My eyes move across the page, from one panel to the next. The main character is crouched on a rooftop, overlooking the broken-down city. He seems to be figuring out his powers if the orange glow on his hands is anything to go by, and the expression on his face is drawn with so much emotion I’m amazed that this was drawn by Nathan Hayes.
And the more I look, the more familiar the guy looks.
Blond hair. Green eyes.
I blink at the page, then look up.
“Hold up,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “Is this guy based on me?”
“No.” He shifts, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… maybe?” He lets out a quiet sigh. “I started sketching him before I realized he looked like you.”
“Before you realized you were obsessed with me, you mean?” I tease, expecting the usual eye roll, or maybe for him to mutteryou’re an idiot—which, let’s be honest, is just foreplay at this point—but he just holds my gaze and says the last thing I expect him to.
“Yeah.”
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry as fuck, and drop my gaze back to the pages because… Jesus. I don’t know what the hell just happened. Or what to do with it.
So, of course, I do what I always do when I’m spiraling.
I talk.
“Have you ever thought about publishing these?”
Nathan lets out this low, dismissive scoff, shaking his head. “Nah. I just draw when I can’t sleep,” he says, grabbing the sketchbook back. “It’s dumb.”
“Dumb?” I shoot him a look, nudging his side with my elbow until he glances over. “Nathan, this is the coolest shit I’ve seen in forever. Why have you never shown anyone?”
He gives me a shrug. “I dunno. I guess it’s just…mine, you know? Something that’s not about hockey.”
I nod slowly, watching his fingers brush over the edge of the page. “Makes sense. You need an escape. Especially when your dad’s up your ass twenty-four-seven.”
He grimaces. “Never say that again.”
“Oh, right.” I grin, leaning in closer. “Only I’m up your ass.”
His cheeks flush immediately, his eyes flicking away.
He leans his head back against the wall, letting his eyes drift half-shut. “Sometimes I think I don’t even like hockey anymore.”
That catches me off guard and my brows shoot up. “Wait. Seriously?”
He sighs, glancing up at the ceiling. “I don’t know. It’s just… a lot. And I think I only do it because it’s what I’ve always done. Because I’m good at it. Because he expects me to.”
The pencil on his sketchpad rolls a little, bumping against my leg.
I nudge it back toward him, then set the pizza box aside, wiping my hands on a napkin. “You ever tell him that?”
Nathan scoffs. “Are you kidding? All he talks about is hockey. About me going pro. Lifting a Cup. Coaching when I’m done.He’s already planned my whole life for me.” He swallows hard. “How the hell am I supposed to tell him I don’t want any of it?”
“So… what do you want?”
His breath escapes in a low exhale. “I don’t know,” he mutters. “I used to think it was hockey. That it had to be hockey. But now I—” He cuts off, jaw tight, something stuck behind his teeth. “Now I think maybe I just want to draw.”
I glance down at the sketchbook between us, seeing how much emotion is in every little line. “So why don’t you?” I ask.
Nathan’s lips twitch faintly. “Because you can’t major in doodling.”
“Not true,” I say, bumping his knee. “You can major in art. Or animation. Or graphic novels or whatever the hell this insanely cool shit is. You’ve got talent, Hayes. It’d be a waste to bury it just because you’re a little scared.”