Page 116 of Can't Always Get What You Want

Yeah, Gio, I talked to your sister.

All night long with my mouth on her body…

While she was in my bed wearing nothing but my number.

Naked.

I push off harder, circle the net, snap my head down like I’m adjusting my visor. I need a second. One breath. One beat to get myself together.

Ihatemyself.

I can already picture the fallout if he were to find out. No—when he finds out:

The betrayal.

The silence will be colder than any hit I’ve taken.

Maybe he’d swing.

Maybe he’d walk away.

Maybe he’d say nothing at all—which somehow feels worse.

I’ve seen Gio pissed. He doesn’t blow up when he’s mad. He shuts down. Locks the door and throws away the key and I know if it came down to choosing between me and Nova?

He’d pick her.

Every time—as he should.

She is his blood. His sister. His twin.

The part that guts me? I wouldn’t blame him for never speaking to me again because I’m not just some random guy who hooked up with his sister.

I’m his teammate.

His friend.

The guy he trusted with stories, locker room secrets, team drama, game strategy—his life.

I skated right over the line.

The acid hits my throat before I realize it’s coming, then it’s just reflux—violent, messy, andhumiliating.

I hunch over and puke.

Right there on the pristine white ice, behind the boards near the Zamboni gate.

Someone whistles. Someone else groans.

“Jesus Christ, Babi?—”

That’s probably Horowitz talking.

Skates scrape as a few guys slow down, glance over, but I don’t lift my head. I stay doubled over, gloves on my knees, forehead nearly touching the glass.

It’s notjustnausea—it’s everything.

The secret.

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