Page 17

LIAM

F inals week descends on campus with its usual blend of caffeinated panic and sleep-deprivation.

December's bitter cold has transformed Boston into a proper winter wonderland. Icicles hang from dorm windows and doorframes. Walkways are coated in a salty-ice sludge as the maintenance crew attempts to melt and clear the ice just as quickly as the damn stuff is falling.

As for me…a few days after my dinner date with Piper, I’m sprawled across my bed, staring at a literature textbook without absorbing a single word, my mind stubbornly fixed on Piper instead of poetry analysis.

The knock on my bedroom door makes me jump.

"You decent?" Ryan calls through the door.

"Unfortunately.” I shove the handwritten note from Piper under my pillow.

Ryan saunters in, dropping his gym bag on my floor. "Kellan's looking for you. Something about extra defense drills before the holiday break?"

"Right." I nod, making no move to get up. "I'll text him."

Ryan studies me with narrowed eyes. "You're acting weird. Weirder than usual."

"Finals brain," I offer with a shrug.

"Bullshit. You've never cared about finals." He flops into my desk chair, spinning lazily. "This is about Thompson's sister."

I don’t look his way. "What about her?"

"Dude," Ryan rolls his eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't fall out of his head. "Everyone with functioning eyeballs can see something's happening between you two. The podcast listeners are making fan edits, for Christ's sake."

"It's just good content…”

"Sure. And the way you disappeared after the Winter Formal was just... what? Extended podcast research?"

I finally glance up. “Has Derek said anything?"

"Ah," Ryan's face splits into a triumphant grin. "So, there IS something to say."

I sit up. "It's... difficult to explain.”

“Difficult as in 'we're secretly hooking up but don't want her brother to murder me'?"

"Something like that.”

“Jesus…” Ryan whistles. "You're playing with fire, Sullivan."

"Don't you think I know that?" I throw my textbook aside. "But it's not just... it's not what you think."

"Enlighten me."

"She's..." I struggle to articulate what makes Piper different from anyone I've been with before. "She challenges me. Makes me think. Drives me absolutely crazy in ways that somehow make perfect sense."

Ryan's teasing expression softens. "You're serious about her."

It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yeah. I am."

"Derek's going to lose his mind," he says, but without his usual mocking tone. "But for what it's worth, I haven't seen you this... I don't know, present. You’re like a whole new man.”

I blink.

Shit, I am. I can feel it in my bones.

I haven’t been this light, this free, this unconcerned.

Not since…

My brother’s face flashes through mind.

But before I can say another word to Ryan, my phone buzzes with a text.

PIPER

Finished my last final. Free until 7. Library study room 204 is reserved under my name if you want to review podcast notes.

I can't help the smile that spreads across my face.

"And that's my cue to leave," Ryan says, standing. "Just... be careful, man. With Derek. And with her. Piper's not someone who does casual."

"Neither am I," I reply, surprising myself with how true it feels. "Not with her."

After Ryan leaves, I send a quick response:

On my way. Bringing "research materials."

Fifteen minutes later, I find Piper in the small study room, surrounded by textbooks and her laptop, hair twisted into a messy bun secured with what appears to be a pencil.

She looks up when I enter, her tired expression transforming into a smile that does crazy stupid things to my heartbeat.

"Hey," she says softly as I lock the door behind me.

"Hey yourself." I drop my backpack and move to her immediately, spinning her chair to face me. "How was the final?"

"Brutal but fair." She tilts her face up for a kiss, which I gladly provide. "Did anyone see you come in?"

"Nope. I used my super-stealthy hockey player ninja skills," I perch on the edge of the table. “Not enough to keep Ryan from figuring out our deal though.”

Her eyes widen. "Is he going to tell Derek?"

"No, but he thinks we're playing with fire." I brush a strand of hair from her face. "He's not wrong."

She sighs, leaning into my touch. "Derek would lose his mind if he knew."

"Completely. Which is why I vote we keep this between us. For now."

"For now.” Her fingertips toy with the hem of my sweatshirt. "At least until after finals and the holiday break."

"Agreed." I lean down to kiss her again, slower this time. "So... podcast notes?"

She laughs against my lips. "I don't actually have any notes to review."

"Shocking deception from Piper Thompson," I pull her to her feet and into my arms. "What will people think?"

"That you're a bad influence," she replies, wrapping her arms around my neck.

"The worst," I say, lifting her onto the table and stepping between her legs. "Absolutely corrupting your journalistic integrity."

"It's terrible.”

The words disappear behind a moan as she kisses me with an intensity that makes me forget we're in a library, that her brother might kill me, that anything exists beyond the two of us in this moment.

We don't make it back to either of our apartments, but the study room's lock holds firm as we discover the surprising structural integrity of library furniture.

There's no pretense of research this time.

No experimental parameters.

Afterward, as we straighten our clothes and she attempts to fix her hair without a mirror, I'm struck by how goddamned giddy I am.

"What?" she asks, catching my expression.

"Nothing.” I clear my throat. “Actually, not nothing. I'm just... happy."

Her smile is soft, almost shy. "Me too."

Later that night, as I'm reviewing hockey plays in my room, my phone rings with my mother's weekly call.

"Liam," she greets warmly. "How are finals going?"

"Not bad.” I lean back in my chair. "Almost done."

We chat for a few minutes about holiday plans and the weather back home—small talk that somehow still feels grounding.

"You sound different," she comments with that maternal intuition that's always been slightly unnerving. "More... settled."

"Do I?"

"Mmhmm. Not quite as restless." There's a smile in her voice. "Reminds me of how you were before... well, before everything changed."

Before Connor died.

Before I became the repository for my parents' transferred hopes.

Before hockey became a burden rather than a joy.

"I've been thinking about that…” I sniff. “About Connor, and what he wanted versus what I want."

"And what do you want, Liam?" she asks gently.

"To play hockey because I love it, not because it was his dream first," I say slowly, articulating thoughts that have been forming since Piper and I did the 36 Questions. "To find my own path. And to... to see where things go with someone who's important to me."

There's a pause, then: "Someone special?"

"Maybe," I hedge, not ready to explain Piper to my mother when Derek doesn't even know. "It's new."

"Well, whoever she is, she's good for you," Mom declares with certainty. "I haven't heard you sound like yourself a long time."

We talk more about upcoming games, but her observation lingers after we hang up.

I have been different since Piper crashed into my life with her research and color-coded notes and teasing.

For the first time since Connor's death, I'm making choices that feel authentically mine.

Playing hockey on my terms. Pursuing someone who challenges me.

Considering futures that have nothing to do with fulfilling my brother's legacy.

And to be honest?

I don’t know if that excites or scares the living shit out of me.

Problem is…I think it does a little bit of both.