Page 22

Rilee

After a few days, my nerves have calmed a bit. Caleb is as sweet as ever, giving me quiet, quick kisses in the hallway, leaving sticky notes on my nightstand on the days our paths don’t cross, and last night, cuddling on my bed with me when I didn’t have the energy to move.

Hunter’s still being Hunter.

And Grayson?

Grayson is currently on the couch beside me.

We sit side by side with our laptops open, a half-finished bag of chips between us, and the kind of silence that feels… settled. Totally normal.

He’s rereading something on his tablet. I’m halfheartedly reviewing notes from clinical. The lamp casts a warm yellow halo, and his arm brushes mine every so often as he shifts.

He’s close. Warm. Solid in a way that makes my stomach tighten even though we’re not touching.

“How’s Fletcher?” he asks suddenly, voice low but steady.

I blink. He hasn’t brought him up before—not directly.

“Um. He’s doing okay, I think. Still in rehab. He calls a lot. Sends me ridiculous memes like it’s his job.”

Grayson gives a small smile but doesn’t look away from his screen.

I shift toward him a little. “Were you guys close? Before… everything?”

He nods, still not quite meeting my gaze. “Not really. I was new to the team, and we didn’t play together long before he left.”

“Oh.”

Grayson closes his tablet. The silence that follows stretches, but not in a bad way. It’s like he’s sorting through something before deciding what to hand over.

“But he was one of the good ones,” he says. “When I transferred here, people didn’t ask questions. They just decided what kind of guy I must be. But Fletcher? He asked.”

I let that sit for a second. “Is that why you came here? The transfer?”

His jaw tightens.

“There was a hazing incident at my old school,” he says quietly. “A freshman died. And I—”

He cuts off, eyes on the carpet.

“I wasn’t part of it,” he adds after a beat. “But I knew it was happening. Heard things. Saw bruises. I thought… I thought it wasn’t my business. Or that maybe it wasn’t as bad as it looked. Told myself it was probably just rumors.”

A lump forms in my throat.

“Grayson…”

“I could’ve said something,” he murmurs. “But I didn’t. And now—he’s gone. And I still get to play. I still get to… move on.”

“You didn’t hurt him,” I say gently.

He looks up then, and the weight in his eyes is a punch to the chest.

“No. But I didn’t help him either.”

The silence wraps around us again. But this time, it’s thick with grief. And guilt. And something softer underneath.

I reach over and place my hand on his.

He flinches—just a little. Then lets out a slow breath and laces his fingers through mine.

Neither of us speaks for a while.

And we don’t need to.

Because some kinds of closeness aren’t about what you say—they’re about what you finally let someone see.

When I glance over, his eyes are already on me—dark and steady, the usual wall of quiet pulled down just enough that I can see what’s underneath.

“Rilee,” he says softly.

I don’t know if it’s a question or a warning.

Maybe both.

But I don’t look away.

His gaze drops to my mouth.

And that’s all it takes.

Grayson leans in—slowly, like he’s giving me every chance to change my mind. But I don’t. I couldn’t.

And when his lips finally brush mine, it’s soft. Tentative. Like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to want this.

I press in.

And that’s all the encouragement he needs.

His free hand lifts to my jaw, fingers curling around my cheek as he deepens the kiss, slow and reverent at first—then fuller. Hungrier.

It’s not rushed.

It’s not frantic.

It’s the kind of kiss you give someone when you’ve been thinking about it for way too long.

His thumb brushes my cheekbone. My fingers tighten around his.

When we finally pull apart, I’m breathless—and a little dazed.

He doesn’t say anything right away.

Just looks at me, like I’m beautiful or something. It’s a lot.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he says finally.

I nod, still catching my breath. “Yeah. Me too.”

He lets out a slow breath, like that was the one answer he didn’t dare hope for.

And then he kisses me again.

Slower this time.

More certain.

And somehow that second kiss says even more than the first.

I have no idea how he does it, but his kisses do something to me. My body is warm and flushed, and my panties start to dampen.

Grayson kisses me again—slower, deeper. One hand slides to the back of my neck, anchoring me there. His thumb strokes just beneath my jaw and it sends heat spiraling down my spine.

I lean into him. Lose track of where we are.

Lose track of everything that’s not this .

And then—

The front door creaks open.

We freeze.

Footsteps. Heavy ones. Heading toward the kitchen.

Grayson pulls back, eyes flicking toward the sound. His breathing is still shallow, chest rising and falling just like mine.

Neither of us speaks.

“Shit,” I whisper, already halfway to standing. “I should…”

He nods once, lips still parted like he might kiss me again if I stay a second longer.

So I don’t.

I grab my laptop, the blanket, anything I can without looking too flustered.

I barely make it halfway up the stairs before the heat in my chest becomes too much.

Too fast.

Too everything .

I pivot on instinct and slip into the hallway bathroom, shutting the door softly behind me.

I lean over the sink, bracing both hands on the cool porcelain.

My lips are swollen. My cheeks flushed. I look—kissed. Thoroughly, irrevocably kissed.

What am I doing?

My breath catches as I replay it: the way he touched me. The way he said he’d wanted to for a long time.

I splash cold water on my face and try to pull myself together. It was just a kiss.

Except it wasn’t.

It was him.

Quiet, haunted, sweet-eyed him .

Confessing his secrets to me.

My stomach twists.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door—soft, brief.

“Riles?” Grayson’s voice, low. Careful.

I close my eyes. My heart thuds harder.

“I’m okay,” I say, not quite lying. “Just needed a sec.”

There’s a pause. Then: “Okay.”

His footsteps retreat down the hall.

I stare at my reflection.

One kiss. One second. One guy standing in my hallway—quiet and steady and entirely capable of undoing me.

I flop onto my bed and open our shared thread.

?? HOUSE OF HOCKEY HUNKS ??

Me: Hey—just a heads-up. Fletcher has visitation this weekend.

It’s his first friends-and-family day, and… I don’t know.

There’s a pause.

Not long, but enough.

Caleb: You want to see him?

Me: Yeah. I need to tell him about California in person. But also—I need a ride.

Caleb: I’ll take you. You think he’s gonna freak about the Cali thing?

Me: Maybe. Hopefully not.

Caleb: Saturday work?

Me: Yeah. Thanks.

Grayson: I’ll tag along.

Caleb: The more, the merrier.

Me: Seriously—thank you, guys.

Caleb: Hunter, be good while we’re gone.

Hunter: * middle finger emoji*

I stare at the screen, biting back a smile.

Because somehow, even that feels like affection.