Page 117 of Can't Always Get What You Want

The guilt.

The weight of Gio’s guarded tone lingering in my head because I had Nova’s body in my bed.

“Yo—someone get him water!”

A stick clatters to the ice behind me. A hand touches my back. “You okay, man?”

I nod.Barely. “Sure.”

But I’m not.

I’m absolutely not okay, man.

I feel hands on my shoulders, steadying me. Coach shouting something about pulling me off the ice, telling me to hit the locker room, go cool down.

I lift my head long enough to see Gio watching me from the goalie box.

Helmet tipped up.

Stick braced on his knees.

The eyes locked on my face are sharp. Curious.

Suspicious.

There’s a crease between his brows. One I’ve seen before—during losses, during fights, during team drama when he couldn’t make sense of it.

I push off the ice, cutting toward the locker room tunnel with slow, stiff strides. My legs feel like they’re made of rubber; heavy with adrenaline and bullshit and fear.

Behind me, the whistle blows.

Practice resets.

But I’m already gone.

And I swear, I can still feel his eyes on my back the whole way out that makes one thing clear:

I can’t do this.

25

nova

Gio: Dang, everyone is dropping like flies. Start taking lots of Vitamin C, Babineaux barfed at practice today. Don’t want you to catch anything.

Babineaux barfed at practice today?

Luca is sick?

Or—no. Wait. Barfing doesn’t necessarily mean sick. It could be exhaustion. Dehydration. He could’ve eaten something weird. He could’ve overheated. Didn’t eat breakfast.

Pushed too hard, right?

Right?

My hands are clammy. I hate this life of lies!

I type back something breezy, trying to keep Gio from sniffing out my rising panic.

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