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C oach gives his speech, and everyone claps before he makes his way off the stage.

Some of the Bay Sharks were asked to come to this event.

An event to raise money for the program we’ve been running, where kids can come out and work with a few of the Bay Sharks once a month, but now, we’re expanding it across Maine so that more kids can learn from some of the state’s best hockey trainers and coaches.

This is a great thing the team is doing, and I’m all for charity.

I love being able to support a good cause like this one, but, fuck …

I just want to leave.

It’s day three of Saylor ignoring me with absolutely no warning, and I don’t understand what’s going on.

I know she’s okay because she posted a story on Instagram, but when I replied to it, in hopes of her telling me what the fuck happened between our time in New York to when she returned to South Carolina, she never opened the message.

We basically agreed to give this thing a try, and now, she won’t answer my messages or return my calls.

She didn’t even open my message on Instagram.

Dead fucking giveaway that something isn’t right.

Whatever I did, I want to make it right.

I just have no idea what it could be when everything seemed so good with us when I left New York to head back to Maine.

“All right then, just ignore me, you fucker,” Logan says, catching me off guard.

When I realize he’s staring at me, I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“Sorry, did you say something?” I utter, realizing that Logan and Tripp are both staring at me.

“Why are y’all staring at me like that?” I shrug.

“Because you checked the fuck out, dude.” Logan grins.

“That’s why.”

“Yeah, you did,” Tripp agrees, taking a sip of his drink.

“Come to think about it, you’ve been like that for days.”

“No, I haven’t,” I say boldly.

Tripp knows that I hooked up with Saylor once, but I’m beginning to think he’s onto me, knowing it’s been more than that.

Saylor and I planned to tell Smith, but then she started acting fucking weird and ditched my ass.

Now, I don’t know what the fuck we’re supposed to do.

Seeing they are both eyeing me over suspiciously, I bring my glass to my lips and take a long sip.

The fruity flavor, mixed with liquor, is warmly welcome, and I practically chug it down to numb whatever this fucking feeling inside me is.

“I was, uh, thinking about this weekend’s games. Kinda zoned out,” I lie.

How am I supposed to tell them that the little sister of one of our best friends and teammates is actually what’s on my mind and that I’m going fucking nuts over her ghosting me?

“Oh, yeah,” Logan says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You must be deep in thought about this game, huh?” He nudges Tripp.

“I think our boy’s got himself a woman.”

Tripp’s eyes stay calm and cool.

“Well, whoever it is, I hope it won’t cause a ripple in the team,” he drawls slowly, but there’s a warning in there.

“You know, seeing as we’ve all been jelling despite everything that’s happened this season with Rowan and Kolt.”

I know what he’s telling me.

We’ve had a terrible season as far as injuries and then the whole thing with Rowan, yet somehow, we’ve been rolling through the first part of the season, still holding our own.

But that’s because we have good chemistry and we trust each other.

If I piss Smith off, Tripp knows there’s a possibility that could throw the team’s unity for a loop.

“It’s going to be fine,” I utter, tossing back my drink.

“You need to relax.”

“Oh, yeah. Says the dude who’s fuck—”

“Cut the shit, Talmage,” I hiss across the table, leveling him with a harsh glower.

“I fucking mean it.”

Logan’s eyes bounce between us before he nervously gazes around the room.

“Well, this isn’t awkward at all,” he mutters before his face suddenly lights up.

“Oh, look, I see an old friend walking our way. Thank fucking God that this weird-ass conversation between you two dumbasses is over.”

Logan holds his hand out, and Brody O’Brien—another professional hockey player—shakes it.

“They’ll let anyone into these dinners, huh?” Brody says with a smirk before looking around the table.

“Good-looking crew though—I’ll give you handsome motherfuckers that.”

“What’s up, brother?” Logan grins at him.

“How’s the kid, man?”

“She’s good,” Brody says, smiling proudly.

“Really into Aladdin right now.” Grabbing his phone from his pocket, he hits the screen before holding it up in front of all of us.

“I make a pretty hot Jafar, don’t I?”

I stare at the screen.

“Your kid wanted to be the Genie? Not Jasmine?”

He chuckles.

“Nah, she’s not really into princesses. And since she loves villains, she told me I had to be Jafar, not Aladdin.” He frowns, shaking his head.

“I would have made the best Aladdin.”

Tripp points at the screen.

“Even Bria didn’t get to be Jasmine, huh?” He squints harder, shrugging.

“She’s a pretty Magic Carpet though.”

“Damn right she is,” he agrees.

“How’s your daughter, Sterns? She must be, what, three by now?”

“Yep, she’ll be four in the spring.” Logan smiles.

“She’s good. Obsessed with Highland cows and excavators.”

As they chat back and forth about kids, for the first time, I wonder what that would be like—to be able to have a tiny person you love so much that it’s basically the only thing you’re capable of talking about anymore.

Like that human is the only thing that truly matters and everything you do is for them.

Brody O’Brien is terrifying on the ice and one of the best defensemen the league has ever seen.

His build reminds me of Kolt’s, and oddly enough, both are covered in tattoos.

That’s about all they have in common though because Brody is a jokester and Kolt is a grumpy fuck.

Both would do anything for their friends and family though.

Someone calls Brody’s name, and he tucks his phone into his pocket.

“All right, fellas, nice to see you handsome fucks, but I gotta run.”

We all wave, and he struts off into the crowd in true Brody O’Brien fashion.

The dude has enough confidence to probably fill this whole fucking city, and yet he’s a good shit.

When I catch Tripp shooting me a glare, I know I’m not quite off the hook with him yet.

I have nothing to tell him right now, and I’m not in the mood to discuss it either.

I guess I have to go to South Carolina.

Sipping our overpriced iced coffees, Gemma and I walk along the sidewalk in Charleston.

I can’t believe my best friend is actually here.

When she messaged me that she had landed and I needed to come pick her up, I almost cried tears of happiness because—let’s face it—after the few weeks I’d had …

I needed my best friend.

Reaching out and touching a strand of my hair, she smiles.

“I really do love your new hair.”

I fight back a cringe by taking a sip of my coffee.

I miss my blonde hair, but I’m trying to embrace my inner brunette now that I went nuts and landed myself in a hair salon with a stylist I had never met.

I told her to do anything she thought would look good, but my following words were, “I’m close to 2007 Britney. Do something before I shave my head.”

She went with a soft brown color and gave me curtain bangs and lots of layers.

It sort of makes me feel like I belong in New York City, and while I don’t hate it, it doesn’t really feel like me either.

“Gee, thanks. I feel so … sophisticated now.” I give her a funny kissy-faced expression.

“Not really actually. But I needed a change.”

Taking a seat on a bench, she pats the wood beside her, prompting me to plop down.

“So, whatcha think? Do you like Charleston?” I ask her.

“I’d like it more if we could find Craig and his pillows or visit Shep Rose at his bar,” she says honestly.

Our love for Bravo TV runs deep.

“Have you ever seen them out and about?”

“No, but truthfully, I’ve been working so much that I haven’t spent much time exploring Charleston.” I give her a wide-eyed look.

“Craig does have his pillow shop now; we might need to pay him a visit.”

“Um … yes,” she says sharply.

“It doesn’t matter if I like it though; you’re the one living here. All that matters is that you do.” She moves a bit closer toward me.

“So … do you? Like living here?”

I chew my lip nervously, not really wanting to answer her because the more I’ve thought about it lately, the more I realize how much I miss Maine.

My home. I think of the tattoo on my arm, brushing my fingertips against it through my hoodie.

And then, when I remember who picked it out for me, I have to stop myself from the eye roll that so badly wants to happen.

“I do,” I finally say.

“The area is nice, the weather is great, and the food here is amazing.”

“But?” She instantly nudges me, knowing there is a but to my answer.

“But … it turns out, I can’t run away from my problems simply by moving to another state.”

We sit silently on the bench for a moment.

I know we’re about to have one of those deep conversations that I only have with her.

Finally, I swallow. “Gem? Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” she whispers.

“Always.”

It takes me a second to force the words out.

Sometimes, it isn’t easy to talk about the deepest things that hurt to even think about, but I’m starting to realize keeping them in doesn’t do anything either.

“All that time you kept it from me that you were being abused, why did you do it?” The words roll from my lips, and right away, it’s clear that’s not what she expected me to say.

“I guess I was ashamed,” she admits, clearly humiliated.

“It probably doesn’t make sense, but it was so hard to say the words out loud.” She speaks slowly, taking her time.

“Before he turned into a monster, if someone had told me he’d abuse me and I’d stay for as long as I did, I would have told them they were crazy. But then I lived it. And … that changed.” Her eyes roam my face.

“Why do you ask?”

I don’t know why I’ve kept my deepest, darkest secret from my best friend all this time.

I’ve kept it from everyone.

I guess that even though I’ve played it off to myself like it’s fine, I’m embarrassed.

Mostly for trusting someone the way I trusted Rowan and look where it got me.

Then again, with Ryder, I went into it, telling myself to keep my guard up, and he snaked his way into my heart, only for me to find out he was no different from Rowan.

I force the words out.

“I left Portland because He Who Should Not Be Named taped us having sex, and then … showed some of his teammates.”

Her eyes widen in pure shock—maybe because of what she just learned or simply because I usually tell her everything and I kept this inside.

Before she gets the chance to say anything, I know I need to finish explaining.

“Smith doesn’t know that part. He just thinks that he was an ass to me.” I pause.

“I actually think he believes that I was used for sex and then tossed to the side. I was too mortified to tell him the truth.”

Like it has been doing so often in the past few weeks, my phone vibrates in my pocket.

I don’t even have to look at it to know who it likely is, but still, I take it out and glance at the screen, just in case I’m wrong.

When Ryder’s name flashes across the screen, I set my phone back down and catch Gemma eyeing me over suspiciously.

My best friend isn’t going to let this slide—I know it.

“Who’s calling you, Sails?”

Filling my cheeks with air, I slowly let it out.

“Ryder,” I utter. “I’ve been here for how long now? And he still randomly calls and texts.”

I don’t want to tell her that we had a fling because even though she is my best friend, Smith is my brother, and I need to tell him first that I was seeing his best friend behind his back.

Besides, I don’t want to tell Gemma that, once again, I got fooled by a person with a dick, mostly because she seems so happy.

She doesn’t need my problems dragging her down.

The way she’s looking at me, it’s so clear that she’s sad that we’ve been keeping secrets from each other.

I get it; I don’t like it either.

I think we haven’t wanted to bring the other one down with our baggage, but we know each other better than that.

We’d much rather know than be left in the dark.

“After things ended with dickface and me, I got drunk one night, and I had sex with Ryder,” I say, still not telling her the whole truth because I don’t want to put her in a situation where she feels like she has to keep something from Smith about his best friend.

“I found out that he had seen the sex video. And he only got with me because of it.” I look down, disgraced.

“Anyone who saw that video could see I was … fun .”

At first, she’s shocked.

But then she looks apprehensive.

“Wait … did Ryder tell you that himself?”

“No,” I say.

“Dickface did.”

Her eyes narrow, and I know her brain is kicking into high gear, trying to figure this out.

“ Rowan told you that?” she blurts out.

“And you believed it? And does Smith know this?”

“No,” I protest. “Smith thinks of Ryder like a brother. I’d already ruined his friendship with Rowan. I don’t want to take Ryder away from him, too, just because his sister is a whore.”

“Saylor,” she scolds me sharply, “you’re not a whore. And your brother might love Ryder, but he loves you more. You’re his sister. ”

Grabbing my coffee, I stand.

“You’d better not say a word to Smith, Gem. I get that you two are happy and all that now, but I told you this as my best friend. Not my brother’s girlfriend.”

My words hit her like a slap in the face.

“Sails, you have to know that no matter what my and Smith’s situation is, you can trust me. Always.”

My free hand balls at my side in frustration.

Not toward my best friend, but just at life in general for being so damn annoying.

Finally, I sigh in relief because I know she’s right.

Of course I can trust Gemma—she’s my person.

“I know. I’m sorry.” I break eye contact, looking down.

I’m ashamed that I’ve made Gemma feel like I don’t trust her, and while I am so happy that she and my brother are working things out, there will always be that bit of worry in my stomach that Smith is replacing me in her life.

People have best friends, sure.

But Gemma isn’t just my best friend.

She’s my other half.

My soulmate. The one who knows me better than anyone.

“Can we table this for now? And talk about anything else?” I suggest, cringing because I so badly need this conversation about Ryder to end.

She stands, taking my hand in hers and smiling nicely.

“Sounds like a great time to go find Craig and admire all his pillows.”

Warmth spreads across my chest because …

she gets me.

“Agreed.”

As we start to walk, I drag in a breath.

“I promise, I’ll talk to Smith sometime.”

“Okay,” she whispers with absolutely no judgment whatsoever in her tone.

Just when I sigh in relief—because we’re walking, it’s a beautiful day, and the conversation about Rowan and Ryder is over—Gemma’s steps stop, and she cringes.

“Okay, before I shut up and we go about our day—trying to find Craig, Shep, and the entire Southern Charm gang—here’s the thing … your brother has a game tomorrow night in North Carolina, and I sort of promised him you and I would go to it.” Her grimace grows when she shrugs.

“You said you have four days off, so … road trip?”

I simply stare at her, completely unimpressed even though, if she could see my heart through my clothes, she’d see it was beating a trillion times a second.

“I kind of hate you right now,” I utter through gritted teeth.

Reaching forward, she pats my arm.

“No, you don’t.”

She’s right, but I’m not ready to see Ryder yet.

Actually, I don’t know if I ever will be.