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“He doesn’t have a kitten.” I’ve avoided my phone, afraid I’d pick it up. We need to talk face to face.

“Well, if he did,” he points to the kitchen where I see Axel standing by the kitchen counter talking to Murphy. “That’s exactly what he’d look like.”

He’s already lost his shirt, and his jeans hang precariously low on his hips. When I finally make it inside, I get a closer look and he doesn’t look sad. In fact, he looks like he’s doing just fine, with a bottle of Jack in one hand and a joint loose in the fingers of his other.

“Got a light?” he asks Murphy, who frowns as he pats down his pockets. His expression brightens and fishes one out. Axel holds out the bottle to trade, but I snatch the lighter mid-air.

“I’ll take that.”

“T,” he says, tongue swiping out over his piercing. It’s not quite the confirmation I need that he’s already had some of the whiskey, but he proves it when he grabs for me, drawing me close and slanting his mouth over mine. He tastes like whiskey, and the instant his tongue swipes against mine, I forget why I’m here. I’m dizzy by the time he releases me, his forehead pressed against mine. “Fuck, you taste good.”

I, in and exhale, trying to steady myself, but it’s really hard when he’s looking at me like he wants to devour me.

“You weren’t outside the arena after the game,” he says, eyes narrowed at my shirt. “And you changed.” He fingers the hem of my sweater. “You know I like it when you wear my jersey.”

I tilt my head. “You’re drunk.”

“Not quite.” He hands the joint back to Murphy who’s smart enough to vanish, leaving us alone. “It’s been a shitty night,” he admits, rubbing his hand over his bare chest. “I just wanted to feel something.”

“I saw your dad was at the game.”

His eyebrow quirks, the silver glinting off the light. “Ah, so you were tipped off by the scent of pretentiousness and narcissism.”

I laugh, because he’s not wrong. Butsomethingis wrong. I can sense it.

“So that’s why you’re drinking again,” I say, curling my fingers into the belt loops of his jeans, tugging him to me. His pants hang so low, I can see the ‘T’ inked below his hip. “Because I thought we talked to one another when something goes sideways?”

“For once this isn’t an epic fuck-up,” he says, pushing my hair off my cheek. “It’s more of a royally fucked.”

“Come on,” I pull him toward the stairs, but they’re too crowded with people. Instead, I push open the door that I know goes to a small enclosed porch just off the living room. It’s where they stash the stuff they don’t want getting broken or stolen during parties. It’s dark inside, only lit by the soft glow from the Christmas lights outside. The noises of the party are muffled. I see the old couch pushed up against the brick wall and force him to sit with me. “I have something to say.”

He looks up at me with those brilliant green eyes and my heart starts to break. And even though I’m putting up a good front, nothing about this feels safe. It feels like I’m dragging us in front of a firing squad, finger locked on the trigger, ready to pull the first shot.

Maybe this is what happens when you’ve been hurt so much, that it feels easier to do it yourself.

I take a deep breath and continue. “And you need to let me just get it all out, okay?”

“You’re scaring me a little, but okay.”

“I know you’re going to break up with me.” His mouth opens but I give him a look of warning. “I know your dad doesn’t wantus together. That he thinks I’m not an “appropriate” girl for you now or for the future. And I get it. The way I used to be… it’s a mess. I’m a mess. I come with baggage, and history, and flaws. You’ve always accepted that about me and it’s made me a better person.” I take a deep breath. “So if you want to break up with me, I understand, we’ve always kind of been ‘for now’ and I hate it, but I accept it. But if you’re ending this, then you’ve got to do it to my face, and not leave me wondering what I did wrong like all those other guys did.”

Axel’s forehead furrows and he says, “You talked to my dad.”

“After the game.”

“Son of a–” He grimaces. “Yeah, well so did I, and he came to issue me an ultimatum.”

“Oh.” That’s not exactly what I was told.

“He doesn’t approve of my lifestyle choices. Or the sermon I wrote for the holidays. Or the fact I made a statement to the police.” He toys with the hoop in his bottom lip. “Or, to be totally, painfully, honest, my relationship with you.” His eyes cast down. “And if I want access to my family, in any way, I have to give up you and everything else I love.”

“Wow.” I drop back into the couch, “that’s quite thorough.”

“That’s Nolan Rakestraw. If he’s going to go scorched earth he’s going to do it fully.” He takes my hand. “But here’s the thing, darlin’, I was willing to give up hockey. Women. Drugs and drinking. I was willing to get up there on that stage at Kingdom and do the little song and dance–out of some genetic obligation–but the one thing I absolutely refuse to give up, is you.”

My heart flutters. “You told him that?”

“Unequivocally.”