Page 5 of Gap Control (Lewiston Forge #3)

"The quote," he echoed, deadpan. "Which is now merch, by the way."

"Seriously?"

He pulled out his phone and showed me a screenshot: a pastel crewneck with "He's gonna make an honest man out of me" in loopy script, hearts and hockey sticks underneath. The caption read: RYKSON DROP 1: LIMITED EDITION.

I stared. "Shouldn't we be getting royalties?"

Cass waved us over from behind her mic stand. "Hey, TJ! Ready to make a little podcast magic?"

I turned to Brady. "If I crash and burn, tell my mom I loved her."

"You told her you were gay in a meme. She already knows."

"I never said gay," I whispered. "I said, 'dating Mason.' That's not necessarily the same."

"Split that hair on your own time." He pushed me gently toward the mic.

Cass beamed. "TJ Jameson! Man of the hour."

I gave her the canned, practiced smile. "Hi, Cass."

"Big win, big week, big hug. Let's talk about it."

I blinked. "Big hug?"

"Oh, you know. The hug. The post-game moment of the season."

I held up my hands. "You win a couple of games and show basic human emotion, and suddenly you're a cultural moment."

She laughed. "Well, the fans are loving it. You and Ryker have great chemistry."

"Great chemistry, maybe, but only average choreography, definitely."

Cass leaned in. "So, what should we expect in the future from Lewiston's new favorite couple?"

I rested my elbows on the table's edge. "Well, we're thinking of a couples skate night. Possibly themed. Possibly glitter. Still discussing it in committee."

Cass lit up. "That sounds amazing. You know I'm gonna quote you on that, right?"

"Only if you spell glitter with two T's and a wink emoji."

Brady made a face.

Cass asked one more question about team dynamics—bless her—and then wrapped the interview. I stood, shook her hand, and backed away like maybe distance could undo what I'd just said.

Brady cornered me before I made it to the locker room.

"That was not on-message."

I blinked. "I smiled, though."

"You said glitter theme."

"It's what the fans want."

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"It's relatable. Charm-forward. Isn't that on brand?"

Brady sighed, handed me a protein bar, and pointed down the hall. "Go shower. Do not talk to anyone else holding a microphone today."

"Copy that."

"And please, please, no spontaneous poetry."

I saluted him with the protein bar. "No promises."

I found Mason near the stick rack after most of the team had cleared out. He was taping his stick and didn't look up when I stopped beside him, which was fair. If I were him, I might still be pretending I didn't know me.

"I, uh… just wanted to say sorry," I started. "About the practice stuff. And the podcast thing. I know it's a lot."

He kept taping, calm and methodical. "You said there'd be rules."

"Yeah, I did."

"And then you did a fan podcast and suggested themed couples' skate night."

I bit my lip. "In my defense, glitter works for all occasions."

Mason snorted. Snorted . It was the tiniest sound, but I clung to it like I was rock climbing.

"I wasn't trying to make it worse. I just thought leaning in would make it easier. You know? If I act like I meant to do all this, maybe it will stop feeling like I set a dumpster fire and accidentally proposed in front of it."

He paused his taping.

"Is that what this is? Dumpster fire with a side of accidental proposal?"

I squinted at him. "Metaphorically. I haven't bought a ring or anything. Should I buy a ring?"

"Please don't."

"Noted."

We stood there for a second, breathing in the silence between us. The hallway buzzed faintly with the vending machine hum and the far-off echo of Monroe singing something off-key in the showers.

"I just don't want you to regret this, all of it, and me."

Mason's hands went still on the tape. When he finally looked up, something in his expression was different. Unguarded.

"You think I'd regret you?" He lowered his voice to a whisper. "TJ, you're the first thing that's felt real to me in—"

He stopped. Caught himself. The walls slammed back up so fast I almost missed the moment they'd been down.

"Ask me again tomorrow," he said.

And then he was gone.

I stayed there, holding onto the silence he left behind.

By the time I got home, I was half-hoping the internet had moved on to something else. Like a team dog adoption or a player who could sing opera. Something wholesome.

My phone buzzed against my thigh.

I ignored it.

Then it buzzed again. And again. One long buzz. Another short one.

With a sigh, I pulled it out and blinked at the screen: fourteen notifications, two missed calls, one text message.

Brady : For the love of god, no themed skate proposals tomorrow.

Something else caught my eye. It was a hand-drawn sketch with full color and soft lines. Mason and I were standing side by side in our Forge warmups—nothing dramatic, nothing flashy. He was looking at me, and I was laughing. Between us, our fingers brushed.

The caption said: "Sometimes the smallest moments say the most."

I stared at it for a long time.

My thumb hovered over the Like button, but I didn't press it.

My phone buzzed again—another text from my sister.

Peggy : If you break his heart, I'm disowning you.

Peggy : Also, Mom saw the sweatshirt on sale. She's "delighted."

I groaned and pressed the phone to my forehead.

This was fine.

Totally, completely fine.

I got up and wandered to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and stared into it like maybe something had changed since the last time I checked. Still half a bottle of Gatorade, leftover stir-fry, and a questionable yogurt.

I grabbed the stir-fry, forked a few cold bites standing over the sink, then gave up and headed for the couch.

I stared at the ceiling.

My whole life, I'd been good at playing it off. Being funny instead of honest. Keeping things moving, so no one looked too closely.

But this… this thing with Mason—it was still fake. Still a joke that got out of hand.

Except it didn't feel like a joke anymore.

In my head, I heard how he'd told me to ask him again tomorrow.

I closed my eyes and whispered, "So much for keeping it casual."

Then, I tossed my phone onto the coffee table, pulled the throw blanket over my head, and hoped like hell that tomorrow wouldn't come too fast.