Page 3 of Don't Let Me Fall (Don't Let Me 1)

Theo’s parties are…a lot.

A lot of booze.

A lot of dry humping.

A lot of loud music.

And a lot of headaches the day after.

But I’ve also been avoiding them for way too long, and it isn’t exactly fair to Logan. He keeps inviting me, and I always keep saying no.

After all, relationships are all about give and take, right?

Puffing out my cheeks, I unlock my phone again and type a quick response.

Me: Next time, I promise. Have fun with the guys. We’ll do something tomorrow. Love you.

Logan: Love you, babe.

With a sigh, I pull up the note from the mysterious Colt Thorne and delete it, despite how flattering the sentiment is.

I’m in a relationship.

And that’s that.

1

COLT

“Do you know how good it is to have you back?” Theo asks. “It’ll be like high school all over again. Parties. Girls. Booze. Hockey––”

I glare at him, and he raises his hands in defense. “All right. Just the parties, girls, and booze. Happy now?”

Satisfied, I return, “Thanks for letting me stay.”

We spent the day unloading my shit into the spare bedroom on the second floor of Theo’s house. Once we finished, the main floor was already thumping with a party. One Theo’s anxious to join.

“Come on, man.” He slaps his hand against my back and guides me toward the stairs leading to the main floor. “You don’t need to thank me. What’s mine is yours. Always has been.”

And he’s right. It has always been this way between us. Or at least, it was before the accident. Theo, Logan, and I received hockey scholarships to LAU right out of high school. They both took their opportunity here, and I decided to get as far away from this place as I could.

Until I got kicked out of Dixie Tech, and my mom made a few calls to her friend in LAU’s dean’s office. Apparently, if you tell my sob story to the right people, they’ll sweep almost anything under the rug. Including a sex scandal with your professor’s wife.

But LAU? It’s a real university. With an actual campus, school pride, and an athletic department capable of winning. Not here for sports, though. Nothing is going to get me back on the ice. Including a thinly veiled promise or two between my mom and Coach Sanderson.

I look around the crowded, makeshift dance floor in the center of Theo’s place as we walk down the stairs. I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything less. Theo’s family owns the house, and the hockey god is a sucker for parties. Theodore Taylor runs off booze, tits, and hockey like a toddler does with sippy cups, Disney+, and naptime.

Take one away, and he’s a fucking baby over it. This is why the bass is thumping, and a pair of blondes are eye-screwing him from the corner. Bodies are sandwiched into the house like sardines in a can. And almost every one of them is holding red Solo cups and sloppy grins.

The place might not be a frat house, but it’s about as close to one as the team could get. Again, I have Theo to thank for it. Being one of the best players on the ice and one of the youngest team captains, he invited half of the starting line to room at his place. The coaches agreed, saying the bonding time would be great for team building, which means I’m even more of a black sheep here than I ever was at my old school.

A few of Theo’s teammates are watching me from across the room. Their voices are too low to hear over the thumping rap music, but I don’t need to hear them to know they’ve already jumped to the same conclusions everyone else does.

They think I’m washed-up.

A coward.

That I had a mental breakdown or some shit.

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