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Chase pulled up to the curb. “Did I say something?—?”

“No.” I shoved open the door and got out of the truck, that knotted ball starting to strangle me.

Even in that moment, I knew the pressure building inside me wasn’t only the numbers.

It wasn’t even only Chase. It was years of me feeling taken advantage of.

Tiny moments stockpiled over time. Sharing homework, saying yes to favours, doing the group project.

Putting forth so much effort a thousand times over, and what did I have to show for it?

Good grades? Now I was working my ass off to pad my resume for a scholarship and he wins the hockey game and waltzes into Ranchman’s with Melody Sanchez?

Okay. So maybe it was more about Chase than I realized, which was why I didn’t want to talk about it with him. I pressed a fist to my chest, trying to draw a full breath.

“Maddie, stop.” Chase grabbed my elbow, turning me to face him. I hadn’t realized he’d gotten out of the truck. “What did I say?”

“I really don’t want to talk about this.”

He nodded, his jaw working. “About what?”

Damn it. One sentence and I’d given away that there was something to talk about. Was it the discombobulating wake-up? The meeting with Axel? The smell of Chase’s truck? I was the rational one. I didn’t spin out of control and have emotional meltdowns.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’m not feeling?—”

“Does this have anything to do with the game? Or Melody? Because?—”

I coughed. “Why would it have anything to do with Melody?”

Chase put his hands on his hips, splitting his jacket and exposing his fitted T-shirt. “You shot out of Ranchman’s after we got there. And you looked pissed.”

My mouth worked. “I—I had an early morning.” I folded my arms, scrambling to get off my proverbial heels. “Why was Axel talking with you about money?” Chase frowned. Ha. Perfect. I doubled down. “He said he’d have the money for you—why? Some playoff bracket bet or something?”

“No. I don’t bet money with students?—”

“But you’ll buy them a sandwich so they can make you look like a genius?”

Chase blinked.

I turned back to the door and dragged my keys from my pocket. “Sorry. I know that wasn’t fair,” I muttered as I shoved the door open and stepped inside. It wasn’t a true statement. It was an emotional one.

I stared at my empty living room. Was this what it felt like to have your feelings hurt? Truly hurt? It sounded ridiculous, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever experienced it, and none of it made any sense. Why was I so upset over a stupid game?

I rubbed my hand over my breastbone, trying to ease the pressure underneath. Footsteps sounded behind me.

“It’s not fair. I asked for help and you said?—”

“Yes! I know, I always say yes!” I whirled to face him. “I don’t want to disappoint people, but then I’m the one who ends up sitting here disappointed!”

He stood silhouetted by the sunshine outside the door. “The Outlaws won. I thought that was the whole?—”

I let out an exasperated growl, kicked off my shoes, and stalked toward the kitchen.

Did I want credit? Did I want him to announce to the entire arena that their big win was because of numbers I crunched?

No, that was ridiculous. It was the players who put in the time on the ice.

The win wasn’t because of me, so what did I want?

Chase followed me into the galley kitchen. I stood barefoot on the mat, coat still on, too wired to look at him. “It would’ve been nice to hear a ‘thank you.’”

“Thank you,” he snapped.

I gave him a snarky grin. “Wow. Feels good.” I grabbed a plate from the cupboard and pulled my half loaf of bread from the bread box. Had I eaten this morning? No. That was definitely the problem.

When I took down the peanut butter and honey, Chase moved in. “Here. Allow me. Apparently, I’m great at giving people sandwiches so they’ll make me look like a genius.”

“Chase—”

“No, seriously. What else could I get you to do for me?” He pulled open the drawers one at a time, searching for a knife. “I still have to submit my taxes?—”

“Chase!” I grabbed his arms and wedged myself between him and the drawers. My breath caught when I looked up and realized our bodies were flush. “Stop it.”

His muscles relaxed, and everything went still. “Did you think I told everyone those shift changes were my idea? Because I didn’t.”

“I don’t even care. I’m just hungry and?—”

Chase put a finger under my chin and tilted my face back up to look at him. “You stop it.”

My heart beat in my throat. “Stop what?”

Chase’s head dropped another inch, and my mouth went dry. “Mr. Wild knows you’re the only reason I made it through Math 20, and Coach Blakely knows it was you who came up with the strategy for the game. The players do, too.”

I nodded, but he didn’t release my chin.

“Stop pretending like you don’t care. You should care. You should get credit.” Chase finally dropped his hand. “I wanted to thank you at Ranchman’s, but you were a bat out of hell.”

His words flowed through me like warm honey. How had he done that? Known exactly what I needed to hear?

“Well, this is interesting.”

I jumped at the sound of Tash’s voice, slipping out from between Chase and the countertop. She stared at us through the pass-through window above the kitchen sink.

My cheeks heated. “Hey! I’m so sorry. Did we wake you?”

Tash looked between the two of us. She was in a sports bra and baggy sweatpants. “No, you? It was definitely the mild beeping of my alarm clock and not the shouts of ‘Stop it, no you stop it?—’”

“Okay, I get it, I’m sorry.” I pushed my hair behind my ear and spun, trying to find something to do with my hands.

“Who are you?” Tash asked.

“I—” Chase hesitated. “Was just leaving.” Chase ducked his head and stepped back into the entry.

Tash followed, disappearing behind the wall. “I’m thinking not a student because you look like you have your shit together.”

I scurried out behind him. “Tash?—”

“You do look like a hockey player, though. With the arms. The stache.”

“Tash, seriously.” I gave Chase an apologetic look.

He gave a tight smile and opened the door. “Have a good weekend.”

“Wait!” Tash’s eyes widened. “Is this the guy? The one you were baking cookies for?”

“No!” I grimaced and hurried to close the door behind him as Chase stepped over the threshold. “Those were for the team!” I finished, too loudly. I turned to face my roommate, pressing my back against the door. “Really?”

Tash grinned at me. “That’s him, isn’t it? The coach, your brother, the guy you had the hots for in high school?”

I groaned. How much had I said while being lulled by the melancholy strains of Bush Y? Or Z? Or whatever the hell their name was? “You’re an asshole.”

She laughed. “Definitely. But you were just pressed up against a faculty member in the kitchen, so.”

She had a point.