“Maybe,” I say, because anything else would be too complicated.
Sophie squeezes my arm. Erin gives me that knowing, careful smile she always has. Liam and Dmitri head toward their cars together, mid-conversation.
Kieran hangs back.
“I’m heading back toward campus,” he tells me without stepping into my space, keys already in hand. His eyes meet mine briefly, then release. “If you want a ride, I can drop youoff.”
I take a breath and check in with myself.
No tightening. No warning flare.
Just the quiet awareness of him: familiar weight, familiar presence, no longer sharp enough to cut.
That’s new. The absence of danger makes room for other things I don’t invite in.
“That would be great,” I say carefully.
“Okay.”
The car is parked a block away. We walk there side by side, not touching, not rushing. He unlocks the doors remotely, then goes around to his side without opening mine. I appreciate that more than I should.
Inside, the car smells faintly of coffee and clean leather. We pull away from the curb.
The ride is quiet. Not awkward. Comfortable.
Two months ago, the thought of being alone with him would’ve sent panic crawling up my spine. Now I’m sitting in his car watching the city slide past, and my shoulders are relaxed.
That’s when I know this is different.
He comments once on traffic. I answer. I point out which turn usually clears faster at this hour. He takes it without comment. The city slides past the windows, ordinary and unbothered.
When we reach my dorm, he pulls over and shifts into park. The engine idles softly. He doesn’t turn toward me.
“So,” he says, still facing forward, “what does your summer look like?”
“Queens first,” I say. “To pick up my cousin. Then we’re heading to see our grandmother.”
He nods once, absorbing it.
“In Romania,” I add after a beat. I’m not sure why I clarify.Maybe because he used to ask about my family. Maybe because some part of me wants him to know.
“That sounds grounding,” he says easily. He doesn’t ask when. Or how long. Or who else is going. He lets it be what it is.
“And you?” The words slip out before I’ve fully decided to offer them.
For a split second, the car becomes too small. Heat pools low, my skin too aware of the inches between us, of the fact that he’s right here, disciplined and contained, and not touching me.
If he notices, he gives nothing away.
“No real plans,” he says. “I’ll probably do a hiking trip up the Appalachian for a bit. Then settle in at MIT.”
The words land quietly, but I hear them. MIT. Not hockey. Not the Defenders contract everyone assumed was his birthright.
He chose something different. Something his.
I don’t say any of that. I nod, letting the information sink in.
He doesn’t move, his hands on the wheel and gaze locked ahead, as if the moment is already complete. He doesn’t offer to walk me in. “Thanks for coming to lunch,” he says instead. “And for letting me bring you back.”
