Our eyes lock, and the silence doesn’t feel like punishment. It feels like possibility.
He takes one small step closer, closing the distance enough that I can smell the faint trace of whatever cologne he’s wearing, mixed with the night air and celebration. “I should get back out there before the guys send a search party.”
I nod, even though every part of me wants to ask him to stay.
“Yeah. Don’t let them finish without you.”
He hesitates at the door, hand on the frame. Looks back over his shoulder.
“Hey, Silas?”
I lift my chin. “Yeah?”
“If you ever want to… I don’t know. Grab coffee. Talk about nothing important. Or everything.” He lifts one shoulder. “I’m around.”
My heart kicks hard against my ribs.
“I’d like that,” I say. “More than you know.”
He holds my gaze for a long moment. No urgency in it or silent plea. Just quiet warmth, the same steady look he used to give me after a tough practice when he knew I was beating myself up over something I couldn’t fix. As though he’s saying,I see you. I’m not angry. And I’m here if you want to chat.
Then he gives a small nod—almost to himself—and turns toward the door. The soft click of it closing behind him echoes in the cramped space.
I sit there in the dim light of the break room, chest full of something I haven’t let myself name since the night I sent the text, deleted Prism, and turned off my phone.
Not quite hope.
But close.
It’s only been a year. A brutal, hollow year where I convinced myself letting him go was the last good thing I could do for him. And tonight he walked in here, not to demand answers or punish me, but to tell me he’s okay. That he understands. That he’s building something bright and real on the other side of what I broke.
I exhale slowly, the air tasting different now—less like regret and more like the faint possibility that maybe I don’t have to stay on this side of the door forever. For the first time since I walked away, I don’t feel like the idea of reaching out is impossible.
THIRTY-FIVE
LUKE
The music swellsas I step back into the main bar, louder now after the quiet hum of the back hallway. The lights are a little too bright, the crowd a little too close, but I follow the sound of laughter toward the dartboard tucked in the back corner.
Colton spots me first. “Hey! Where’d you run off to? I was about to start placing bets on whether you Irish-exited.”
I roll my eyes and snag the beer from his hand like it’s mine. “Relax, QB. I wasn’t gonna bail on my own med school celebration. I just needed some air.”
Daniel glances up from his perch on the edge of the pool table, one hand wrapped around a bottle of hard cider. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say.
Micah, raises a brow. “Wait—did you hook up with someone in the bathroom?”
“Jesus, no.” I laugh, sipping the beer before leaning against the wall next to Max to watch Ty take his shot and step aside for Will. “You all have the horniest imaginations.”
Will chimes in from the dart line, holding his throw. “That’s rich coming from you, Maddox.”
“Hey, I’m a changed man,” I say, pressing a hand over my heart. “Med school-bound. Practically a saint.”
Daniel snorts. “Uh huh. Tell that to the cute blond twink you were making eyes at last weekend at Riot.”
“He wasn’t even my type,” I say, deadpan. Then add, “Too wholesome.”
