Page 99 of Puck Your Feelings

"This." He gestures vaguely with one hand, sending ripples across the surface. "All of it."

I turn my head to look at him. He's already looking at me, water beading on his eyelashes.

"You're doing it again," I say.

"What?"

"The staring thing."

His mouth curves just slightly. "Am I?"

The moment stretches, suspended between us like the water holding us up. Everything else fades—the team noise, the splash sounds, the world beyond this small pocket of space where it's just us, floating, existing.

Then, there’s Wall.

"Are you two making out or just thinking about it?" His voice shatters the moment like a rock through glass.

"Fuck off, Wall!" we yell in unison.

But I'm filing this away—this version of Kane who laughs easily and dunks teammates and floats next to me in the sun. This version that feels less like the tightly wound defensive transfer and more like someone I might be completely fucked over.

***

THE SUN'S STARTING its descent when we finally drag ourselves out of the lake, everyone waterlogged and pruney and moving with the sluggish contentment of people who've spent too long in the sun.

"Best day off ever," Ace announces to no one in particular, toweling off his hair.

"You say that every time we don't have practice," Wall points out.

"Because it's true every time."

We gather our scattered belongings—towels, sunscreen, Petrov's deflated flamingo, Coach's destroyed magazine—andstart the trek back to camp. The path winds through the pine trees, dappled sunlight filtering through the branches, the air smelling like warm resin and lake water.

I'm walking with Groover and Mateo, half-listening to them debate whether the volleyball game counted as cardio, when Kane drops back from the main group and falls into step beside me.

"Good day?" I ask.

"Yeah."

We walk in silence for a few steps, pine needles crunching under our feet. The rest of the team's ahead of us, their voices carrying back through the trees.

"Riley?"

Something in his tone makes me look over. He's stopped walking, standing in the middle of the path, and there's an expression on his face I can't quite read.

"Yeah?"

"Come with me."

I blink. "We're literally walking together—"

His hand wraps around my wrist, warm and slightly damp from the lake. "Now."

CHAPTER 26

Becker

KANE'S GOT MY sleeve in a death grip, hauling me across the compound like I'm a sled dog who forgot how to run and he's the musher who's had enough of my shit.