Page 97 of Gap Control

TJ:Nah. That was all you.

TJ:They're lucky they caught it.

He paused while I tried to think of a response. He beat me to the next message.

TJ:Also, you left your hoodie in my car.

TJ:Smells like you.

TJ:I'm not complaining.

I slowly exhaled

TJ:I thought again about you saying I make you want to be better.

TJ:You meant it.

Long pause.

Mason:Yeah.

TJ:You're still the only one who's ever said that about me.

TJ:Like I'm worth getting better for.

Mason:You are.

TJ:I'm falling in love with you.

TJ:Thought you should know.

I breathed deeply.

Mason:Come over.

I reached for the hoodie draped over the back of the chair. Not the one from TJ's car—the other one. The older one. Fabric thinner from too many washes. Sleeves pushed out from where I always thumbed the cuffs. It didn't even smell like anything anymore.

But I pulled it on anyway.

Not because I was cold. Because it fit.

Chapter twenty-one

TJ

The Forge locker room looked like it had a case of holiday split personality. Half-strung Christmas lights drooped across the top of the stalls, blinking out of sync. Someone had stuck a sad paper turkey to the bathroom door, and it stared at me every time I walked past like it knew its days were numbered. Tinsel kept turning up in weird places—inside skate bags, coiled in someone’s glove—and no one was claiming responsibility.

Lambert stomped in and held up a glitter-coated sock like evidence from a crime scene.

“This is warfare. I’m filing a grievance with the union.”

Monroe didn’t even look up from lacing his boots. “Do it. You’ll lose.”

“I’ll go public.”

“With what? Sparkles?”

“You laugh now,” Lambert muttered, pulling the sock on anyway.

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