Page 42 of Gap Control

His building materialized on the right, second-story apartment with blinds hanging slightly crooked. His car sat in its usual spot, covered with a thin layer of white.

I slowed, but I didn't stop.

Couldn't stop.

I let my car drift past like a ghost ship navigating by old landmarks I might never visit again. My headlights swept across the sidewalk.

I drove past like a coward. I was the guy who'd finally found something worth having and was too terrified to reach for it twice.

Chapter nine

TJ

We lost.

Not a gut-punch loss. It wasn't an overtime heartbreak or a blown lead with twenty seconds left. Just a slow grind to defeat. Four to two.

There was nothing dramatic or particularly memorable. It was one of those games that ends with the scoreboard flickering and nobody wanting to look each other in the eye.

Coach didn't yell. That's how you knew he was mad.

He walked into the locker room with that clipped, military cadence, clapped once like a gunshot, and said, "Reset. You've got seventy-two hours to make this feel like a fluke."

Then he walked out. The door shut behind him, and a long, collective exhale followed.

Skates hit the floor. Sticks clattered. Someone muttered something about the refs being blind, which wasn't true but felt necessary to ease our guilt.

I sat at my stall, one elbow pad off, the other still clinging like it didn't want to be the last one standing. My jersey was half off, bunched at my waist.

My legs ached. My shoulder was screaming from where I'd taken a board hit, and inside my chest—

Well, that hurt for a different reason.

Mercier peeled off his pads with a grunt and gestured vaguely toward me. "TJ, are you planning to finish undressing or emotionally disintegrating in real time?"

"A little from column A, and a little from column B."

Monroe snorted. "He's fine. He needs to cue up his sad-boy playlist and stare at a wall for forty-five minutes."

Lambert chimed in from across the room, holding up his phone: "Got it. Spotify just suggestedSongs for People Who Accidentally Fell for Their Fake Boyfriend."

A few laughs echoed off the walls. It wasn't cruel, only acknowledgment.

I tried to grin, but it was a little crooked like a house with the foundation starting to slip.

Mercier watched me too closely. "You're usually funnier when we lose."

"Thanks," I muttered, finally yanking the other elbow pad free. "I'll add it to my performance review."

Monroe tossed a towel at me. "Go sweat it out. You've got gym-rat energy right now."

He wasn't wrong. I needed movement. I needed noise. I needed something that wasn't the echo of my thoughts replaying Mason's look when he stepped back.

I stood. "I forgot something in the weight room."

Nobody believed me, but they didn't call me on it either.

I walked out before anyone else could ask if I was okay.

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