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nova

I still smell like him.

Not in an obvious, someone-will-ask-you-if-you-borrowed-their-cologne kind of way. It's more subtle than that. It's the scent of soap I don’t own and laundry detergent I’ve never bought, clinging to my skin and the inside of my hoodie.

His number clings to my back and I feel it like a brand.

I haven’t taken it off since I got home.

Kicking off my shoes by the door, the sound echoes louder than I expect. The apartment is too quiet, like always—just me and the hum of the furnace and the soft, unmistakable ache of being alone again.

I miss him.

Nothing feels normal now.

Not when my skin still remembers the warmth of his hands.

Not when his hoodie still smells like him and not when this place—my place—feels a little emptier than it did before.

I walk into the kitchen and yank open the fridge, staring at the barren shelves as if something might’ve magically appeared in the hours I was gone.

I’m not even hungry.

I just need to do something .

Keep busy.

I eyeball the carrots. Yogurt.

Condiments.

A container of pesto.

The containers of lemon chicken from the other night.

Blah!

I stare blankly at the shelves, replaying the evening before on a loop in my head: the game. Nugget. His house, the bath. The quiet way he kissed my forehead when he thought I was sleeping and the way he curled around me, a la Big Spoon.

It didn’t feel like a first sleepover.

It felt like the seventeenth. Or the seventy-seventh.

It felt easy.

I close the fridge and lean against the counter, arms crossed over my chest, sleeves tugged down to my knuckles. The cotton is soft. Worn. Familiar.

And it makes me ache.

I didn’t expect that.

My phone buzzes on the counter behind me, slicing through the memory like a butter knife through birthday cake.

I don’t look right away. Let it vibrate once. Twice.

Then I turn.

Gio is FaceTiming me.

Of course he is.

I groan quietly and answer, already bracing myself for the sibling version of an interrogation disguised as casual concern.

“Hey,” I say, trying to smooth my expression, pretending to be thrilled by his call.

“Hey yourself!” Gio greets, his face filling the screen—sweaty, slightly flushed, definitely post-workout in that fancy gym he has in his new house. “What are you up to?”

“Not much.” I certainly can’t tell him I only just walked through the door. Except my brother is perceptive, eyes scanning the front of me with hawk-like precision .

“Is that the same sweatshirt you had on last night at the game?”

I glance down at it. “Is it?” Huh. Weird.

Gio narrows his eyes. “Nova.”

“ What ?”

“That’s the same hoodie you had on last night.”

“Rude. Haven’t you ever heard of fashion sustainability?”

He gives me a look—the kind only a brother can deliver. Equal parts suspicion, judgment, and begrudging amusement.

“You didn’t come home last night.” It’s a statement not a question.

“That’s an assumption,” I say, tugging the hoodie sleeves over my hands self-consciously, as if I can hide.

My brother stares me down. “You ghosted after the game. Didn’t answer my text. And now here you are, looking like you just crawled home.”

“Since when is it a crime to come home and go straight to bed? I didn’t see that you texted until I woke up.”

“It’s eleven o’clock!” He looks appalled.

“Ugh—why are you shouting at me?”

“I’m not shouting,” Gio argues, absolutely shouting. “I’m concerned!”

“Concerned about what? Me wearing a hoodie two days in a row? You are not my dad. I’m fine.”

“I was worried when you didn’t text me back! Cut me some slack. Like I’m not supposed to freak out when you ghost —”

HE IS SO ANNOYING!

“For the love of God, Gio, I didn’t ghost you! I was?—”

I stop myself from finishing that sentence because what am I supposed to say?

I was at your teammate’s house.

In his bed.

That I fell asleep curled into Luca Babineaux and woke up already missing him and I hadn’t even left yet.

Guilt flares white-hot in my chest. I don’t know why I feel guilty—technically, I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m a grown adult. I didn’t sign a contract that said I’d run my social life by my overprotective brother.

But it doesn’t matter.

Gio trusts me.

“I just crashed, okay?” I say, sharper than I intend. “I got home late. I was tired. I didn’t check my phone so keep it down and stop yelling.”

A blur of movement cuts into the screen and Austin enters the frame holding baby Vivi on her hip, the baby’s curls sticking out in every direction as if she’s been electrocuted by naptime.

“I’m not yelling,” Gio insists, voice still several decibels too high. “I just want to know why you’re wearing dirty clothes from last night!”

“I like oversized hoodies,” I say flatly, waiting for Austin to save me. “Sorry I’m not fancy enough for you.”

“Nova…”

“Stop.” I hold up a hand, stomach twisting. “Stop, Gio. I don’t need a lecture.”

“I’m not lecturing!”

“You kind of are,” I singsong, then switch my attention to the real star of the show. Vivi, my sweet baby girl. “Theres’s our sunshine!” I coo. “Sweet baby sugar! Bring her closer so I can get a good look at her.”

My brother grumbles. “You’d get an even better look at her if you came by every once in a while.”

OH MY GOD COULD HE NOT BE SUCH A?—

Austin rolls her eyes. “We said we didn’t want any visitors the first few weeks.”

She’s calm about it, but I know what’s underneath. The exhaustion. The sensory overload. The fact that they moved, had a baby, and started renovating their entire house in the same three-month span. To say they were overwhelmed would be the understatement of the year.

Their kitchen still doesn’t have cabinet doors .

I’m not making this shit up.

Gio scoffs. “She doesn’t count.”

“Oh, I don’t?” I snap, narrowing my eyes at him. “So I’m what—family-adjacent? Thanks, that’s great. Makes me feel soo valued.”

I’m deflecting and I know it.

Gaslighting at its finest.

My brother waves a hand into the phone’s camera, exasperated by me. “You know what I mean. You’re not, like, a ‘guest.’”

Vivi chooses that exact moment to let out a shriek. Austin rocks her gently, unbothered, eyes trained on Gio like she’s ready to tag in if necessary.

He opens his mouth again, and I cut him off with a look. “Don’t.”

“I was just gonna say?—”

“Nope.”

“—You’re being sensitive.”

“You’re being a dick.”

“Okay but?—”

“Nope,” Austin interrupts, adjusting her hold on Vivi. The baby immediately grabs a handful of her denim shirt and starts gnawing. “You don’t get to complain. You brought this on yourself when you decided to renovate the kitchen during my third trimester.”

It was also the start of the hockey season, but now is not the right time to interject with that fact.

“I didn’t know it would take this long!” My brother is whining.

“You hired a guy named Tiny Pete.”

I laugh.

Gio blinks cluelessly. “He’s cheap.”

Austin blinks back. “So is duct tape. That doesn’t mean I want it holding up our oven.”

“He seemed capable,” Gio mutters, the way all men do when they’ve made a mistake and don’t want to admit they fucked up .

“Last week he brought his nephew who was vaping in the driveway,” Austin deadpans. “So professional.”

“ Super professional,” I say, sipping from my water bottle and trying not to laugh too hard.

“You don’t even live here,” Gio says, gesturing wildly at me through the screen. “Why are you ganging up on me?”

“Because it’s fun,” Austin replies without hesitation. “And I’m postpartum and exhausted and it’s my way of passively aggressively making digs.”

At least she’s honest about it.

“And it’s easy,” I add sweetly.

“I was only calling to check-in on you,” Gio says at last, shoulders slouching. “I didn’t want this to turn into an argument.”

Guilt slams at me.

All of this is my fault.

If only…

If only I could be honest about where I was last night without him going full protective-big-brother-meets-hockey-enforcer-meets-the-goalie on me.

But I can’t.

Gio does this thing where he gets quiet —where his jaw goes tight and his eyes go cold and the room starts to feel five degrees colder. It’s the same look he gets when one of his teammates get a cheap shot at him during practice. Controlled rage. Slow burn. Zero forgiveness.

And the thing is... I get it.

Luca isn’t just anyone.

He’s Gio’s teammate.

His friend. His line.

And I’m me.

The little sister. The one who’s supposed to stay off-limits, untouched and unbothered, safely tucked in the “do not date” category that teammates instinctively respect.

Except Luca didn’t .

Austin must sense something in my silence because she shifts Vivi to her other hip and clears her throat. “Hey, it’s fine. We’re all tired and crabby and underfed. Let’s just call it a draw and try again later.”

Gio nods, reluctant. “Yeah. I didn’t mean to come at you, Nova. I just worry. That’s all.”

More guilt. “I know.”

“I love you so much. You know that, right?”

Stop being so nice! My brain screams it, but my mouth won’t move. I just stare at his face on the screen—his tired, earnest expression. He looks guilty, too.

Oh my God, I am a horrible person!

I’m lying to him—right now, to his face!

“I love you, too,” I whisper, clearing my throat to fake a smile. “I’ll stop by soon, okay?”

“You better,” Gio says, softening. “You can spend the night and I’ll make pancakes.”

“You say that like I won’t show up for sweet baby kisses.”

I don’t deserve the softness in his voice or the way Austin is giving me a free pass when she’s the one with a baby hanging off her shirt. I don’t deserve pancakes and cookies and sweet baby kisses!

“You don’t have to tell me everything that goes on in your life—I respect your boundaries,” Gio says quietly. “Just don’t disappear on me, ‘kay?”

God, I seriously am a garbage human.

“I won’t,” I manage even though I’ve broken like, ten of the rules we set for ourselves and crossed several of his boundaries while asking him to respect mine.

Guh!

Austin takes the baby’s hand and waves it toward me gently. “Say bye-bye Auntie Nova.”

I swear, my bottom lip quivers. “Bye-bye sweet little Vivi. Auntie loves you.”

The baby gurgles unintelligibly while gnawing on her fingers, completely unaware she’s just cracked my entire chest open with her toothless smile and chubby little wave.

Austin smiles gently. “We’ll call you later.”

Gio just gives me a long look—the kind of look that says he’s done pushing but he’s still there . Always.

“I mean it,” he says. “Don’t disappear.”

And then the screen goes black.

I stare at the reflection of myself for a long time in the glossy black rectangle of my phone.

But here’s the worst part: if I could rewind time and do this all again? I would.

I’d still climb into Luca’s big bed. Sink into his tub.

Still meet him at the grocery store. Make dinner with him.

Hide him at the end of the hallway in my bedroom.

And that’s the part that wrecks me most: I don’t regret it.

Not even a little.