Page 8 of The Hearts We Fumble
I chance a look at him. His jaw is still tight, his grip tense around the wheel.
And for a split second, I swear I see something in his eyes.
Something like hurt.
But I don’t say anything, and neither does he. It’s easier this way.
Easier to convince myself I imagined it.
That whatever I saw wasn’t real.
I’ve been wrong before when it comes to Zane Kinnick and his feelings for me.
And I should know better by now than to think he cares about me the way I do him.
Chapter Three
Zane
Living close to home has its perks. One of them? Raiding my parents’ pantry whenever I have the guys over for a night of gaming.
Colter, Hayes, and Knox are coming over for a two-on-twoMaddenmatchup, which means one thing: snacks are mandatory.
Knox already agreed to grab a couple of pizzas from The End Zone, and I have my part covered—two bags of chips and a case of beer tucked under my arm as I step onto the deck.
The night air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of freshly cut grass and chlorine from the hot tub. I make my way down the stairs toward the guesthouse, the glow from the porch light casting long shadows on the patio.
My parents built the guesthouse for Leslie, our live-in nanny, when I was younger. It made sense back then, with my dad constantly traveling and my mom drowning in work. When Leslie left, Miles took over the space while he was in college. Then me. And next year, after I graduate, Myla will move in too.
The setup works. Freedom without fully moving out.
As I round the hot tub, my gaze drifts toward the Vaughn house next door.
To Wyatt.
I hadn’t expected her to direct me to her mom’s house the other morning when I gave her a lift home from Keaton. She hasn’t lived there since graduation, which was about the last time I climbed through her bedroom window.
Yet every night since I dropped her off, I’ve caught myself checking for the light in her room—and every damn time, it’s been on.
It shouldn’t matter.
But it does.
More than I’d ever admit.
I make a mental note to dig for information from Colter tonight, hoping he might let something slip about Wyatt.
I tell myself it’s just curiosity. That I’m only checking in.
But the truth?
It was easier to push thoughts of Wyatt out of my mind before.
Two years was enough of a gap to justify keeping my distance. Different stages of life, different paths. A built-in excuse I’d clung to, even when I’ve had a thing for her since she started high school.
Colter and I have been tight since the day his mom bought the house next door.
And for years, Wyatt was just his little sister—the one off-limits to all of us.
