Page 125 of Rule 2: Never Join a Christmas Dating Show

I inhale. And exhale. Inhale. And exhale.

I am a calm lake, like the team psychologist tells us we should remember when we need to keep our cool.

“The guy had it coming to him,” Bryce says. “Ridiculous Twink.”

Fuck it.

I swing around and punch Bryce in the jaw. His mouth rounds. His eyes goggle. He slithers to the floor like the low-life he is.

I should be apologizing. This is my brother.

But I heard his slurs and cruelty for too long.

“You will speak about Sebastian with respect,” I say.

I start to walk away, then I turn around. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being a gay or being a twink or anything.”

I stumble over the language, hoping I’m not being more offensive. God, I know nothing about LGBTQ things. I never thought it applied to me. I’ve always relegated everything not to do with hockey as not for me. But queer men don’t need to be athletic and muscular like Evan and Vinnie and Noah and Finn. They can be light and sparkly and beautiful like Sebastian.

God, where is he now? The siren still blares. I want to wrap him in my arms and assure him this doesn’t matter, that there’s no reason to run. I’m here.

I want to hold him in my arms and give him as many hugs and kisses as he needs. I want to apologize about my brother and tell him I wish I stood up for him years ago, and that I know it’s too late, but that I have now.

“I assume this segment is over?” I ask Ella.

“Yes.”

“I don’t want anything after the librarian came into the corridors to be released,” I say. “Understand?”

“We can’t—”

“I’m calling my agent,” I say, then I hurry out, my heart pounding. I take out my phone.

“Luke?” Nate says, answering at once, and I’m so glad he’s efficient.

“I’m in Ashcove and I punched my brother during the tour. On film.”

There’s a pause, and I hurry faster, moving toward the sound of the open alarmed door.

“Are you kidding?” Nate asks finally.

“No, I’m not kidding,” I practically explode. “I don’t call you to tell you random jokes!”

“You’re right,” Nate says quickly. “That doesn’t sound like. Punching your brother though?”

“I should have done it a decade ago.”

“Well, now you have a memory of it,” he says. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“My brother said some...bad things about Sebastian. I don’t want any of that getting out either.”

Nate sighs. “I’m not sure you know how reality TV works.”

I fly from the building, into the great icy cold. The cold wind blusters around me. Nate is right, I know. Still, I square my shoulders and muster up my scariest voice. “Do it.”

I hang up and look around. Where is Sebastian?

I see a gray Mercedes drive over the slushy parking lot. It’s him. I know it. I see his blond hair.