.
“Chloe—”
“Brody…Kane.” I watch in horror at the exact moment it clicks into place. “You’re BrodyKane. Derek’s teammate. Theguy he complains about literally every time my sister mentions hockey, which is constantly.”
She didn’t know.
Shereallydidn’t know who I was.
And somehow that makes everything worse and better and more complicated all at once.
“You’re Maya’s sister,” I say.
She shrugs. “Mystery solved.” She turns, hiking the satchel on her shoulder.
“Wait—”
She glances back. “Why? So you can ghost me again?”
Ouch. “I can explain?—”
“Can you?” She crosses her arms. “Because I’ve spent six months trying to figure out what I did wrong. What I said. What was so terrible about me that you had to literally vanish without a word.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong?—”
