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Jace clears his throat, ripping me back. "CMU was pretty far from Mage… remember?"

I part my lips to respond, but when I'm sure the only thing that I can manage is another Oh, I slap them shut.

"You didn't notice?" he asks curtly. "It's a small town."

He keeps his eyes locked on mine, unwavering like he's challenging me—to lie. To admit the truth.

My breath stalls, my eyes dropping to the floor. I hesitate before answering until I realize there's nothing left to lose. "I wasn't there either after awhile."

His tongue finds the inside of his cheek, and he tries to hide a scoff with his cup as he brings it to his lips. "Yeah, well—" He stops himself like he's considering not finishing his sentence. But then he does. "That's why I'm so… involved. That's what you do for the people you love." He pauses like he's waiting for me to jump in. To stop him.

I don't.

"They show up," he finishes.

The words land cold in my chest despite the heat that rises up my neck. He says it like it was easy for me—staying. Like I didn't try to leave. Like I didn't want to.

I swallow and look past him, blinking against the sun that bounces off of the metal cart behind us, and relishing in the burn. "It's not always that simple," I mutter.

Jace's expression changes instantly—so slightly most people wouldn't even notice. But I do. I always did. His jaw tics as his eyes flicker between mine. And just like that I know he still notices me too.

He exhales slowly like he's trying to decide how much of this he has energy for.

"Okay, Lenny," he says, quieter now. Restrained. But the ripple his grip leaves in his cup tells me the real story.

And knowing he's holding back might be worse than just hearing the truth out loud.

"I should go," he says bluntly, his hand finding the back of his neck. "I have practice in an hour."

"Yeah, okay," I say, more edge to my voice than I even knew was still there. "Same."

We both turn, heading in the same direction. But when I reach the now-lineless coffee cart, I stop.

He doesn't.

"Um, why were you just talking to Jace Holloway?"

Dylan's hand lands on my shoulder, her mouth so close to my ear I can feel her breath on my cheek.

"What?" I ask softly, my mind still a million miles away—or maybe just a few feet.

She stands back as I make eye contact with the barista waiting for my order with bright eyes and a wide smile.

"Jace Holloway," she repeats like I could have missed it the first time. She points to Jace growing smaller and smaller as he fades into the parking lot. "You saw him, right?" she asks the coffee guy.

He nods enthusiastically. "Poured him a cup and everything. Great tipper."

Dylan drops her chin like that's some sort of innuendo I'm supposed to be excited about.

I shake my head. "He's just an old…" Both of them lean in, waiting for me to finish. "Friend."

The look of disappointment on their faces doesn't even compare to the way that word felt in my mouth.

Jace Holloway isn't just a friend.

Maybe he was once. But the second that switch flipped, there was no going back.

You don't just stay friends with someone like him. Not when you once knew what he sounded like while he slept or the way his hands felt in yours—rough. Safe. And not because he's Jace Holloway, star shortstop of the Golden City Gators.