Chapter 1
FINLEY
Coffee has never tasted so good. It’s never been as needed as it is today, either.
My head is hazy from last night—the loud music, the late hours—and my body still isn’t used to drinking liquor.
There’s a cotton dryness in my mouth that has me gulping the scorching liquid before mine and Christina’s breakfast arrives.
Burn me awake, please.
We’re at a little spot in Beverly Hills, a French patisserie–meets–German bakery. Everything at Frei étoile looks incredible, from the food to the industrial-chic decor. The menu is deceptively simple, the kind that makes choosing feel like a test.
Bread, sugar, butter… yes.
The coffee is just cutting through the fog when the server sets down our plates—French toast crowned with berries for me, and a sizzling German pancake for Christina, its skillet popping, filled with bacon, scrambled eggs, and a honey-glazed berry salad.
“I always forget how big their portions are here,” she says, picking off the fresh mint leaves. It’s a late brunch—late enough to be a casual lunch.
“These are normal. You haven’t seen big portions until you’ve seen Jayden and Elijah’s plates.”
“They’re big guys, Babe…” A laugh bubbles from her at the double entendre.
“Oh no, not yet. My brain is still waking up and—” Our phones trill at the same time.
A quick glance shows the alerts Christina set up for Elijah and Jayden. Normally, I’d dive in; today, I flip my phone face down and still Christina’s hand before she opens hers.
“It’s probably some stupid article about the probability of Elijah being traded.
The reporters are so brutal. Yesterday, there was an article about Elijah’s spiral into crisis.
They’re trying to link our relationship to his health and recovery.
Some buffoon commented how I’m a distraction and that he should drop me. ”
“That asshole doesn’t know shit, so fuck them.”
“It wasn’t just that one person; there are so many of them, saying really mean things and…” I breathe in, slow and deep, tamping down the whisper that says it’s my fault—his benching, his headaches, his anxiety. Lie, lie, lie. “It sucks, and I’m not wasting my energy on them.”
Christina nods, lips pursed into a small smile. “Last night was super fun.”
“Yeah, I had the best time.”
“Good, because we’re going to make it a regular thing… minus the stalker. That dude was weird. Maybe we need to find you a pheromone whisperer to get your come-hither vibes in check.”
“My come-hither vibes?” I almost choke on French toast.
“Babe, the dude was watching you the whole night. Even Alice commented on it, and that woman rarely gets yucked by male attention.”
“Ryker—”
“No. No, Sweetie. We don’t keep record of creeper names. Anyhow, that name has always given me the ick. Ryker…” She shudders with a mock retch, cutting it short when the server swings by to check on us. “It’s not the food… it’s… eeeew… Ryker. What kind of name is that? Gross, right?”
“I have a cousin called Ryker,” the server says. Christina shoots me a rolled-lip grimace that disappears when the woman adds, “Third cousin, and he’s a total oddball.”
“See, Fin?” Christina croons. “It’s in the name. Like Ted, Samuel… Gary and John…”
The server chuckles and walks off. Meanwhile, Christina keeps adding to her red-flag list.
“Oh, my God, also Larry and Randall,” she yucks.
“You’re listing serial killers, of course the names are going to weird you out.”
“The fact you know that is impressive,” she smirks, spearing a strawberry and dragging it through my cinnamon apple compote.
“Elijah is into those True Crime documentaries and biopics. He’s watching this drama about Jeffrey Dahmer and—”
“Yes, see, Jeffrey. What kind of name is Jeffrey… Jeffy… Jeff…” She gulps water, then chortles, “My name is Jeff…”
“What was that?”
“Jeff. That’s what that is.” She shrugs, tearing the crispy edge off her pancake and dipping again into my compote.
“The reference is totally lost on you. We need to get you educated on Channing Tatum. Not that I think he’s super hot, I mean, I wouldn’t fucking die over him the way I would over Henry Cavill.
That guy… yeah, I’d clone him and let him double stuff me for sure. ”
“Oh, Jesus… stop it!” I snort coffee into my lungs, sputtering onto my nearly empty plate.
“Babe, you have to prepare yourself. Desensitize your sensibilities to it because you don’t want to be choking on air before you gag on—”
“No. No gagging.” Heat floods my face—a bright pulsing beacon for the people around us.
With a cocked brow, she leans in. “Trust me, there’s always gagging. Reflex or no. Guys love the big dick power trip, even when they know you’re putting it on.”
“I don’t get how anyone can feel good about something that isn’t real… that’s not true.”
Her phone rings. Summer’s face flashes on the screen before Christina answers. Then freezes.
Each second stretches; her eyes widen, color drains. She flags the server for the check with a tight flick of her hand. There’s no argument when I pay—definitely not normal. She’s already grabbing our bags, her whole body poised to bolt.
“What’s going on?” I ask as she studies me at the restaurant doors, like bracing for impact.
With a shrug, she tugs the hood of Jayden’s Comets hoodie over my head. “Time to get out of here.”
Christina doesn’t answer my question, but something heavy and sour coils in my stomach while she continues talking to Summer cryptically.
In the Uber, she ends the call and scrolls, her knee bouncing like mad.
“Christina.” I still her leg with my hand, attempting to calm my nerves. “What’s wrong?”
Pink, tear-glossed eyes flick to mine while she chews her lip.
“Not here,” she says, locking her phone before I can see.
“Whatever it is, it’ll be okay.” I squeeze her knee.
Please let that be true, I pray in my head when her responding smile wavers, falling way short of her eyes.
The only thing I can do is lean into her, making sure she knows that I’m right here for her. However she might need me.
The second the Uber comes to a stop, Christina grabs my hand and yanks me out of the car after her, straight into the building. We’re waiting for the elevator when she turns to me.
“Fin…” The doors ping open, and my phone erupts in my pocket.
“One sec.” I thumb through the stack of notifications from the Elijah/Jayden alerts.
“Don’t,” she says, closing her hand around my screen. “Don’t do that.”
The apology on her face punches through me, hollowing my chest.
Oh, God.
“Tina…” I tug my phone free, and she pulls me into the elevator. “Stop! Let go…”
“Fin, you can’t… you shouldn’t…”
She doesn’t try again when I wrench my hand back. I tap a random alert. An article snaps open.
The words don’t land. The headline doesn’t register. The world narrows to one thing. The photo.
Elijah and… and…
“I’m sorry, Fin.”
Sorry? “Why?”
Her brows knit. Because you think I’m seeing the same thing you are.
But I’m seeing him. The pain on his face—like that time when we were making out on his couch and he freaked out.
At first, I thought he was enjoying it, too.
Until the grooves between his brows pulled deeper, his jaw set wrong, and his body went rigid under my hands.
“It’s not what you think. It’s not… It’s not true…”
“Finley—”
“No.” I cut Christina off as the doors open, and I rush to mine and Elijah’s door, only to pause partway.
Jayden.
My heart stutters while I stare at his door.
Jayden.
The keys bite my palm. My thoughts sprint in a dozen directions. Jayden knows Elijah. He knows everything he is. What he’s capable of. What he’s afraid of…
Still, my thoughts spiral back to the hospital, back to every moment we’ve shared where I’ve felt his want… his need… his love for Elijah and, with it, the hopelessness and hurt of the doubts of whether Elijah feels it, too.
“Let’s get you inside,” Christina says, prying the keys from my fist.
“No, I have to go to them. I have to see them… to… to… make sure that Elijah is okay. To make sure that Jayden knows, that he sees it’s not real. It’s not true.”
“Finley, a photo doesn’t lie.”
I yank back the keys. “That photo does! I know Elijah. I know him.”
“Sometimes you don’t know people as well as you think you do!”
“Elijah is not people. He is my heart, Christina. And I know right here—” My hand beats my chest. “—that whatever that picture is, it’s not the truth.”
“What if it is?” she whispers as I open the door and Samson launches into my arms.
“It’s not.” I set Samson down and pull up the photo again, zooming in, shoving the screen toward her. “Look at him.”
Her frown slips. “Holy shit. That’s…”
“Yeah. So maybe Ryker was stalking me. Maybe Alice was right all along…”
“Sick bastard.” She steps inside and shuts the door. “Still, Finley… that photo…”
“Is off. Elijah is all wrong. All tense, Tina. Besides, think about it. Like, if he and Ryker—” The name tastes like rust. I swallow and move deeper into the apartment, Samson circling our feet.
“Don’t you think it’s all so oddly coincidental that he was at the restaurant last night and then at the bar.
Now, this article comes out of nowhere…”
“I don’t believe in coincidence,” Christina grumbles.
I turn back. Her phone is in her hand; her face is hard. “Elijah’s changed, Christina. He’s not the boy I used to sneak around with anymore. He’s… distant. A whole lot more guarded. But he is not a liar or a cheat or… or… God, he’s still the best part of me. He’s still my heart.”
“Fin—”
“I know my heart, Christina. I know where its affection lies and who it beats for.” And it’s not for Ryker. Not ever.
I grab a glass of water and check the group chat. Nothing new—just last night’s photo and our call bubble. I type and delete the same greeting three times.
Fin: Hey…
Delete.
Fin: Hi…
Delete.
Silence is a fist, hitting me second by second. I know they’re locked in for the game. Jayden will be warming up; Elijah will be watching him. Because he cares. Because he loves him.
Elijah loves Jayden.
And Ryker? He’s nobody.
“The asshole is the coach at the community rink…” Christina rushes to the breakfast bar, slaps her phone down, and zooms in on the caption: “An intimate moment between Comets’ number 21 and the peewee community coach.”
“The kids’ hockey coach…” My mind is unraveling faster than I can keep up. Taking me back to the first time Jayden took me up to the rooftop garden and the pool. When Auguste joined us…
“What’s the look?” Christina asks, finishing my water in one gulp.
“A while back, there was a thing, and one of the guys mentioned how Elijah was off when he saw Ryker at the rink. Like he was uncomfortable.”
“And you said that last night. You said he made you feel uncomfortable, right?”
“Because he was getting in my personal space and I didn’t know that he wasn’t into—”
“Forget who the creep is into. He invaded your space and gave you the ick.” She swipes to an airline app. “Maybe that’s his MO. I totally thought he was hitting on you when I saw the two of you at the bar, so maybe you’re right. Maybe those photos aren’t painting the right picture.”
“Jayden must be devastated.”
She looks up, wincing. “Seventy-Four is the only person who knows Eli like you do. You know… the bond you guys have is totally extraordinary.”
“Doesn’t mean we don’t have moments of doubt. Wobbles on where we stand and—” My heart batters my lungs. “It’s a complex situation, and the more we explore, it ravels tighter. More complicated…”
“Hey,” she murmurs, leaning forward to grasp my knotted hands, pulling them apart.
“Everything about ordinary life is complicated. Humans are complex beings. Anything that’s straightforward isn’t living…
t’s not life… like, you know, love. Like loving someone requires tenacity and strength.
To stick with that person when they’re at their worst, at rock bottom… ”
Her thumbs caress the back of my hands as though, by comforting me, she’s also comforting herself.
“You and Eli have that longevity, that connection…” A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as though she can’t believe what she’s about to say. “What’s that love verse? Love is kind or whatever?”
“First Corinthians thirteen, four. Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. It does not dishonor others and is not self-seeking. It is not easily provoked or resentful. Love rejoices with the truth and it always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always—” I suck in a deep breath, trying to control the emotions burning in the back of my eyes, scorching down my throat so that I can’t speak through them. “—it always… always per-perseveres.”
“That, Fin. Love protects, trusts, hopes, and perseveres. That is what you and Eli have. It’s what you and Jayden have had since the moment you met.
And I know you won’t give me a definite answer, but I’m not stupid or blind.
I see the three of you together, and it’s not you in the middle of them.
It’s—” She circles a finger in the air. “A thing. Between all three of you. Eli and Jayden included.”
I stare down at the counter, squeezing her other hand in mine while she spins her phone toward me with a list of flights to North Carolina.
“The next flight to Charlotte is at ten-thirty. It gives us time to pack and get our asses to LAX, no rushing.”
“Us? You don’t have to come with—”
“The fuck I don’t. I'm not allowing you to fly across the country on your own with all the shit going on.”
“But you have work and—”
“Alice will cover for me. I do it for her all the time.”
“Thank you.”
“Girl,” she croons, scratching Samson’s head as he sniffs for contraband treats, “You never have to thank me. How many times have you listened to me drone on about my parents and their fucked up break-up? And anyway, it’s kind of nice being the voice of reason for once.”
I chuckle, digging my ID from my wallet and handing it to her. While she books flights, I text Auguste to arrange the sitter for Samson. I hate letting him down, but the ache of being away from Elijah and Jayden is worse than guilt. The sick, tight feeling won’t let up.
Packing doesn’t help. The anticipation needles me raw. By the time we’re in the Uber to Christina’s place to grab her things, I’m shaking, blinking back tears every time my phone buzzes, and it’s another alert instead of them.
I can’t take the silence.
I can’t take the distance.
I can’t take the not-knowing.
Christina sprints inside, leaving me alone in the back seat. No one to stop me when I pull up my call log and tap the contact pinned at the top.
Elijah.