Page 145 of The Play Maker

I clear my throat, yanking at the collar of my jersey. “Okay. Let’s move on before I strangle my sister,” I joke, avoiding Maisie’s eyes.

We hang out near the stands for a while. Mom’s chatting with Maisie about her classes, Scarlett’s going on about making junior varsity volleyball—which I groan at.

“I cannot believe my own blood would betray me with a sport that doesn’t involve blades or a puck,” I say, slinging an arm over her shoulder.

She rolls her eyes. “Sorry I don’t want to skate around smashing into people like a caveman,” she says, ducking out from under it. “And I’m not playing a sport where I might lose teeth.”

“Losing teeth builds character,” I mutter, mostly to Maisie, who just chuckles and rolls those eyes that knocked me on my ass from day one.

I’m very aware that I’m smiling like a damn idiot, but I can’t stop. Not when I look at the three of them—my mom, my sister, and the girl who’s somehow tangled herself into everything I care about—and my chest feels tight in the best possible way. I just want to pause this moment and live in it forever.

At some point, Mom touches my arm, pulling me a few feet away.

“She brings out a version of you I haven’t seen in a while,” she says, pursing her lips. “I like her.”

I let out a laugh. “That’s good, considering she’s my girlfriend.”

Mom studies me for a second. Then her lips tug into a small smile. “You’ve got that look,” she says.

My brows knit together. “What look?”

“You love her,” she adds quietly.

I don’t answer.

But I don’t deny it, either.

She hums and strolls off to show Maisie my embarrassing baby pics.

Did I say my family was normal? Yeah, I take it back.

They’re loud and embarrassing as hell… but I wouldn’t trade them for the world.

31

MAISIE

Idon’t know what I expected from a hockey afterparty.

I mean, technically, I’ve been to one of Austin’s parties before—by accident—and it was wild. But tonight, it’s louder, even bigger and more insane.

Someone’s already mid-keg stand in the front hall while a group of guys chant. There’s a broken chair in the middle of the living room, and the music is vibrating my actual spine.

Aurora’s already halfway across the room, weaving through the crowd in boots that could easily double as weapons.

Isabella slows her steps beside me, looping her arm through mine. “Are you okay?”

I nod, adjusting the strap of my top. “I just forgot how loud and cramped parties are.”

She chuckles, and squeezes my arm. “Come on. Alcohol usually helps.”

The house is packed wall-to-wall with bodies. I tug at the hem of my top. My jeans that felt cute ten minutes ago now feel too tight. My top keeps riding up every time I move. And Idefinitelyshouldn’t have worn my hair down. It’s already sticking to the back of my neck like glue.

We push into the kitchen, which somehow manages to be louder and hotter than the rest of the house.

Aurora halts in front of us the second she spots Cole.

He’s leaning against the counter, his jaw ticking as his eyes flick toward us. Or toward her, more accurately.