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“I know you hit Sadie’s coach that night, defending her. And I was there when you protected Ro from her ex-boyfriend. And I think you’ve done more for Paloma than you’ll even share with me.” I take in a slow breath, voice dropping. I don’t mention the locker room, but it’s all I can see when I look at him now.

I know what people said about him, the rumors that spread. I know what his old teammates have taunted him with on the ice and off it. But I also know what I’ve seen of him, how he’s defended and protected these girls without even knowing them.

“You’re not a bad guy, Kane.”

He doesn’t look at me, eyes firm on the ground, guard still up.

“So, I think you should come inside and eat with us.”

Slowly, with a slight tremble in his hands, Toren nods and steps over the threshold to follow me inside.

• • •

“So, Toren?” Rhys asks, helping me clean up the kitchen after everyone’s gone—Sadie to practice, Lily and Paloma back to their apartment accompanied by Kane, and Freddy and Ro to inevitably roll in the sheets upstairs.

“Yeah.” I nod, rubbing the pan with the buffer scrub, careful as I set it to soak in the warm water. “I should’ve asked you about it. How you feel about him now.”

Rhys shrugs. “I don’t like him. But . . . he did punch that asshole Kelley, not even knowing Sadie. Maybe he’s got more in him than I thought.”

I nod again, shrugging my shoulders—though it does nothing to diffuse the tension in my muscles there.

“Doesn’t make it easier to be around him,” he mumbles and my body freezes, eyes shutting at the stabbing pain that reignites. I turn toward him almost too quickly, like running my eyes over him will erase the image of his body lying on the ice, the sound of his cry: “I can’t see. Where’s my dad? I can’t see anything—”

My stomach churns again, but I shake my head and grip the back of my neck.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I should’ve asked. He just seemed like he was struggling.”

“No kidding,” Rhys mutters. “He was a wreck last night at the gala, too, after you left.”

I should ask. But I can’t think of anything besides, “Are you okay?”

The question seems to shake my best friend, his eyebrows furrowing as he looks at me. He’s leaning against the stovetop, wearing a well-worn Berkshire sweatshirt I also own and a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, hair a mess.

“Me?” he asks, but nods. “I’m fine, Ben.”

My nostrils flare and I close my eyes tight. “I can’t tell sometimes. And it’s a fucking mind game, trying to read you. Between you and Paloma, I feel like I can’t breathe.”

It isn’t fair to put this on his shoulders—I’d argue it’s counterproductive. But I can’t help it. I still feel raw from last night, every emotion overwhelming.

“Bennett, what—”

“You didn’t tell me anything last semester. You shut me out, and I keep trying to move on and be okay with it, but it’s like stepping on a minefield. I don’t know if you’re actually okay or if you’re just saying that, and I don’t want to feel like I’m measuring every breath you take to make sure you aren’t hurting and just won’t tell me about it.”

Rhys stands, arms crossed as he listens.

“And I’m sorry I didn’t say anything about Paloma when it all happened—but you have always been the best in my eyes. The best hockey player, the best friend, the best guy I know. I’m so thankful for you. But I wanted Paloma to be mine, from the first time I saw her, and so I kept her to myself.”

A bitter laugh works from my throat. “And you found each other anyway. And it doesn’t matter that it was for barely a few dates or nights or whatever, it still hurts, and it’s my fault. If I’d told either of you about each other, it never would have happened. But it did.

“What is so wrong with me that no one wants to tell me what’s happening? Do I seem so fucked up in the head that no one wants my help? Paloma spent three years shutting me out to punish herself, hurt herself over and over, and I didn’t see it. And you? You did the same thing. And I’m terrified every single day that you’ll do it again, and because I can’t read your goddamn expression, I won’t know!”

In the silence of my loud confession, there is a strange relief.

“Bennett,” he breathes, brown eyes watery as he looks at me. “I—I’m so sorry. You are my best friend. It had nothing to do with you. I didn’t tell my mom or my dad or anyone. I would have never told Sadie if she hadn’t found me mid-panic attack on the ice.” He steps closer, hands outstretched. “It had nothing to do with you, okay?”

Another step, and then he grabs me in a tight hug. My dad, Anna Koteskiy, Rhys, and Paloma are the only ones I enjoy being touched by; I’ve missed this. I’ve missed my best friend. It feels like I haven’t really been close to him since that hit. But maybe the fractures started earlier, that night sitting across from him and the girl I wanted more than my next breath.

“Just don’t do it again,” I say, half into his embrace.