Page 44 of Pucked Up

"Nothing important." The lie weighed heavy on my tongue.

Noah didn't press and didn't push. He let the silence resettle between us.

The thing that unnerved me most about Noah was his patience. He didn't demand answers or force confrontations. He waited, creating a space that begged to be filled, like standing at the edge of a frozen lake, feeling the ice crack beneath your weight but stepping forward anyway.

"I was fifteen." I heard myself speaking, but I wasn't sure the words came out of my mouth.

Noah froze beside me. He didn't look at me.

I kept my eyes fixed on the fire, watching orange embers pulse like exposed nerves. The whiskey in my hand trembled slightly, liquid rippling against the glass.

"I was fifteen," I said. "All elbows and knees, built like a scarecrow, still waiting on muscle to show up. We'd just won regionals, and the locker room was chaos—helmets flying, guys yelling over each other, everyone riding high on the win."

Noah's breathing changed subtly. He listened with his entire body now, hearing every shift in tone.

"Across the room, Logan caught my eye. His smile made you feel like you'd just been let in on a secret. Fast hands, fast laugh. We'd been dancing around something for weeks—brushes in the hallway, too-long glances, stupid jokes that left both of us blushing.

"When everyone else filtered out, he didn't leave. I didn't either."

Noah shifted slightly, angling his body toward mine without interrupting. His knee almost touched mine, but not quite—offering proximity without pressure.

"It was just a kiss. Clumsy as hell. We were shaking like leaves, both of us, but it was… electric. I'd never felt anything like it. First kiss for both of us, I think. Just steam and tile and the sound of our breath. And then it was over. We didn't talk about it. Just pulled our shirts on and pretended nothing had happened.

"Three days later, I found out what it had meant. At least to someone."

I swirled the whiskey in my glass, watching the amber liquid reflect the firelight.

"Practice ran late, and I was the last one in the showers. I heard them come in—Dougie, Ratner, and Mills. Seniors. They were guys with bad tempers and worse stats. I knew before I turned around.

"'Keller,' Dougie called out, voice bouncing off the tile. 'We need to talk.'"

Something cold settled in my gut.

"Before I could grab my towel, Mills yanked it off the hook. 'Faggots don't get towels,' he said."

The fire popped loudly, and I flinched.

"I remember the buzz of the lights and how the water dripped off my elbows—one drop, two, three.

"Ratner shoved me. My back hit the wall hard. I tried to stay upright, but the floor was slick, and I was already shaking."

I set my untouched whiskey on the table, needing both hands free. My fingers curled against my thighs.

"'You like boys, Keller?' Dougie asked. 'You watch us in the showers?'

"I didn't answer. Didn't give them anything."

My throat tightened around the next words.

"Ratner held my arms. Mills spit on me. I remember watching it slide down my chest like it wasn't even part of me.

"The first punch landed in my gut. I doubled over and couldn't breathe. The second one split my lip. After that—it's a blur. Noise and fists. The squeak of shoes on wet tile. My blood in my mouth."

Noah's fist clenched against his thigh. I couldn't look at him directly, but he radiated tension into the room.

"I still don't know which one cracked my rib. Or maybe I do and just won't let myself remember."

I paused, digging my fingernails into my palms until pain anchored me to the present.

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