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Finally, I allow my gaze to find Naomi. She still has one hand pressed to her chest, the other wrapped around her waist, like she’s giving herself a hug. She looks somehow both happy and sad at the same time.

“Come here,” I tell her, opening one arm. And then I’m hugging them both, one tucked under each arm.

There’s no moon, so the only light comes from a very unromantic streetlight, but as we stand in the parking lot surrounded by equally unromantic chain link fencing and the sound of highway traffic, it feels like the kind of special moment that’s going to shift my entire world.

Or … like it already has.

CHAPTER17

Naomi

I almost back outof going to Felix’s. The long day, the excitement of the game, and the emotional moment in the parking lot after Cam gave Liam the puck—it was alot. I feel like a wrung-out cloth, twisted up in the feels. And Liam is probably more ready to crash than I am.

But I didn’t want to leave Camden. To the point that when he offers to drive us, I don’t argue or try to figure out the logistics for later. I just say yes.

I turn on the seat warmers, snuggling down into the soft leather seat of Camden’s SUV while Liam starts rattling off facts about pucks.

“Did you know they freeze pucks before a game?”

I answer because I’m sure Camden is already aware. “I didnotknow that. Is there some kind of puck cooler?”

“There’s usually a puck freezer in or near the penalty box. Keeping them cold helps reduce the bounce. A puck that comes bouncing erratically at the goalie is called a knuckle puck. Usually, if the linesmen notice a puck behaving erratically, they’ll grab a new one.”

I yawn. “I guess they use a few pucks per game, huh?”

“On average, it’s between thirty and forty,” Liam says.

“Really?” I don’t know why this fact surprises me or why I look to Camden for confirmation when I know Liam has extensively researched all this.

Camden nods.

“Sounds expensive.”

“Usually between six to eight hundred per game,” Liam says. “That’s nothing compared to the cost of broken sticks.”

He continues, talking as much to himself as to us, it seems, and I lean a little closer to Camden. “Did I tell you yet that you had a great game?”

His lips twitch into an almost smile. A tease of a smile that feels like a challenge to earn more. “You might have said so in your texts, but you haven’t said it to my face.”

I started sending texts to Camden midway through the first period, after the assist. Then, I couldn’t stop texting, even though I knew he probably wouldn’t see them until after the game.

Naomi:You got a point!

Naomi:That sounds weird to me since you didn’t score the goal, but Liam says you get points for assisting.

Naomi:OH MY GOSH YOU JUST SENT A GUY INTO THE BENCH

Naomi:Does it make me bloodthirsty if I really liked it?

Naomi:They should have called that stupid hit on you. How was that legal? Is your face okay?

Naomi:(Is it ironic that I’m asking you this after I punched you in the face a few weeks ago?)

Naomi:Sorry for punching you, by the way. I probably already said it, but it bears repeating.

Naomi:Question—are all of your teeth real? Asking for a friend.

Naomi:Liam says to tell you “nice deke”—whatever that means