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Oh fuck. Was this where King told him he’d kick his ass if he ever hurt his best friend? Or where he asked Eli what the hell he thought he was doing with someone ten years his senior who deserved better than a jock?

“You’ll take care of him after I leave town, right?”

Eli’s entire body melted at the question. “Dude. I’ve had a crush on him since I was fifteen. Trust me when I tell you I’ve got his back.”

King lifted his eyebrows, but with that odd curve to them, it still looked like he was frowning. “Fifteen, eh? Does Nolan know that?”

“Fuck no.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want him to think that what’s between us is just me playing out my teenage fantasies,” Eli explained. “This is more than that.”

“Maybe don’t tell him that.” King tipped his head in the direction of the restrooms. “Not yet, at least.”

“Yeah, no.” Eli winced, thinking of Nolan’s “No rush” when it came to telling Coach about them.

“You’re going to need both hands to hold on to him,” King pointed out, not unkindly.

“Oh, I’m fully aware.”

“Both hands to hold on to what?” Nolan asked, sliding onto his stool.

King rose. “To hold on to this glorious souvenir cup once I get a free refill. Watch me work, gentlemen, and see how it’s done.” And with a wink for Eli that somehow conveyed trust and faith and—maybe—a passing of the baton of sorts, he headed for the bar.

“I can see why he’s good for you,” Eli told Nolan.

Nolan’s eyes widened. “Good for me? Did you miss the part where I saved him from getting kicked out of camp?”

Laughing, Eli kissed him.

chapter

ten

Dear Annie,

Do you remember that night we went out for ice cream at, like, eleven o’clock? It was an unusually warm May evening, and I felt like I was on top of the fucking world.

The Trailblazers won their playoff game that night and I was still riding the high when I met you at the ice cream place afterward. Of course, we’d be eliminated from the playoffs two days later, but I didn’t know that at the time. Winning the game felt good in a way I still can’t explain. It was like there was something in the air that night that made everything look like champagne bubbles. And it wasn’t like anything had changed for me with the team. I still felt like the new kid even several months after being traded to the team.

But then we had ice cream. You had mint chocolate chip, which I said was overrated. I had chocolate chip cookie dough, which you said was overrated. (We both agreed that Vermont’s maple creemees were not overrated. They just didn’t have them at the one place that was still open at eleven on a Tuesday.)

Anyway, we got a scoop in a cup each and wandered the Church Street Marketplace like we had nowhere to be in the morning even though we both had somewhere to be in the morning—me at practice and you at the elementary school. Your third graders had presentations the next day. But for an hour, I didn’t have to think about where to stand or what to say or where I’m supposed to be during any given play or how to fit in.

Being with you is like being out in the middle of a forest with the dirt under my soles and the smell of rain in the air and nothing to see for miles but trees and wildflowers.

Acclimating to an unfamiliar team culture is like being locked in a meeting room.

I’m making it sound worse than it is. The guys I play with are amazing—friendly and welcoming and so fucking talented. But I just don’t know if I get to belong here in the way that I want to. Hockey is fickle. I could be sent to the minors or traded to another team or suffer a career-ending injury.

What if these guys become my best friends and then I lose it all the next day?

I know what you’re going to ask. You’ll say, “Freddie, you risked it with me. Why can’t you risk it with your teammates?”

Good fucking question. You’re a thousand times smarter than me, Annie, so you tell me: why can’t I risk it with the team?

What am I afraid of?