Then I get into my car, creating a distance between us I immediately hate.
For years, we’ve survived on secret moments, never fully succumbing to the attraction between us, content to keep that line between us in place in an effort to protect my brother.
But tonight? Something shifted. The line didn’t just blur.
I think it may have vanished entirely.
CHAPTER NINE
I can’t do this anymore. I want her too damn bad.
But loving Indy doesn’t just risk my heart. It risks the one friendship that’s been my rock since I was a child.
If I choose her, I lose him. If I walk away, I lose us.
And I’m no longer willing to walk away from her.
CHAPTER TEN
Age Fifteen
The cold bite of metal stings the back of my thighs as I slide onto the bleacher next to Dylan, passing him an unopened Snickers bar in lieu of a greeting.
Unwrapping mine, I take a big bite of the gooey chocolate bar, and a string of caramel drops onto my chin.
The crack of a bat echoes through the baseball field, sharp and clean as it slices through the air. The coach bellows something from the outfield I can’t quite understand, as the player on second catches the ball without hesitation.
“You’re out, Kyle! Rotate to first,” the assistant coach yells.
Laughter floats on the air from the dugout, thenhejogs out, bat in hand.
I lean forward, as if a giant magnet is beckoning me toward him.
Gareth twists his wrists, swinging the bat in clockwise, then counterclockwise circles as he stands at home plate.
He’s teasing the pitcher—even though his back’s to us, I can practically see the twinkle in his eyes. His stance is relaxed and confident, as though he’s done this a million times.
And he has. He’s the star batter on the team. The Golden Boy of Bridge Point.
My Golden Boy.
Or, at least I wish he was.
Exhaling a deep breath, the pitcher takes his aim.
The ball flies. Gareth swings.
The eruption of a ball hitting metal ricochets, the sound landing straight in my chest.
“Damn, Fox!” a teammate yells as the ball sails into the outfield.
“He makes it look so easy,” I mutter, mostly to myself, but beside me, Dylan snorts.
“You say that every time you watch him play.”
I keep my eyes trained on the boy oozing confidence andwalkingthe bases. As he walks between second and third, he looks over at my brother and I on the bleachers andwinks.
Laughter hurricanes past my lips, and I turn toward Dylan, both embarrassed and giddy over Gareth’s charm. “Well, he is.”
