Page 14

Brogan

You can tell the temperature of my citizens by the size of the fire in the Foster backyard. When the night’s cold enough to sting your skin, folks gather close, letting the flames and a little borrowed courage do their work. Secrets crackle, old grudges thaw, and new stories get spun in the glow—because nothing says “family” like a circle of chairs, a stack of snacks, and the kind of laughter that echoes for blocks. Everybody knows the Fosters’ bonfires are legendary, but tonight, there’s a new kind of electricity sparking through the crowd. People steal glances at Brogan and Joely, and for once, it’s not about the score or the weather—it’s about something that feels like hope finally getting brave enough to show up out loud.

Playlist: Fire and the Flood by Vance Joy

I pull up to the house with my heart still somewhere between Joely’s bedroom and my chest cavity. After a day spent walking around like my brain was short-circuiting, Boone finally booted me out to grab more beer and snacks before everyone descended for the bonfire.

The Foster bonfires are legendary in Sorrowville. Doesn’t matter if it’s the middle of July or twenty below in February—if the flames are going, people show up. Stories say our dad once roasted a whole deer out here, and the crowd stuck around till sunrise, swapping secrets and dares until the sun finally gave up and joined in. There’s something about firelight and we Foster brothers that makes you think anything can happen, or at least that you might remember the night forever, even if your eyebrows don’t survive.

By the time I get back, the snow’s piled high on either side of the plowed drive, but it’s already filling back in—Sorrowville’s way of telling me not to get too comfortable. The firepit is already crackling in the backyard, silhouetting my brothers and a few of the guys against the flames like some kind of backwoods warrior tribe.

I slam the truck door and crunch my way to the yard, adjusting my beanie like that might somehow hide the fact that I’m completely, utterly wrecked. Not in a bad way. In a ‘my entire existence shifted overnight and I have no fucking idea what to do with it’ way.

And tonight’s different. Because Joely’s going to be here—not just as one of the guys or my lifelong wingman but as something more. My person. The label’s changed, and now, I’m supposed to know what to do with my hands and how to look at her and where the hell to stand without giving away how flipped inside out I am. I want to touch her. I want everyone to know she’s mine.

But I also want to crawl into a snowbank and disappear because I already hear my brothers winding up—the chirps, the jokes, the “about damn time, Foster” and “try not to screw it up, BroFetti.” I’m terrified I’m going to get this wrong right here in front of everyone. And yet, for the first time in my life, I want to get it right so damn bad I can barely breathe.

Bennett’s the first to notice me. Because of course he is.

“Where the hell have you been?” he calls, beer in hand, standing next to Boone and Gage like he’s king of the damn tundra.

“Boone sent me out for snacks.”

He tips his chin behind me.

I turn.

Joely. She’s bundled up in her puffy coat, hair tied up, cheeks pink from the cold, walking toward us like she didn’t just turn my life upside down when we crossed a line that can’t be uncrossed.

Bennett doesn’t miss a beat. “You leave her in your bed, too? Or just the back seat this time?”

Boone nearly chokes on his beer, Gage cackles, and my ears go hot enough to melt the snow.

“Did you tell her to stay?” Bennett adds, deadpan.

“She’s not a dog, bro.”

Bennett shrugs. “Didn’t look like you had much trouble letting her off the leash last night.” Then, softer so only I can hear, “Just… don’t screw it up, okay?”

I barely have time to swallow the lump in my throat before Shep jumps in, turning up the volume for everyone. “No one would think that she’s a dog after seeing her in that dress last night.” He grins at Joely, loud as ever. “You looked sexy AF, babe.”

My jaw tightens. “You… call her Joely.”

She elbows me in the ribs on her way past. I wince, and my shoulders drop. I didn’t get a kiss. I didn’t get a hug. I didn’t even get a forearm squeeze.

I got the elbow.

Which would sting more if my brain wasn’t already shorting out, replaying last night on an endless, X-rated loop—her thighs trembling, her fingers in my hair, the taste of her still haunting me every time I blink. I try to focus on the snow, the fire, literally anything else, but it’s useless. Every nerve in my body is screaming to get her alone again, to crawl right back between her legs and stay there until I forget how to speak.

Instead, I’m just standing here with grocery bags of chips, my heart pounding like a rookie after his first goal, and wondering how the hell I’m supposed to survive a bonfire when all I want is to light her up all over again.

Bennett grins as he stares at my open mouth. “Already got him wrapped around your finger. I’m impressed.”

Her eyes narrow. “What are you even talking about? Don’t you have a fire to make or something?”

“Right you are.”

He heads toward the pit, and I trail pathetically behind. That’s when I notice the stack of kindling he thinks he’s going to use.

“Dude! We have newspaper for that!”

“Newspaper doesn’t burn like these,” he says, striking a match with the flair of a man lighting his enemy’s love letters.

I want to argue. But you don’t win against Bennett. You just eventually stop bleeding.

Joely catches my eye, half-smirking like she expected this. And maybe she did.

Hell, maybe she expects everything from me now.

And maybe… I want to give it to her.

Bennett struts over to the stack of fire-starting supplies like he’s about to perform open-heart surgery with a toothpick and a dare. He’s got that look in his eye—the one that means trouble, not brilliance—but I say nothing. Because I know how this ends.

“Newspaper’s boring,” he announces, plucking a fistful of coasters from the box Mom left by the back door. My coasters. The Brogan coasters. The ones with her loopy doodles and puffy hearts. One of them even has the words “I heart your dumb face” scribbled across it like a high school diary entry.

After last night, they feel sacred. Relics. Like proof that what’s between us was always there, right out in the open, and I was the last idiot in Sorrowville to see it.

“Dude, no,” I say, moving toward him. “We have a literal stack of newspaper. Use that.”

Bennett grins like a man with a death wish. “But these are special. Sentimental. The perfect kindling for a night to remember.” He strikes the match with dramatic flair and tosses it in like he’s the star of a Hallmark arsonist special.

The coasters catch. Fast. And just like that, Joely’s quiet little secret love notes are turning into ash in the wind.

I scrub a hand down my face. “You’re an actual menace.”

“Correction.” He points the stick he’s been poking the flames with right at me. “I’m doing you a favor. Symbolic fire. A fresh start. Cleansing the awkward, pre-hookup energy.”

“Or,” I mutter, “you’re just a dick.”

Behind me, I hear Joely laugh. It’s soft, but it punches me square in the chest. I turn and catch her standing near Shep with a beer in her hands, watching the whole thing go down. She’s got that smirk—like she’s torn between amusement and murder—and I honestly don’t know which side I’m rooting for.

“You’re burning my mistakes,” she calls out, cheeks pink from the cold… or maybe from me. “I was saving those for future humiliation.”

“Too late,” Bennett calls back. “We’ve all been humiliated now.”

I shoot him a look. “I swear to God.”

He shrugs. “Blame Mom. She’s the one who let the box sit out.”

“Mom wasn’t the one who lit it on fire,” I grind out.

“Fair,” he says, then grins wider. “But now there’s no evidence. Which means you get to write a whole new love story. One that started last night.”

My jaw tightens because I want that, and it scares the hell out of me.

But before I can chase that spiral down, Joely steps up beside me, brushing her arm against mine like it’s nothing… like it’s everything.

My brother salutes me with a burnt coaster corner and saunters off toward the woodpile, muttering something about amateur lumberjacks.

A few minutes later, everyone finds a spot around the fire—some on old lawn chairs, a couple balancing on chopped logs. The flames spit and snap, throwing sparks up into the cold night as Bennett dumps another chunk of wood on top, like he’s daring the fire to burn hotter than the gossip. The air’s thick with smoke, laughter, and the familiar sting of snow on your cheeks.

Gage and Boone are locked in a heated debate over the only right way to roast a marshmallow, Shep’s in the middle of telling a story filthy enough to make Wolfe choke on his beer, and Heath’s already crooning off-key to whatever country song Virgil’s got playing on the speaker.

Joely and Lynsie are sitting shoulder to shoulder, heads close, whispering. I know that look—Lynsie’s got her “extract the truth at all costs” face on, and Joely’s cheeks are pink enough to tell me they’re definitely not talking about the weather. My stomach does this stupid little flip because, yeah, I know exactly what (or who) they’re talking about. God, I hope she’s not telling her best friend about how I fumbled the bra strap or how my nerves almost made me forget how to put on a condom. I want last night to be something she’s proud of, not just another punchline in the group chat.

And me? I’m doing my best to act normal—even as Joely talks to her best friend, bundled up in that coat I can’t stop thinking about unzipping, my whole body burning in ways the fire can’t touch.

If it were just the two of us, I’d have her pressed up against the tailgate with her legs spread, that puffy coat shoved up to her waist while I get my mouth on her until she’s making those desperate little noises I can’t stop thinking about. I want my hands inside her panties, fingers stroking her until she comes apart, her breath hot in my ear and her nails raking down my back. Hell, half these guys would drop their beers if they knew what I’d do to her if we were alone—because the only thing I want more than a hot dog on a stick is to sink my cock so deep she forgets the fire’s even burning.

She looks different tonight even though I’ve seen her a thousand times. Her hair’s still got a wave to it like last night, and she’s wearing that soft smile she always gets when she’s around my family. Like she belongs here. Like she’s one of us. Hell, she is. But now, everything’s different.

Bennett shoots me a look over the fire, then smirks. “You good, bro? You look constipated.”

“I’m great,” I mutter, grabbing a marshmallow skewer like it’s gonna save me from this conversation.

Joely catches my eye. Just a quick glance. But it’s enough to light me up all over again. My chest goes tight, and I’m fifteen again, stupid and obsessed and trying to hide a crush the size of Minnesota. I imagine myself yelling, “I had sex!” to my Mom.

Instead, I stab a marshmallow and stick it in the flames.

Bennett, of course, doesn’t let it go. “You gonna stare at her all night, or are you gonna say something?”

“She’s right there, dude. She can hear you.”

“Then say it quieter.” He grins, smug as hell.

Joely rolls her eyes. “Y’all want me to move? I can go sit by Shep.”

“No!” I say way too fast. Everyone pauses. Gage whistles.

“Wow,” Shep says, dragging out the word like it’s got five syllables. “Somebody’s got it bad.”

“Somebody’s gonna end up a sacrifice to the fire,” I growl.

Joely laughs, but her cheeks are pink. She doesn’t move, and that feels like a win. Then Boone shows up with a tray of snacks, saving me from further humiliation. For now.

I shift in my seat, trying to play it cool. But I can’t stop watching Joely. And when she tucks her hair behind her ear and glances my way again, I know I’m screwed.

Because I don’t just want her here tonight.

I want her everywhere. Always.

Before long, she’s next to me, her face half-lit by the flames, curls haloed in gold. She’s got her hands stuffed into the pockets of her coat, but the second I lean in, she shifts like she was waiting for me.

“Cold?” I ask, nudging her shoulder with mine.

She shrugs. “Not really.”

But I can see the pink creeping up her cheeks, and it’s not from the fire.

“I meant what I said last night,” I say, voice low. “I want this to be real.”

Joely turns her head, eyes wide. “Then why do you want to keep it quiet?”

Ah, shit. Here we go.

I scrub a hand down my jaw. “It’s not like that. It’s just… things are complicated right now with the contract and all. Franklin and Britt have me under a microscope, and if I start publicly dating someone seriously, they’ll say my head’s not in the game. And they’d be right.”

She studies my face, but I can’t meet her eyes.

“It’s not just about the contract,” I admit, voice cracking. “It’s—Joely, if I lose hockey? I don’t know who I am. I know that sounds pathetic, but it’s true. I’m already skating on thin ice with Franklin, and I can’t—I can’t lose this, too. Hockey’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at. The only thing that makes sense when everything else gets loud in my head.”

My breath comes out shaky, and I finally look at her, afraid of what I’ll see.

“I’m scared,” I whisper, shame biting at my insides. “Scared that if I screw up, if I get distracted, it’s all over. And if that happens… I’m not sure what’s left of me.”

Joely’s face softens, and for a moment, she just lets the silence stretch between us—heavy, real, full of all the things I’ve never said out loud.

“So I’m a liability now?” she finally asks, arching a brow, but her voice isn’t angry—it’s wounded. I hate that more.

“No,” I say quickly. “You’re the one thing in my life that actually makes sense. I’m just asking for a beat. To figure my head out.”

She studies me, and for a second, I think I’ve totally botched it.

“Think of it like a pregnancy,” I blurt, then immediately cringe. “I mean—not like that. Just, you know, we make sure it’s gonna stick. First trimester. Then we tell people it’s official.”

Joely blinks. “So what, I’m your TRY-mester?”

I wince. “Okay, that sounded better in my head.”

She laughs, finally, and it loosens the tight band around my chest.

“I’m not great at this,” I admit. “But I know what I feel. I’m just trying to figure out the logistics.”

Joely eyes me for a long beat. Then she leans in, brushing her lips against mine so fast I almost miss it.

“You’ve got until Valentine’s Day,” she says, standing and walking toward the beer cooler. “Try-mester ends then, Foster.”

Fuck. I’m so gone for her.

I sit there like an idiot, watching Joely disappear into the firelight, her words echoing in my head.

Valentine’s Day.

She’s giving me a deadline, which is fair… I just didn’t expect her to hand it to me with a smirk and a kiss that short-circuited my brain. I’m supposed to be the one in control here—keeping it quiet, keeping things light. But she’s playing chess while I’m still fumbling with checkers.

Behind me, someone slaps my shoulder hard enough to jolt me back into my body. “You said trimester.” Shep says, grinning like he’s already written a song about it.

“Shut up, man.”

“Hard to do when the guy who just said he wants to keep things secret is standing there staring at her like she hung the damn moon.”

“Shep,” I growl, but there’s no heat in it.

He snorts. “Relax. I’m rooting for you, bro. Just… why all the secrecy? All of us knew even before you did.”

Easier said than done. I guess this thing with my career and my contract has me more wound up than I originally thought it did.

I head toward my brother, hands shoved in my pockets. Bennett’s sitting on a cooler, grumbling about the cheap beer and probably plotting a hostile takeover of the entire beverage industry. Joely’s perched on a log between Gage and Boone, laughing at something Boone’s saying, but I catch her glancing my way. Not overt. Just enough to make me feel it in my chest.

We’re still us… and somehow, not at all.

I sink onto the other side of the fire, the flames crackling between us like a live wire. I want to go over there. I want to pull her into my lap and tell every single person here that she’s mine. But I also want to keep this—whatever this is—safe. Protected. Something that doesn’t get burned up by spotlight and pressure and bad timing.

Every few minutes, I catch myself half-rising out of my seat, ready to cross the flames and claim her. But I force myself to stay put, fingers dug into my jeans, heart thumping like the idiot it is.

“I’m thinking about making her a crispy hot dog next,” Shep announces, biting into a burnt marshmallow and spraying crumbs like a sprinkler. “I mean… it will be about one eighth the size of mine, but…”

I shoot him a look. “You thinking about dying today?”

“Just saying. You weren’t the only one who noticed her in that dress, buddy. And you’re botching it. And that’s kinda pissing me off.”

“Dude,” Gage chokes out, looking around. “We’re like, two comments away from getting roasted ourselves.”

“By Mom,” Bennett mutters. “And she’ll use a literal fire poker. Straight to the nut sack.”

Joely laughs, and I swear it’s the best sound I’ve heard all damn day. Try-mester, huh? Yeah.

If this is the start, I’ll do whatever it takes to get to full term.