Page 45 of Our Hearts to Break

“He’s going to find out at some point, Riv. Maybe you should just rip off the Band-Aid and get it over with.”

“What about you? When are you planning to tell your parents?”

Nate shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t give a fuck what they think. They never had my back. So fuck them.”

I slide my hand from the shifter to his knee. “I’m so sick of being afraid. I want to sign with a team and have some security before my life falls apart.”

“Is that why you’re rushing into things?”

I bob my head. “On an unconscious level, I think my dad knows what he saw at the beach house wasn’t just me waking up with my hand on your dick.”

“I thought nothing of it,” Nate says with a cheeky grin. “Shows you how much I paid attention.”

“Because we normalized friends touching each other like that. To you, it meant nothing. But to me…”

Silence hangs between us before he says, “Everything you do means something to me.”

I smile at his confession, and just like that, all the doubt fades into the background.

As I park in the circular driveway outside my family home, I suck in a deep breath. Nothing ever prepares me for seeing my dad. Anymore, his presence suffocates me. Even talking on the phone gives me anxiety.

Nerves bubble up in my stomach as I stare at the modern colonial with over two dozen windows and stone accents. Inside, there are seven bedrooms and ten bathrooms. The ten thousand square foot home sits on almost two acres.

“I’m right here.” Nate slips his fingers between mine, holding my gaze. “You don’t have to do this alone. If you want to tell your mom, I support you.” He raises our joined hands and kisses my skin. “I’m proud to call you my boyfriend.”

Hearing that word never gets old. I love how it sounds coming from his mouth.

The front door opens, and Nate drops my hand, pulling away before anyone notices. I’m thankful for that. Until I’m ready, I would rather keep us a secret.

My mom walks toward my car, blonde hair curled and slung over her shoulder. She wears a tight black dress fitted to her slim waist, the sleeves loose on her arms. Until a few years ago, she still modeled professionally. Dad met her on aSports Illustratedphoto shoot set and said it was love at first sight.

They married three months later and had me the following year. As far as I know, he’s never cheated or been tempted by puck bunnies. I would kill my dad if he ever hurt her.

Mom lays her head on my shoulder, arms thrown around my middle. “I missed you so much, Rivie.”

Only she can call me that and get away with it. Nate gets punched in the arm whenever he makes fun of me.

I spin her in a circle, breathing in her flowery perfume. “I missed you, too, Momma.”

I set her feet on the ground, but she doesn’t let go. She holds me for a solid minute before peeling herself from me. My mom is five feet ten inches tall. But with four-inch heels, we’re the same height now.

Dad moves between us, puts his hand on my shoulder, and grins. “Welcome home. We have a lot to discuss before your meetings.”

Swallowing the nerves rising up my throat, I nod. Signing with a team means leaving Nate. It means facing some of my greatest fears.

Nate’s standing near the door with his parents, an overnight bag slung over his shoulder. “Dad, stop it. Fuck.”

His cheeks flush, his body vibrating with anger. Being in their presence stirs up old, resentful feelings for Nate. He blames them for inserting Veronica into his life. And rightfully so. If not for the sex parties, Nate wouldn’t have been in that position.

Why did my dad invite them?

“Excuse me,” I say to my parents and move to Nate’s side.

Even without speaking, I feel his mood shift, the air between us thick with tension.

“Spencer, Savanna,” I say to his parents, forcing a smile. “Glad you could join us. Happy Thanksgiving.” I tug on Nate’s hand. “Can I borrow Nate for a minute?”

Without waiting for an answer, I drag Nate toward the house. He rolls my suitcase, his bag slung over his shoulder, and follows me into the foyer. Outside, our parents whisper amongst themselves, keeping their distance.

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