“Have you dated any men?” I ask curiously. While I didn’t have much experience with men prior to Blake, I did have a little.
“No. Well—”
“It’s a simple question, Max, either yes or no.” I can’t help but laugh at the way he can’t commit to an answer.
“I kissed one guy, so yes, but that’s not really a lot of experience and it was like two years ago. I just really want to have someone special in my life. Someone to be there in the stands cheering for me and celebrating our wins. And if we lose,then he’s there to console me, making me laugh with his stupid jokes that aren’t even funny, but he thinks they are.”
I let out a heavy sigh. He’s wanting the exact same thing as me. Except in my case, the person would be on the ice with me. My win would be his win, my loss would be his loss. We’d be there experiencing it together, going through the plethora of emotions that come with being a collegiate athlete. But instead of being over the moon that we’re now finally together, our relationship is strained, just like our friendship, and I feel lost.
“It’s hard to know. It sounds like you want the relationship and you know what you want, but maybe some experience would be a good thing to make sure you really do know exactly what you want.” I come to a stop at the red light and glance over at him. “Sometimes I think if I had started dating first even before I came out to the team, that things might have been different with Blake.” I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, fighting to hold back the lump building in my throat.
I thought I’d found my forever with him. I was wrong. When things got tough, he ran. Then there’s Ginny, and that’s a whole other can of worms I don’t even know how to deal with.
“Umm… Chase…”
“What? Just spit it out and ask whatever it is that’s on your mind,” I tell him, moving my foot to the gas pedal and slowly accelerating when the light turns green. Unlike my brother, I drive with a little more caution, always on the lookout for black ice.
“Nothing. Just starving. Ready to eat,” he rushes out as he runs his hands down the length of his thigh. I know it’s a lie, but I’ll let it go. Something tells me whatever was on his mind isn’t something I want to answer, anyway.
“We’re almost there. Maybe they’ll have a table ready before our reservation time that we can take,” I say nonchalantly.
“God, that would be fucking amazing. That way, we can get to the club earlier and get a prime spot so we can scope out all the hotties and pick who we want for the night.” He lets out a laugh, almost like he is joking about it, but somehow I think he means it.
I reach over and turn the volume up on the radio, letting the beat of the Bruno Mars song fill the cab and cutting short the need to converse with Max—for now, anyway.
The bass thumps through the floors, reverberating in my chest as Max and I step inside the club. The line outside is wrapped around the building, but thanks to Max’s effortless charm and seemingly well-placed connections, we’d been able to slip in without paying the cover fee, even though we had arrived just after the cutoff time. The air inside is thick with the scent of cologne, spilled liquor, and the kind of anticipation that only a Friday night in a bar could bring.
Flashing neon lights pulse overhead, bathing the room in alternating hues of electric blue, crimson red, and deep purple. Bodies move in rhythm to the beat, men and women alike dancing under the swirl of a mirrored disco ball that sends fragments of light flickering across their skin. Laughter andconversation blend with the music, creating a symphony of nightlife energy that is both chaotic and intoxicating.
We make our way through the crowd, weaving between couples whose bodies press close together, and groups of friends raising their glasses in celebration of the night to come. There’s barely an open space to squeeze in at the bar, but Max is able to flag down a bartender and order two beers before staking out a table near the edge of the room. The seats are slightly sticky, and the table bears the faint ring marks of countless drinks before ours, but neither of us cares. It’s about the atmosphere, the escape, the moment, and, most importantly, somewhere to sit and watch the crowd. Max is on the prowl for a man for the night and maybe a potential new boyfriend.
Max drums his fingers against the table, his dark eyes flickering over at me before he leans in, his voice barely cutting through the noise. “Why don’t you give Blake a second chance?” he asks, tilting his head slightly. “It’s clear to me, and everyone else for that matter, that if he doesn’t love you, he at least has feelings for you.”
I let out a deep exhale, my grip tightening around the beer bottle before lifting it to my lips and taking a long sip. “I don’t know,” I admit not only to him but myself. I roll the bottle between my palms, pondering what to say next. My hesitation gives Max an opening, and he takes it, opening his mouth to respond, but before he can, I get the nerve to continue. “I guess I’m afraid of being hurt again. He told me he didn’t want anything to do with me—said what happened between us was a mistake.” My voice wavers slightly, my jaw tightening. “Those words… they stick. Every time I think about caving and letting him back in, those words slam back into my head like a damn wrecking ball.”
Max sighs, shaking his head. “But those are just words, Chase. He said them out of anger. He doesn’t mean them.”
“I know,” I mutter, then tap my fingers against my bottle, staring at the golden liquid inside. “My mind knows that. But my heart? My heart doesn’t get it. It just feels the impact, over and over.” I take a breath, steeling myself. “And it’s not just that. Blake would have to tell me what happened that night. I don’t think I can handle hearing the words from his mouth—that he cheated on me.”
Max places a firm but gentle hand on my shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “You won’t ever get full closure unless you talk to him,” he reminds me. “Maybe—just maybe—you guys can work through it. Get back to what you were before and during the break.”
I exhale through my nose, my chest tightening. “You’re right.” I nod slowly. “I’ll think about it.” I lean in, pulling Max into a quick but firm hug, appreciating the support he’s giving me, the hug offering more gratitude than I could put into words. It is a quick gesture and we pull apart, each taking a sip of our beer, a moment of silence settling between us.
Then I see it—just for a second—a familiar silhouette moving through the crowd. My breath hitches, and I close my eyes, willing my mind to reset. When I open them again, the figure is gone. “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, rubbing my fingers against my temples. “My mind must really be playing tricks on me if I thought I saw Blake here.”
Max snorts, breaking the tension. “I think it’s because he's all you can think about. See, even fate is making him be places he isn’t. Okay, now tell me about the coach’s daughter.”
I arch a brow, giving him a side glance. “I thought we were here to find you a man, not dissect my tragic love life.”
Max smirks, shrugging playfully. “The night’s still young. I’ve got plenty of time to find me a piece of walking sex. But first, I wanna hear all the spicy details about this holiday break and how this mystery girl fits into the picture.”
I can’t help but chuckle as I shake my head before taking another sip of beer. “Alright, alright,” I relent. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you—it’s a hell of a story.”
The music pounds around us, the night still alive with possibility, but as I speak, telling Max all about our crazy group, a lingering thought clings to the back of my mind. Blake.
Chapter 13
Blake
