Page 89 of Lose You Twice

“It can be both,” Asher says.

Weston points backward. “That felt supportive.”

“It wasn’t.”

Grayson leans close enough that only I hear him. “You good?”

I almost say yes.

It’s right there. Automatic. Safe.

Instead, I look past him to the front of the bus where Wren’s reflection shows faintly in the window, eyes closed, mouth soft, one hand tucked under her cheek.

“No,” I say quietly.

Grayson’s expression changes.

I don’t explain. I can’t, not here. Maybe not anywhere. Saying it out loud would make it bigger, and it’s already too big.

My feelings for Wren didn’t come back. Saying they came back would imply they actually left. It would mean I had three clean years where she was a memory, where missing her was just a leftover ache, where seeing her again sparked something new.

That’s not what this is.

They never left. I just got better at ignoring them when she wasn’t in front of me. Ignoring her used to take distance.

Now there’s none.

We get back to campus late Sunday morning, half the guys dead on their feet and the other half pretending they’re not. Donnelly makes everyone help unload, and Wren keeps up even though I can see exhaustion pulling at the corners of her face.

I don’t offer to carry every bag.

Progress.

I carry one.

Fine, two.

She catches me on the second and gives me a look.

“It was in my way,” I say.

“Interesting how often equipment becomes personally inconvenient for you when I’m near it.”

“Bad luck, I guess.”

Her mouth twitches. Mine almost answers.

Then Donnelly calls her name, and she turns away.

I watch her go.

Pathetic.

There’s no better word for it. I am the captain of a ranked college hockey team. I have an NHL contract waiting. I can read defensive pressure, manage a locker room, talk down Weston when he decides bus karaoke is a leadership exercise, and still I’m standing in the equipment hallway hoping my ex-girlfriend looks back at me just for a second.

By Sunday night, my apartment is anything but quiet.

Movie night isn’t official. It just happens when everyone is too tired to go out and too restless to be alone. Grayson gets Harlow settled on the couch with a blanket, which she insists she doesn’t need while immediately pulling it up to her chin. Weston takes the armchair, and Asher sits on the floor with his back against the couch, eating chips. I end up in the kitchen, pretending to clean a counter that is already clean.