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“He never gave up on you. Even when I was insisting to him that he should.” Gavin could hear the reprimand in Sidney’s words. “You’re going to give up on him that easily?”

Gavin was lost for a moment. He didn’t want to give up on Zach, of course. Not now. Not ever . Every part of him was dying to walk—no, run— over to Zach’s place and beg him to reconsider. That he was sorry. That Zach was right, about everything.

But he wasn’t , and that was the only persuasive argument that Gavin thought he might even be tempted to listen to.

It was a problem.

“I . . .no. No. Of course not. I’ll . . .

I’ll see what I can do.” It would basically kill him but he could go over there and ask Zach to reconsider.

Repeat his commitment to keep things professional—this time he would stick to it.

There’d be no more late night phone calls, no more early morning breakfasts, no more surreptitious glances at Zach’s gorgeous body in the gym.

No more fantasies while he touched himself.

“Good,” Sidney said. “See that you do.”

He hung up, leaving Gavin to contemplate all the things that had to come to an end. And even then, even if he promised none of that would ever happen again, Gavin didn’t think Zach would reconsider.

But Sidney was right. Zach had come to Michigan this summer even though everyone doubted him—even though he even doubted—but he’d done it because he’d felt compelled to try to convince Gavin to change his mind.

He owed Zach for that, because maybe he was wrong about Gavin being ready to date him or Gavin being worthy of him—or that they were already dating—he’d been right about hockey.

Gavin hadn’t been done with hockey, after all.

But if he was right about hockey, could he have been right about him, too?

It wasn’t the first time the thought had occurred to him, but it was the first time Gavin didn’t dismiss it immediately out of hand as wishful thinking.

He was hurting so much, maybe that was why he didn’t?

But he’d promised Sidney—and promised Zach too, in more than just words—that he’d try.

If he didn’t at least attempt to figure out if Zach was right about everything , then he wasn’t holding true to that.

And no matter what else he believed, he knew Noelle would be disappointed if he didn’t keep his word.

It was easy and also terrifying to email Jon and ask for an emergency session.

Because, what if Zach was right?

He was almost hoping Jon wouldn’t email him back right away—he didn’t, actually. But ten minutes after he’d sent his SOS email, his phone rang.

“Everything okay?” Jon asked as soon as Gavin picked up.

Gavin made a face, which he could do because they weren’t on the video chat. “No,” he said.

“You want to tell me what happened?”

Gavin hesitated, and that was all the opportunity Jon needed to pounce. “You should get on a video session first.”

“So you can hold my lack of poker face against me?” Gavin asked petulantly.

“You caught me. ”

Gavin tried not to sulk as he dragged out his laptop. A minute later they were set up on a call, Jon leaning back in his desk chair, concern creasing his face.

“Okay, now, tell me what happened,” he said.

There was no way around it. Only through it.

Gavin told himself to stick to the most straightforward recitation of events, nothing dramatic.

Nothing about how good the kiss had been.

How terrible the aftermath had felt. How he’d wanted to reach through the phone and strangle Sidney with one of his dumb ties this morning.

“Last night, we were at a team party, for New Years, and Zach kissed me and I kissed him back. I told him after it was a mistake and we couldn’t do this.” Gavin took a deep breath. “And now he’s resigning.”

Jon’s eyebrows inched upward. “You turned him down after you kissed him?”

Why was Gavin not surprised Jon was stuck on that part?

“Of course,” Gavin said impatiently. “You know I can’t date. I told him that too. Before.”

“I do remember that.” Jon’s voice was still very even. Super calm.

Gavin didn’t feel calm. He was freaking out, suddenly not sure his skin could contain everything he was feeling. Zach was quitting .

On the team. On him .

“I know I’ve probably given him a few mixed messages,” Gavin allowed. More than a few. Even though he’d tried so fucking hard to keep his attraction under wraps.

“Possibly,” Jon said.

“I just . . .” Gavin floundered, knew he was floundering, but he didn’t know how to stop. “I should try to stop him, and I don’t know how. What could I possibly say to make him stay?” He didn’t say it but he was thinking it. How can I ask him to stay when I don’t deserve it?

“Well, I imagine there’s one thing,” Jon said dryly.

“Not that. Obviously.”

Jon sighed. “Listen, the only thing that’s obvious is that he likes you, romantically, and you like him, romantically. Why shouldn’t you explore that? I’d assume he’s not asking for a lifelong commitment.”

“I don’t know what he wants.”

“Because you’ve never let it get far enough to actually discuss it,” Jon said bluntly. Gavin was reminded of why he kind of hated him sometimes.

So he changed the subject.

“Sidney was telling me how hard he fought for me, to even get the opportunity to come out to speak to me, even though Sidney didn’t think I’d take the job.

” Gavin took a deep breath. “Even though he didn’t think I’d agree, he still made the effort.

I . . .I don’t want to pay him back by doing nothing to stop this.

He was right about the job. About me taking it. ”

“And now you wonder if he’s right about the dating, too,” Jon said shrewdly, going there, even though Gavin hadn’t.

“Well . . .yes.” It wasn’t easy to admit he might’ve been wrong.

“What if he is?”

Then Gavin was going to launch himself into the fucking sun.

No, really, he was going to melt right through this floor .

It would be humiliating and terrifying and exhilarating and Gavin wasn’t even sure what he’d do about it.

“Then . . .I don’t know. I really fucked this up,” Gavin said, scrubbing a hand across his face. “How do I know that, though, without trying it?”

“Dating?”

“Yes, ugh,” Gavin retorted. “Zach said we were already dating, but surely I would know if we were?”

“I don’t know, would you?”

Gavin made a face, before he remembered that Jon could see.

“Answer the question,” Jon added firmly. “You can’t keep pretending that you’re clueless. Or that you don’t know why even the thought of dating makes you want to quit therapy or fuck up this new life you’re building.”

“I don’t know why—”

“Bullshit,” Jon said frankly.

Gavin took a deep breath. Tried to calm his racing heart. He didn’t want to say it out loud. He didn’t even want to think it.

“It’s . . .it’s wrong to move on. It means I didn’t, that all that grief was for . . .” He swallowed hard, past the lump in his throat. “It means that all that grief was for nothing .”

Jon’s expression softened. “Gavin, it doesn’t.”

“It does, it does ,” he choked out. “She’d be so angry.”

“She wouldn’t. I wasn’t ever lucky enough to meet your wife, but from the way you’ve talked about her, she seemed like a generous, kind person who loved you a lot and I think .

. .” Jon paused, stared at him even though Gavin could barely meet his eyes on the screen.

“I think she’d be really happy that you’re happy, again. ”

Gavin couldn’t speak. Reminded in force, in so many ways, of every way Noelle had been generous and kind. Funny, too. Never taking herself too seriously. Always poking gentle fun at him. Making him laugh. Getting him out of his own head.

Kind of like Zach did.

Gavin bowed his head and tried to swallow his tears down.

“I don’t know if I can be,” he choked out.

“That’s not true,” Jon said, “because I can tell you, from where I’m sitting, in the two and a half years since we started talking, I’ve never seen you this happy.”

“That’s . . .” Gavin gulped air. Wiped his eyes. “That’s awful. But great.”

“Guilt is a very common feeling in these situations,” Jon soothed.

“But you don’t need to feel it, Gavin. You mourned deeply and completely.

None of your grief was a waste. But I told you when you took this job, you were going to come back to life again.

Feeling attraction and dating? That’s normal. That’s part of it.”

“Then why does it feel so awful ,” Gavin whined.

“Does it really, though?” Jon questioned. “Or do you want it to feel awful so you don’t feel guiltier?”

Gavin hated it, but Jon had a point. When he was with Zach—when Zach was smiling at him, and they were talking and sharing a table at the diner or at the sub shop or even Gavin’s couch—it was amazing .

Everything that Gavin wanted.

Except . . .he could admit that wasn’t entirely true. He wanted more, too. Why else could he not stop thinking about Zach every time he touched himself ?

The more he thought, the more Gavin realized how much time they’d been spending together. The more he’d looked forward to it. Zach’s face in the morning, at the gym, his voice echoing in his ears at night.

How much he’d wanted every moment of it, and more .

“I think . . .” Gavin scrubbed a hand across his face. “I think you might be right. I think . . . God , I think Zach might be right.”

“Possibly,” Jon said, but he was smiling now.

“I really, really fucked this up, didn’t I?”

“Positively, I don’t think it’ll be that hard to win Zach’s forgiveness,” Jon soothed.

“You think?” Gavin had thought it was impossible to do what Sidney had asked and convince Zach to change his mind—and maybe he still couldn’t.

Maybe he’d made Zach so angry, pushed him away so hard that he wouldn’t be willing to rescind his resignation.

But he could at least apologize. Tell Zach he wanted him.

Tell him he wanted to kiss him again, and more .