Page 31

Six Months Later

It was the kind of evening that made you forget the rest of the world existed, just heat radiating off the sand, the hush of water stretching endlessly toward the horizon, and the wind tousling your hair like it had always known you.

I carried our towels over my shoulder, my other hand clasped around Shane’s as we stepped barefoot onto the warm, late-July sand. The breeze off Lake Michigan was gentle tonight, brushing against our skin like it, too, had nothing left to prove.

Shane led the way.

It still hit me sometimes, that shift. He no longer waited for me to take the first step. He wasn’t walking behind me anymore, trying to shrink himself smaller. He moved with an ease that was all new and all his, and God, I never got tired of watching him.

He looked back over his shoulder and smiled. “You’re dragging your feet, Callahan. Too old to keep up?”

I grinned. “I’m enjoying the view.”

He flushed, then rolled his eyes and turned away quickly. But I caught the way his shoulders relaxed, the way his steps lightened just a little more.

We set our things down near the shoreline. The beach was quiet. Families had packed up for the night, the volleyball nets were empty, and the city behind us glowed in soft gold and blue, fading as twilight crept in.

Without fanfare, Shane peeled his shirt off in one fluid motion.

I stood there, stunned, as if I hadn’t already seen him shirtless a hundred times: sweaty after a workout, breathless after sex, half-asleep in my bed.

But this was different. There was no hesitation, no tugging at the hem, no subtle angling away from the world.

Though rather empty, this beach still contained enough strangers who would have made my old Shane fidget.

Lean and lightly tanned, freckles scattered along his collarbone, an old scar on his left side like a piece of punctuation. He stretched, arms raised above his head, and the gesture was so casual, so confident, I nearly forgot to breathe.

Six months ago, he would’ve worn long sleeves to the beach. Six months ago, he would’ve pretended he wasn’t watching everyone else.

Today, he knew he was being watched.

And he let me.

“Are you coming or just gonna stand there like a creep?” he called over his shoulder, wading into the lake.

I blinked, my mouth twitching into a grin. “Creep’s a strong word.”

He shrugged. “So is boyfriend. But here we are.”

I stripped down and jogged after him, splashing into the water with a yelp at the initial cold. He laughed, already knee-deep, his hair wind-blown and slightly damp from sweat.

“You’re stalling,” he teased.

“I’m still enjoying the view,” I said again, closing the distance and wrapping my arms around his waist. “Different verbs.”

He tilted his chin toward me, brown eyes soft and open. “Then enjoy properly.”

I kissed him, slow and deep, the lake curling around our calves and our bodies melting together like the world had been waiting for this.

The kiss tasted like sun and sweat and water. Like him. Always him.

Later, we sprawled side by side on our towels, towels barely long enough for both of us, but that had never stopped me from pulling him half onto mine.

His legs were still wet, sand clinging to his calves and the edges of his shorts. He leaned into me, bare chest pressed against my side, his head resting on my shoulder as I combed fingers absently through his hair.

His hand played with mine, fingers tracing idle lines along my wrist. I looked down at him, heart tripping stupidly over itself the way it always did when he touched me like this.

“Remember the first time you came to the beach with me?” I asked.

He snorted. “You mean when I told you I hated the beach and how I always spent the whole time in a hoodie pretending to be allergic to sunlight? Thank God it was winter.”

We stayed there for a while, watching the sky shift through pink and gold and into something quieter, more blue. A few joggers passed in the distance. Someone played acoustic guitar further up the beach. It felt like a movie, but we weren’t pretending.

Shane sat up after a while, brushing sand off his thighs. “You know, if I rewrote the thesis now, it’d just say: ‘Hopelessly in love with my subject.’”

I laughed. “You better not. That’s private data.”

He turned toward me, his grin lopsided. “Oh, you mean like your full-frontal exhibitionism in the locker room?”

“You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Not a chance.” He batted his long eyelashes at me. “I’d love to see more of it.”

“And here I was,, worrying you’d get bored,” I teased.

He laughed, and the conversation quieted, and for a while, we just watched the lake ripple gently under the twilight.

Then, Shane leaned back on his elbows and looked at me with something like wonder, like he still couldn’t quite believe this was real. “I’ve never been with someone who made me feel…visible,” he said. “And not just when I’m naked.”

My throat tightened. “You’ve always been visible, Shane. I just had to see you.”

He blinked a few times, eyes glassy in the fading light.

“I have a confession,” I added softly.

He nudged me. “You always do.”

“I didn’t think I could do this. The relationship. Being someone you’d let hold your hand in public. I’m fire, Shane. I burn everything I touch. And with a guy after a lifetime of thinking I was straight? Not a chance. I was dead certain I’d wake up one morning and freak out and just walk away.”

Shane was quiet for a moment, studying me, before he shifted onto his knees and straddled my lap. “Yeah,” he said, brushing my hair back from my forehead. “You run fast. You love hard. You have a temper that could level a city block.”

“Romantic,” I muttered.

“But that’s the point,” he said. “You love hard, Patrick. And it’s me you love.”

I looked up at him, heat washing through my chest. He was bare above me, skin warm from the sun, lips parted just slightly. The confidence he wore now didn’t erase the boy who once flinched at his reflection.

I wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled him down against me. “I do,” I whispered against his mouth. “I love you.”

The kiss was deeper this time, slower, full of everything we didn’t need to say. His hips moved lazily against mine, not quite a tease, not quite an invitation, just contact. Wanting. Familiar. Safe.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against mine, breathing hard.

We stayed until the stars came out, until the air cooled, and our towels were damp beneath us. We lay side by side, fingers twined, the soft sound of waves rolling toward us like a lullaby.

There were no guarantees, no blueprints for forever.

Love was like skating with someone who might fall and swearing you’d catch them anyway.

It was letting yourself be seen.

It was choosing each other, again and again, when the world got loud.

And it was lying beside him now, skin to skin, saying nothing at all—because nothing needed to be said.

Shane turned toward me, eyes half-lidded, body relaxed and beautiful and wholly, unmistakably mine.

I watched him in the moonlight, thinking of that first night at Lumière, the cold tea, the awkward silence, the creeping blush he tried to hide.

Then I smiled.

This time, I didn’t chase the feeling.

I caught it.

Want more hockey boys falling in love? Don’t miss Depths of Desire . When a hockey playboy and a swimming champion of Westmont U get snowed in, their ambitions are put aside, and they spend a fateful night together that will forever change their lives. Read an exclusive preview on the next page.

The End .