Finn’s ribs tightened around the words. He took them without flinching.
“It should have. Because you’re not a line item. You’re not nothing to worry about.”
“Then what am I.”
Not a challenge. Just the question.
“You’re the person I look for in every hallway. The person I color-coded into my calendar without admitting why. Told myself it was operational. It wasn’t. The person I was too afraid to choose when it cost me nothing.”
The wind cut across the lot and found the skin at Finn’s wrists through his jacket sleeves. He stood in it.
“I missed you,” Evan said. “Every day. Every hallway. Every time I drove past your apartment building and told myself I was just driving.” His throat worked again. “Every single day.”
Finn had not known that. The hit landed behind his sternum before his brain could name it.
“You did?”
Evan’s chin dropped for half a second.
Finn kept his fists in his pockets. Knuckles pressing the lining. He made Evan stand there while the wind moved between them and a car door slammed somewhere else in the lot. If he said no he stayed intact and lost the only person who had ever made intact feel like the wrong thing to want. If he said yes he handed his chest to someone who had already proven he could break it without noticing.
Evan stood there without the blazer, without the clipboard, without anything except the truth and the long drive.
Finn chose anyway.
“You erased me,” Finn said. “In that hallway with your father. You erased me and you didn’t even notice.”
Evan’s shoulders dropped. His jaw tightened. His gaze closed for half a second. He took it.
“I know.”
“If I let you in again. If I do this, I need to know it won’t happen the same way.”
“I can’t promise I’ll be perfect. I’ll probably reach for the professional voice when I should use the other one. But I’ll notice. And when I do, I’ll come find you.”
“You’re going to tell your father.”
“I’m not asking permission. I’m telling him.”
Finn held his gaze. The glass and steel of the facility caught thin winter light behind Evan’s shoulder. Anyone could look out any window and see the Director of Hockey Operations from Michigan standing in their parking lot in an open-collared shirt talking to a draft prospect.
Evan was not checking over his shoulder.
“Then stop running,” Finn said.
“I stopped running.” Evan’s voice cracked on the last word. “I drove here. I’m standing here. I’m asking you to let me stay.”
Finn closed the distance halfway. Close enough to see the lines at the corners of Evan’s mouth, the gray at his temples, the exhaustion pressed into his skin from hours of highway with nothing prepared.
“Okay,” Finn said. “You can try.”
He reached out and touched Evan’s knuckles. Cold skin under his fingers. Evan’s fist stayed rigid for one breath, then loosened.
“Okay,” Finn said again.
Evan pulled him in. Arms solid around Finn’s shoulders, palm flat against the spine of his jacket. Finn let himself be held. Face tucked into the side of Evan’s neck where the familiar cologne bloomed warm against the cold. Evan’s chin pressed to his temple. His chest rose once, deep, and the exhale moved through both of them.
Finn pulled back. Looked at him.
