From across the room, Nico's head swivels toward us like a hawk spotting a field mouse. His eyes narrow directly at me and I release Willa's shoulders immediately.
"Purely platonic! All professional! Very much keeping my lips to myself over here, Coach!"
"Smart man," Nico mutters, and goes back to his clipboard.
But I'm vibrating. Genuinely, physicallyvibratingwith the kind of joy I haven't felt since before that hit turned my world sideways.
I ride the high straight across the Clawhouse toward Nico and Samuel, who are now huddled near the whiteboard covered in line combinations and defensive zone diagrams.
"Coach. Willa's cleared me for next week. But before I go…" I clap my hands together, grinning from ear to ear. "Quick question."
Nico doesn't look up. "If it's about your playlist privileges, the answer is still no."
"Not that."
Although Iamgoing to revisit that conversation soon, because I still think Jensen's music taste is an actual crime against humanity.
"I need tickets for Saturday's game. Couple of good seats, but not in the VIP section, if that's okay. Maybe behind the bench?"
Nico looks up, one eyebrow raised. "Since when do you need tickets? You've got a permanent seat."
"They're… um… they're not for me." I shrug, aiming for casual. "I thought it'd be nice, you know. For Delaney's community program. Bring the Butter Batch crew for some good ol' fashioned content opportunity, you know?"
"The Butter Batch crew," Samuel grunts. "You mean Zoey."
"And Morgan."
Samuel and Nico exchange a look that lasts approximately two seconds too long.
"Decent idea, Lane. I'll arrange it," Nico says, turning back to his whiteboard.
I grin, clap him on the shoulder and turn to grab my bag from the bench against the wall.
This is nice.
I'm feeling good.Reallygood.
For the first time in weeks, that hollow pit in my stomach is starting to fill with something warm and bright.
Now I get to go and tell Zoey the good news,andsurprise her with tickets for the weekend's game.
I hoist my sports bag onto my shoulder, but as I start to head towards the door, something slides out of the unzipped front pocket, hitting the rubber floor with a thump.
I look down and—
No. No, no, no.
Zoey's leather notebook lies open on the Clawhouse floor, its worn caramel cover facing up. The pages are all fanned out like a confession I never meant to make.
I lunge for it before anyone sees, but Gabe Devereaux has already bent down and scooped it up with those massive mitts of his.
"What's this?" He turns it over, one dark eyebrow rising as he flips a page. "A diary, Lane?"
"Gabe, can I just—"
"Let's see what we have here." Gabe flips to a random page, eyes gleaming. "'Dear diary, today I learned how to frost a cupcake—'" His voice drops into a breathy tone that sounds absolutely nothing like me. "'—and I think I'm falling in love with the way Zoey smells.'"
"That's not—" I frown at the man who somehow still gives me nightmares. "I didn't write that—"