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It quiets the noise in my head, which feels good. But it makes me feel small and vulnerable, too—something that’s harder for me.

I lose track of time, only knowing that he switches from the brush to his fingers, massaging my scalp and braiding my hair loosely.

“Will you stay with me?” I mutter, eyes closed.

A firm press of lips to the top of my head. And then, a quick huff of breath, like he didn’t mean to do it.

“Always.”

I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep and wake up with his hand in mine.

Chapter 28

THEN: Freshman Year, October

Bennett

Paloma slept through the night with my hand holding hers.

The next day, I play my best game yet—a shutout. I’m not naïve, I know they’re related. I also know she watched it, sitting in the half-empty stands with my hoodie on. No one would know. No one even noticed her. But I did. Her soft smile of approval and excited cheering would be enough to sustain me forever.

I could live off the power of her peace alone.

My best friend racked up a hat trick even on the second line, though I know Coach Harris let him play more than usual tonight. Rhys’s always been a star, and I’ve always had a perfect front-row seat to watch him shine.

So it’s easy to smile as he taps his helmet to mine at the end of the line, yelling over the excitement of our teammates, “We did it, Ben! Let’s fucking go!”

I smack his back as he goes in for a hug, tapping his thigh with my stick. “All you, Rhys.”

The celebrations continue into the locker room, where Harris hands Rhys the coveted trophy—a length of rope made from championship nets. He gives me a shoutout in his happy speech. I can see even the older guys around him smiling, looking at him as if he’s already their captain. Rhys covers the room with the shine of his goodness, his talent, his heart.

As happy as I am that we won, I’m more relieved that I didn’t cause us to lose. I feel less excitement, and more the feeling of my shoulders finally relaxing.

There is a part of me that will always appreciate hockey. I’m good at it. It comes easily to me, and my need for routines works well within its structure. I just don’t have the drive and want that the others do. I don’t love it.

But Rhys loves hockey. And I love him.

Coach Harris grabs my shoulder as I amble onto the bus.

“Rhys told me about your usual routines, and—I’m sorry, Reiner,” he says.

It doesn’t surprise me. Rhys has always been an advocate for me, always understood. It was Anna who’d explained it all to him for me when we were both young. He’s never faltered. I can always rely on him.

“I’ll make sure you and Koteskiy room together next game.” He huffs lightly before dropping his voice. “Anything you need, you can ask me, you know? I want you to succeed. As long as it’s within my power, I will do whatever it is you need to get there. You know that?”

“I do,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. He sounds too much like my dad. Enough that the second I’m settled onto the bus, I shoot him a text.

BENNETT

Lunch tomorrow?

DAD

Everything okay? Want me to call you?

BENNETT

Fine. No. Just need to talk.