“And that’s two.” Mia lays down all her cards. “Gin Rummy, baby.” She does a little shimmy with her ass on the couch.

“Three out of five?” I ask, pulling all the cards my way to start shuffling.

She grabs a handful of pretzels and leans back on the couch. “Don’t say anything.” She points a twisted pretzel my way.

“Hey, I’ve said nothing.” I hold up my hands and then go back to shuffling. “You want a beer to chase them?”

Ding, a pretzel hits my head. I pick it up and throw it at her. She throws two more at me, and they fall to my chest. Picking it up from my lap, I pop it into my mouth and eat it.

I pass out the cards and she sits up straighter, poised and ready to win her third in a row. She’s lucky I’m not that competitive with her.

“So, that truce we agreed on?” I ask. She peeks up from her cards but says nothing. “You still gave me attitude earlier…”

Again, she glances at me then takes a card, discarding one of hers. “I’m just mad.”

“I get it, it’s hard to be told to sit when we’ve been working so hard to get here and we’re only months away from Winter Classics. But you need to pace yourself anyway. Otherwise, you’ll peak too early.” I discard a card, arranging the rest in sets. “I’m sure coach has told you this.”

“That’s not what’s hard.” Her hand reaches for a card and then slides it into the bunch fanned out in her hands.

I tilt my head. “What is? If you don’t mind me asking?”

She stacks her cards and lays them facedown on the table, picking up her mug. When her eyes meet mine, my stomach tightens.

We’re finally going to have the conversation.

“It’s hard to be around you.” Her words come out in a rush, but the pained look on her face suggests they were hard to put out there.

I lay my cards down, standing and rounding the couch, pushing my hand through my hair.

“We should just talk about it.” She swivels to watch me as I head to the kitchen.

I open the fridge and hide my head inside for a second, acting like I’m perusing what it has to offer. Really, I’m being a chicken shit because more than four years later, I’m still not prepared for this.

“You to clear the air.” The words catch in my throat. I don’t want to screw this up.

“Grady,” her voice holds a plea.

Finally, fucking the diet up completely, I grab a beer and shut the fridge door. With my back to the counter, I twist the cap off, flip it around in my free hand while gulping a good amount down my throat.

She watches me and knowing that I’ve been trying to outrun this moment for years and that it’s time to be a man and own up to my sins, I round the back of the sectional and take my seat.

“I understand why you hate me. I’m sorry for what I did. If I could take it back, I would. I shouldn’t have—”

“Disappeared,” she cuts in. “No, you shouldn’t have. You were his best friend. How could you?” The pain in her voice lances through me like a scalpel.

I gulp down another chug of the beer, buying myself some time.

“I had to go to the Winter Classics.” Brandon’s accident occurred weeks before and it was our dream. A dream we shared. Maybe it was selfish of me to go, but when you reach that level it’s not just about you anymore. There are a lot of people who helped you get there and are counting on you to perform—coaches, sponsors, therapists, teammates.

“I know that. You think I don’t understand how hard that decision was for you?” She twists the edge of her sweater between her fingers. “Brandon gives you the benefit. He always says you did what you had to do, but you could’ve done both. You should have visited him after. You abandoned him at the worst possible time in his life. How could you?”

“I know.” The beer bottle slides along the coffee table when I set it down. “I know,” I whisper, my voice having lost some of the fight.

Silence occupies the room and I wish I didn’t want to hold her so bad right now—like I did the night of the accident. I remember how much comfort it brought both of us.

“Why didn’t you?” The soft plea in her voice makes my chest tight and it’s hard to push the breath in and out of my lungs.

“Because—”

“What, Grady? What was more important than your best friend fighting for his life? Even today he fights to have a normal life. He lost everything you gained and you still stay away. You deserted us.”

The way she used the word us and not him doesn’t escape my notice.

I stand to my feet without making eye contact, and end up back in front of the fridge, with my hand on another cold bottle of beer.

“Are you going to drink yourself stupid?”

She’s right behind me now, her signature scent of honey lingering around us.

God, I hate what that smell does to me. Makes me want things I can’t and shouldn’t want. This whole fucking situation makes me so angry.

“I deserted him, not you.” The fridge door shuts at the same moment her eyelids do. “You’re upset because you’ve always had some sort of crush on me. You feel as though I left you behind, too.”

One tear slips from her closed eye, but when they open, you’d think she had some magical power to will the wetness away because her pupils are angry and piercing right through me.

“That’s not true. Did I have some crush on you? Yes. Congratulations you figured out what everyone else already knew back then. But after you left Brandon behind and found your success, you became about as attractive as an ogre to me.”

She slices me right back with her words.

Game on.

“Really?”

Her eyes narrow.

“So, if I stripped off my shirt right now, your mouth wouldn’t water? How about if I caged you against the counter, pressed my hard dick between your legs, your body wouldn’t react?”

She swallows, her eyes not leaving mine.

Brave girl.

“Try it and I’ll spit in your face.”

I shake my head, taking one step forward. “You still want me and guess what?” She remains silent and I step into her. She straightens her back, her hands clutching the counter’s edge. I run my thumb along her hairline, down the side of her face. “I’ve noticed you these past weeks. Your body.” My eyes dip to her chest, noticing the rise and fall of her rapid breaths. “And I want you, too.”

We stand there, my dick growing more uncomfortable every second. I think I finally found something to keep me busy while we’re stranded.

“I’m sorry, Mia. You were young and my best friend’s little sister. Our closeness those weeks after his accident...I couldn’t do it. I never meant to hurt any of you though. I just...” How do I tell her about the guilt that racks me, that I blame myself every day for what happened to Brandon?

A glop of spit lands on my right cheek.

I step back, swiping away the saliva from my skin.

“I told you, I’d spit on you.” She slides away from me, but I grab her wrist.

“Whatever this is, isn’t going away.”

“I wouldn’t want you if you were the last dick on Earth.” She wiggles out of my hold and heads down the hall back to her retreat.