What if Steph told him something about me? He already knows I’m gay. But I wouldn’t put it past her to lie about something else.
I shove off my bed to find something to wear to this thing tonight. Maybe drinking will distract me. My fingers skim over the crop tops I bought before I left Georgia, thinking I’d wear them here, but I haven’t been brave enough yet.
I’d be fucking hate-crimed if I wore them in the south.
Fuck it. What’s even the point in playing a goddamn part for anyone? To play hockey? To make my family happy? I planned to live my fucking best life when I finally got out of the south, and I’ve been the idiot in love with my best friend.
Something inside me snaps.
No more.
I need to be me, and stop keeping myself in to make anyone else happy. Consequences be fucking damned. I pull the baby pink crop top from the hanger and pull it on, then flip through my jeans. I find ones that sit low on my hips and have tons of rips and put them on. I add a fidget collar and some bracelets before turning toward the mirror.
Instead of looking at my outfit, I find Wolfe looming in the doorway, watching me in the mirror. My cheeks are pink.
How long had he been there?
What is he going to think of my outfit?
Will he care that I look gay out with the team?
I swallow down the panic crawling up my throat.
“Can I come in?” His shoulders take up the entire width of the frame.
I exhale all the anger that’s building all day. “You know you never have to ask, big guy.”
He narrows his eyes at the nickname but shuffles in. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?” I ask, crossing my arms, because I’m not taking an apology from a man unless he knows what he did.
“I was avoiding you.”
“I know. Are you going to tell me why?” I further let go of all the emotions I’ve been holding in.
He toes the ground, breaking eye contact. “You two look alike. It hurts.”
Well, if that isn’t a fucking knife to the chest.
I turn around, hugging my arms around myself, to cover at least part of my exposed stomach, still not sure what he’s going to say. “We don’t look that much alike,” I throw back, not fucking wanting to hear it.
Steph and I were Irish twins, with her being ten months older than I am. Being that close in age is bad enough, and our birthdays align, so we ended up in the same grade, with her just missing the cutoff and me barely making it.
We both hated it. She never allowed me to have any of my own friends, or even Wolfe to myself, insisting on sharing everything.
“Just parts. Not completely. You’ve always had prettier eyes.” He shoves off the frame, crossing the room to stand in front of me.
I press my lips into a line, and he cringes. “What?” I ask.
“She makes that face. It’s just stuff you can’t control, but I’m sorry. I’ll get over it.” His shoulders slump.
I can’t bear to be mad at him. Not really.
“I’m not mad,” I say, making it true.
He opens his arms and sticks out his lower lip. “Can I have a hug?”
I roll my eyes but step into his arms. He wraps them around me, smashing me tight against his massive chest.
