“When’s the last time you talked to Oliver?” I try to keep my voice soft and I hope that he answers.
Lane looks out the window, like he’s trying to find the words. “We moved around each other like people who lived in the same house, but nothing was the same. But, I guess it was the day I moved out. Moved here.”
His voice sounds like he’s trying to hide the hurt but I know this cuts deep. He didn’t just lose Oliver, but the people who took him in. My throat is tight with tears. To hear him talk about what he’s been through and no one has a clue.
I don’t have to ask why he did it. I know it in my gut. He owed his life to this family. This was something he could do to keep their lives easy; keep Oliver in that golden light of someone you know is a good person. He sacrificed himself, their relationship, and even his hockey future to save his best friend.
“Being here? It’s like I’m on borrowed time. There is no other luck after this. I promised myself I’d keep focused, not do anything reckless, and then…”
Lane’s voice drifts like he’s afraid to say it. He doesn’t need to—I can fill in that blank.
“Me.”
His brown eyes lock onto mine, darker now; thick with something that looks a lot like fear and maybe even a bit of warning. Like he should walk away or I should end this thing between us.
“I’m not going anywhere.” My fingers push through his hair until my arms loops around his neck. “If you expect me to give you an easy out, you’ve got me all wrong.”
He presses his forehead to mine, breath uneven, fingers tightening at my waist as if he’s afraid I’ll slip through them.
“I should be telling you to go. That this is over,” he murmurs, eyes squeezing shut for a second before he looks at me again. “But I can’t. My brain doesn’t match this.”
Lane grabs one of my hands and puts it on his chest. I feel the beat of his heart underneath my fingers.
My lips find his and I kiss him slow and steady, my hand still resting against his chest.
“I will keep all of your secrets. You and me. That night with Oliver. Anything. If it means I get to keep you.”
Even before hearing this story, I obviously knew what this was: a risk. My dad wouldn’t approve, no matter which player it was, and Lane’s got his final attempt at his dream future on the line. But, knowing what’s at stake? I can keep a secret.
And in this space between us—his heart racing under my palm, his confession hanging in the air like something fragile and holy—I understand what he’s really giving me. Not just the story. Not just the truth about that night. He’s handing me the part of himself he’s gone great lengths to bury, the part that cost him everything.
If I walk away now, I take that with me. If I stay, I carry it. My dad’s expectations. The whispers if anyone finds out. The way this could derail the last shot Lane has at the future he’s clawed his way back toward. None of that disappears. But neither does this. Neither does the way he looks at me like I’m the only safe place he has left. I curl my fingers into his shirt, anchor myself to him, and choose him.
The risk. The secret. The boy who trusted me enough to tell it.
This feels like a significant moment. If you would’ve told me back at Shore Thing, when I asked Lane to act like my boyfriend, that we’d be here now? I’d never have believed you.
What we knew then is much different than what we know now.
And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Chapter 49
LANE
Istepoutofthe lecture hall with the rest of the crowd, the hallway outside buzzing with that post-class shuffle—backpacks, coffee cups, people half-talking about assignments they didn’t start yet. I’m halfway down the hall toward the athletic study center when I spot a few of the guys from the team gathered near the stairwell, talking like they’ve all had three energy drinks.
Leo points at me the second I get close. “There he is.”
“Scouts tonight,” Troy says, like he’s dropping breaking news. “Three of them.”
We start walking toward the study hall and when I don’t say anything, they keep going.
“Foryou,” Troy continues, falling into step beside me.
I push open the door to the study room and drop my bag on the table. “They’re here for whoever has a good night.”
“Lane,” Matty groans, pulling out a chair. “You’re leading the conference in goals.”
