A few hours later, my phone buzzes as I’m attempting to focus on homework now that Grayson left.
Weston: emergency
Weston: do u know a girl named wren?
Weston: bc she just walked into the coffee shop and i think i blacked out
I stare at the screen. Then I laugh, because apparently the universe heard the part where I wanted a cute morning and decided to add chaos as a garnish.
Harlow: Behave.
Harlow: And yes. That’s my best friend Wren.
Three dots.
Then:
Weston: too late i’m already weird
Weston: but like…RESPECTFULLY weird…she is so pretty!
I close my eyes, smiling like an idiot. And for once, I don’t hate myself for it. Because my body still feels Grayson’s hands. My mouth still tastes like him. And next week is coming—Tyler’s team, the tension, the inevitable collision.
But right now?
Right now, I’m warm and safe and a little bit undone in the best way.
And I’m starting to think I might actually be able to have things.
Even if they scare me.
35
GRAYSON
Istep off the ice like my legs are still skating without me.
Practice ends the way it always does, but my body feels…split.
Half of me is still in a dorm room with Harlow, the other half is here, in the fluorescent reality of being a senior hockey player who should be thinking about plays and tape jobs and not spiraling over the fact that we play her disgusting ex’s team in a few days.
Coach Graves says something at the door—about effort, about being sharp, about us not having time to get comfortable—and I nod like I’m listening.
I am, sort of, but my brain is still with Harlow.
I strip off my gear with the kind of efficiency that comes from doing this my whole life. Tape off. Pads off. Jersey peeled away, like I can take the weight with it.
Kai is quiet across the room, still in his base layer, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
Kai this quiet isn’t unusual, but him being quiet after practice is.
Weston chirps someone and gets a towel lobbed at his head. Asher moves past the stalls with that calm, steady presence like he’s immune to chaos, which I’m starting to think might be true.
I catch his eye for half a second, and he gives me the slightest lift of his brows, calling me on my shit without saying a word before following Weston out of the locker room.
Kai stands when the last guy clears out, and I track him without meaning to. He’s tense at the shoulders. Jaw set. Eyes too sharp and too unfocused at the same time.
He waits until the locker room is mostly empty, then jerks his chin at the bench by the far wall.
