Théo’s laugh crackled through my phone speaker and I held onto the sound like a lifeline.
It wasn’t enough. None of it was enough. I wanted to be there—in my apartment, on my couch, close enough to touch him. I wanted to feel the weight of him against my side, to press my nose into his hair and breathe him in. The distance felt physical, an ache that settled somewhere behind my ribs and wouldn’t let go.
We won our game against Detroit. Then we flew into Toronto.
We had a practice day and afterward I met up with Sabrina for drinks. Avery had gone to have dinner with his dad so it wasjust the two of us. She’d picked a spot in Yorkville: dim lighting, leather booths, the kind of place that served overpriced cocktails with herbs floating in them.
She was tiny and fiery, just like her hair. A cascade of copper curls framed sharp features and even sharper eyes. I got the distinct sense that those striking green eyes didn’t miss much.
“So,” she said, stirring her drink with a sprig of rosemary. “You’ve stuck around longer than I expected you to.”
I blinked, caught off guard by the directness. No small talk, no easing into it—just straight to the point. It reminded me of Théo. That same refusal to waste time dancing around what they actually meant.
“Is that surprising?” I asked after a beat.
“You seem like the low key type.” She took a sip, watching me over the rim. “Stable. Uncomplicated. The kind of guy who dates women named Jessica who work in marketing and own a Peloton.”
I huffed a laugh despite myself. “That’s... oddly specific.”
“I’m good at reading people.” She set her glass down. “He’s different since Chicago. Lighter. More... present. I was worried, after everything with Nico.” Her expression sobered. “He told me about the near miss. The razors.”
My stomach clenched. “He scared me,” I admitted. “That night. I’ve never felt so helpless.”
“But you stayed on the phone. You talked him through it.” Her expression softened marginally. “That matters. More than you probably know.”
We sat in silence for a moment. The low hum of conversation and clinking glasses filled the space between us.
“He likes you a lot,” she said finally. “I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now.”
I loved him. But it felt weird saying it to someone who was basically a stranger to me. “I care about him too. More than I know how to say.”
“I can tell.” She tilted her head, fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “But here’s the thing about Théo... If this is some sort of spring awakening for you—figuring yourself out, experimenting, whatever—please break it off before he gets hurt.”
“I would never hurt him.”
“Not on purpose.” Her voice softened but her gaze didn’t waver. “I don’t know you very well, Derek but I can tell you’re a good guy. Théo needs good people in his corner. And I know you want to be that for him.”
She paused, choosing her words carefully.
“But he’s like a glacier. You only see what’s above the surface—this beautiful, glittering thing. And maybe you think you understand the scale of it. But underneath? There’s so much more. Layers that took years to form. Pressure and weight and cold that goes deeper than you can imagine.” She held my gaze. “If you’re not ready for that, if you chip away at him and then leave, he won’t just crack. He’ll shatter. And the pieces don’t go back together the same way.”
I thought about the scars on his skin. The way he flinched the first time I had touched them. The hollow look in his eyes when he’d shown me those razors through a phone screen. The way he’d sobbed in my arms after Toronto, letting me see him broken in a way I suspected very few people ever had.
“I’ve seen underneath,” I said quietly. “He’s let me. The scars, the panic, the nights when he can’t get out of his own head—I’ve been there for those. And I’m still here.” I met her eyes. “This isn’t experimentation for me, Sabrina. This isn’t a phase or a curiosity. I know what I feel. I know what he means to me. And I’m not going anywhere.”
She searched my face for a long moment. Then something in her expression shifted—not quite trust but the beginning of it.
“He was a wreck at the hospital,” she said. “I’ve known Théo for years and I’ve only heard him cry like that once before—when he called me from rehab, two weeks in, finally admitting how bad things had gotten.”
My chest ached.
“But then he said something that surprised me.” She swirled her drink, watching the rosemary spin. “He said he didn’t want to spiral. That he had a reason to stay steady. Someone who made him feel grounded.”
She didn’t sayyou. She didn’t have to.
“Théo doesn’t anchor easily,” she continued. “He drifts. He runs. It’s how he survives. But lately...” She looked up, her gaze assessing. “Lately he sounds like someone who actually wants to stay in one place.”
I didn’t know what to say. My throat was too tight.
