Page 290 of Faking the Goal

Kentaro is close enough now that I can see the slight crease between his brows as he looks at the phone pressed to my ear.

"I'm glad you called," I say quickly. "Can you do me a favor and tell the boss I'm probably going to quit? Just for now. I'll call him myself when I have time and explain everything properly."

"Yeah," Conrad says after a beat. "I can tell him."

"Thank you."

"Taylor?"

"Hmm?"

"Be careful."

The concern in his voice sounds real enough to make my guilt deepen.

"I will."

"I mean it."

"I know." I smile as Kentaro reaches me. "I have to go, but I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay."

I end the call just as Kentaro stops in front of me.

His gaze drops briefly to the phone in my hand before returning to my face.

"Who was that?"

"Conrad." I slide my phone into my bag. "From the Velvet Lounge."

The crease between his brows deepens.

"What did he want?"

I fall into step beside him as we head toward the stairs.

"To ask when I'm coming back."

"And?"

"I told him I'm not."

Kentaro looks over at me.

"For good?"

"I think so."

He doesn't smile, exactly, but some of the tension leaves his shoulders.

Then his hand finds mine, his fingers threading through mine like it's the most natural thing in the world.

By the time we get to the rink, we're early enough that the parking lot is still mostly empty, the arena quiet except for the distant hum of the cooling system and the occasional metallic clank echoing somewhere beyond the locker rooms. The rest of the team won't be here for another twenty minutes, but Kentaro has always preferred arriving before everyone else. He likes having time to settle in, stretch, and get his head where it needs to be before practice starts.

Usually, I'd use those extra minutes to head home or find somewhere else to work.

Not anymore.