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Mike sighed dramatically. “Okay, we’ll split up. Jesse, let’s go.”

They made their way down the steps out into the yard toward the lake. I kept shoveling. There was almost a frantic pace to it. I wanted my muscles to burn and I hoped it hurt. I deserved it.

Z eyed me. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I just want to get it done.”

He went back to shoveling. “You’re being obvious,” he said.

I didn’t look up. “What?” I muttered.

“You’re being obvious,” he said again, looking at the snow but talking to me.

I stopped and blinked at him.

When I didn’t reply, he skewered his shovel in the snow pile and leveled his eyes on me.

We stared at each other and I knew in that moment that he knew.

I looked out into the yard at Mike and Jesse, shoveling snow.

“How long?” he asked.

I stood there quietly. “I don’t know,” I said, my voice so low I could barely hear it. “A long time. I think I felt it before I even realized that I did.”

“And her?”

I looked him in the eye. “She hasn’t done anything. She doesn’t feel that way about me. I mean, I didn’t ask her. I just know she doesn’t.”

He didn’t reply. He studied me in that expressionless way he had. “It can never happen. You know that, right? It doesn’t matter if they break up. Even if he leaves her. It doesn’t matter how much time passes. It will never be okay.”

“I know,” I said.

“It would kill him.”

“I know,” I said again.

We stood there in silence a few seconds.

“How did you know?” I finally asked.

“You never touch her.”

I looked at him for a beat before looking away.

No, I never touched her. Because I knew touching her would do something to me that I couldn’t undo.

“You need to figure it out,” he said. “Stop hanging out with her—”

“We share a dog—”

“Figure it out,” he said again. “It’s only going to get harder the more time you spend with her.”

I swallowed. “I know.”

But something told me it was going to get harder anyway. No matter what I did.

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