Page 82 of The Pucking Bet


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I say nothing.

And in that silence, I know—with sick, perfect clarity—that I’ve crossed a line I can’t uncross.

“Well,” Erin says gently, breaking the tension, “that just means when it happens, it’ll be with the right person.”

Wren smiles. Small. Hopeful.

I tighten my grip on the rim of the tub and let the lie settle heavier in my chest.

18

BORROWED TIME (KIERAN)

Steam thickens as the night wears on. Someone splashes. Someone yawns. One by one, people peel off—Erin first, then Eden and Nate, then Jessica dragging Finn with her.

Dmitri hauls himself out. “Sleep.”

“We’re heading out tomorrow evening,” Liam adds, grabbing towels. “Take your time. Place is yours through Monday.”

Sophie pauses at the door. “You two coming?”

“In a minute,” I say.

They disappear inside, and suddenly it’s just Wren and me. Steam rising. Stars overhead. Silence so heavy I can hear my pulse.

She leans back against the edge, eyes half lidded. The curve of her neck catches the light, pale and exposed, and my brain supplies a hundred ways my mouth could follow it. Every breath feels like restraint.

“This was nice,” she says softly. “Your brother’s crew. They’re fun.”

“Yeah.” My voice is rough. “They are.”

“Sophie’s studying to be a doctor?”

“Second-year med.” I glance at her. “She’s brilliant.”

“I can tell.” She turns her head, studying me now. “They love you. Your brother and sister. Their friends.”

“I know.”

She doesn’t look convinced. “You act like you’re always proving something.”

That lands. Clean. Accurate.

“That obvious?”

“To me.” She holds my gaze. “You’re enough, Kieran.”

Something tight loosens in my chest. Something dangerous.

“I don’t know about that.”

“Well, I do.” She says it like it’s settled. “You’re smart. Talented. Kind when you think no one’s watching.”

Heat crawls up my spine. I want to kiss her just to shut her up. Or maybe because she’s looking at me like that—unwavering, too close.

Her shoulder brushes mine under the water. Then her calf. Light. Accidental. Not accidental at all.

The space between us shrinks without either of us moving.