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That I want to be by myself when I get home.

But Alex’s words ring in my head.

You’re not alone.

Friends are important—more times than not, they’re your real soulmates in life. Romantic partners can come and go, but friends…they’re real. They stay for life.

So, I say, “Sure.”

Because I don’t want to be alone. No matter how much my mind wants me to be.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Alex

Able Starr wasa two-hundred-and-twenty-eight-pound goalie for the Lindon U hockey team. His nickname used to be The Gentle Giant, because he normally had nothing bad to say about people. If anything, he was one of the mediators that broke up our dumb fights when they broke out.

Until one day, when Starr was running his mouth after a tough loss against the Cubs. It was a brutal game, and nobody was in a good mood when we piled back into the locker room after it was over.

“What crawled up your ass and died?” Starr asks, elbowing me as he walks by where I’m towel-drying my damp hair from the shower.

Did he not see us get creamed on the ice? “I think it’s pretty easy to tell what the problem is. Or did you forget the four shots you let slide past you today that caused the Cubs to fuck us?”

A few of the guys ‘ooooh’ from the other side of the locker room.

Starr straightens to full height. “I don’t seem to recall you stealing the puck from any of them either. Or did you conveniently forget that?”

I didn’t. And I won’t forget the rest of the damn night when I’m beating myself up over it.

“This isn’t our first loss. We’re still in the top three in our division,” he points out. “So I don’t know why you’re acting like a bipolar dick, but you sound fucking stupid.”

My nostrils flare as I grind my teeth. “The fuck did you just call me?”

Somebody clears their throat. “Uh, guys—”

We ignore them.

Starr says, “I called you bipolar. Do you need me to say it again? You act too good to talk to the rest of the season when we win, but you’re quick to point fingers when we get our asses handed to us. That’s not just on me, O’Conner. You’re just as much to blame for how the game went tonight. Maybe if you actually showed up to practice on time for once—”

My shoulders square. “Don’t fucking call me that. You don’t know shit, Starr.”

“What? Bipolar? Then stop acting like it.”

Grabbing ahold of his shirt in a death hold, I slam him against the lockers until a group of our teammates surround us. “I swear to God, Starr, if you don’t watch your mouth I’m going to hit you.”

He smirks, unphased by me or the guys trying to pull us apart. “Try me, Pretty Boy.”

Needless to say, I did. And maybe the punch was harder than I meant it to be, but he went out cold for at least ten seconds. So, yeah. I get why Sebastian told Olive about that. But it was provoked, which he either didn’t realize or didn’t give a shit about.

I’ve always been the bad guy in his eyes.

At least when it comes to his sister.

And that’s never bothered me until now, when I want to be the person her family wants her to be with.

Not the bad guy, but the good one.

Olive doesn’t need a hero—she’s her own. But if I can be the extra support she needs when her days are shitty or she just needs somebody, then I want to be there regardless of what her brother thinks of me.