My first instinct was to deny it. Joke. Deflect. Send something about his ego needing supervision. Anything to put the wall back where it belonged.
But my fingers didn’t move.
A full minute passed before another message came through.
I’m answering the hockey question. That’s all.
That’s all.
It should have shut the door.
Instead, it showed me exactly where the door was.
I typed, Understood.
He replied: Goodnight, Holloway.
I stared at those two words until my phone locked.
Three times.
I had looked for him three separate times today without needing to. After practice. In the hallway. Now, from my own couch, with my girlfriend’s dinner conversation still sitting heavy in my chest and Roman’s concern still in my ear.
The scariest part wasn’t that I wanted instruction.
It wasn’t even that I liked how fast I listened when he gave it.
It was that tonight, when everything got quiet and there was no excuse left to hide behind, the thing I reached for wasn’t structure.
It was Declan.
Chapter 8
Chapter 8
DECLAN
I woke irritated before the alarm.
Tiny was asleep on his back beside the bed, all four legs in the air, snoring like an engine that needed repair. Olivia’s side of the mattress was empty. Her suitcase sat open near the dresser, half-packed again even though she had only been home two nights.
My phone was on the nightstand.
I did not pick it up.
That lasted twelve seconds.
There were no new messages from Holloway. Of course there weren’t. The conversation had ended. I had made sure it ended.
I’m answering the hockey question. That’s all.
A clean boundary. Necessary. Professional.
And before that, I had typed, No. You wanted contact.
He had not denied it.
That was the problem.
