Page 56 of Puck Your Feelings
He's quiet for a long moment. "Honestly? No. But at least I stood up to him publicly. That's something."
"For what it's worth?" I glance at him. "I'm proud of you."
He stops walking, turning to face me with an expression I can't quite read. "Thanks."
The moment stretches. We're standing in the middle of the path, close enough that I can see the rise and fall of his chest, the way his breath mists in the cold air.
"We should—" I gesture toward the cabin.
"Right. Yeah."
We reach Cabin 12, and both of us hesitate outside the door like we're afraid that going inside will break whatever weird spell the day has cast.
"So we're good?" I ask. "Actually good?"
"We're good."
"Cool. Because I'm running out of top bunk jokes."
His mouth quirks. "Don't worry. I have plenty of annoying podcaster jokes left."
"I look forward to hating all of them."
Inside, the cabin feels different. Less like a battleground, more like... just a room. Where two people happen to be living. Without wanting to murder each other.
Progress.
I'm halfway through changing into sleep clothes—because I sleep in clothes now, apparently, since the night I woke up to find Kane staring at the ceiling with the kind of expression that suggested he was contemplating either murder or a mental breakdown—when Kane says my name.
"Riley?"
"Yeah?"
He's sitting on the edge of his bunk, hands clasped between his knees. "Yesterday. In the equipment room. When we were arguing."
I swallow. "What about it?"
He looks up, meets my eyes. Opens his mouth. Closes it.
"Nothing," he says finally. "Never mind."
But I know exactly what he was going to say.
Because I've been thinking about it too.
CHAPTER 12
Kane
"I'M JUST SAYING," Wall announces to the ice bath like he's addressing the UN, "if you think about it, penguins are basically the goalies of the bird world."
I'm submerged to my chest in water cold enough to make my balls retract into my body cavity, wedged between Becker and the tub wall, and somehow this is still not the most uncomfortable part of my day.
"How the fuck," Petrov asks from across the tub, his accent thickening as he shivers, "are penguins goalies?"
"They can't fly, right? So they're stuck on the ground while all the other birds are up there living their best lives. Just like how I'm stuck in the crease while you assholes get to skate around having fun."
Becker shifts beside me, his calf brushing against mine under the water. "Wall, buddy, I think the cold is getting to your brain."
