I narrowed my gaze. “How do you know that?”

“Answer the question.”

“Yes, I read her books.”

“Okay, well, did you only pay attention to the sex scenes, or did you read the end?” She threw her hand out at me, as if the answer was floating in the air between us. “She’s waiting on you. She’s waiting for you to tell her the truth — which is that you fucked up, that you love her, that you’re stupid and you’re sorry and you can’t live without her.” She smiled. “This is the part where you get the girl, you idiot.”

“The grand gesture,” Zeke added, and my eyebrows shot up as he shrugged me off. “What? I know how to romance,” he said in defense.

I shook my head, running a hand back through my hair as hope flitted dangerously in my chest. I wanted to snuff it out like a flame not meant to be started, but it grew and grew, raging into a full-on forest fire as an idea bloomed under the smoke.

“Your wheels are turning, aren’t they?” Holden asked on a smirk.

I looked at him, at Riley, at Zeke — at my friends, who had essentially run into a burning building to save me. And the amount of gratitude I felt was too much to hold, too much to speak into life — but I hoped they saw it. I hoped they knew.

“What do you have in mind?” Zeke asked.

“And more importantly,” Riley added. “How can we help?”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Giana

“Leo, I need you in the press room — now,” I said, tugging him by his grass-stained jersey.

He made a joke that I didn’t quite hear, because our intern was screaming into her headpiece about how Holden was being surrounded on the field and couldn’t break loose.

“I’m on it,” I said into my mic, and then I released Leo, hoping he would make it the rest of the way down the hall to where we’d set up our press box before I was jogging out onto the field.

It was complete madness, the kind only a Thanksgiving Day game can bring.

The kind only a bowl-clutching game can bring.

It was like we’d already won the championship, how confetti of our school’s gold and brick red colors littered the field. I weaved through the still-buzzing crowd on my way out to the fifty-yard line, where an extensive group of cameras and reporters were gathered around Holden.

“Yeah, we’re just staying focused and keeping our eyes on the next game,” he answered as I pushed through the wall.

“You’re not thinking about the playoff bowl game against the Huskies?” a reporter asked, shoving the microphone back in Holden’s face.

“We’ll worry about that when we get there. For now, it’s on to North Carolina.”