“Speaking of hockey,” Chase said, “I’m still leading in my fantasy hockey pool. Partly because of you.” He squeezed my hand, rubbing the back of it with his rough thumb. He was trying to change the subject.

“That’s awesome.” But all I could think of was what would happen to us if he left. I knew it was too early to worry about that, but the thought of this being something temporary was gutting.

A few minutes later, we settled onto a wooden bench off to the side of the social science foyer, finishing the last of our coffees. In a twist of terrible timing, I had a lecture in less than ten minutes, and now we were locked in a disagreement about tonight.

“You didn’t tell me you’d be at the Bulldogs game alone.” Chase frowned. “I don’t like it.”

“It’ll be fine,” I said, placing a hand on his muscular thigh. “Then I can finish packing after I get home, and we can move all of my stuff tomorrow.”

“Still don’t think you should be there without someone. Morrison gives me the creeps, James. Have you seen the way he looks at you? I feel like he’s going to roll up and yank you into a white cube van one day. I’m not even kidding.”

Luke was lots of things—lots of really crappy things—but he wasn’t dangerous. He never physically hurt me. Though one could do a lot of damage to someone without laying a finger on them.

“You’re being a little dramatic,” I said. “There will be people everywhere in the arena. And Derek too.”

“So?” he asked gruffly. “When was the last time Derek stood up for you?”

I gave him a withering look. “You don’t think my own brother would stop someone from abducting me?”

“Who’s to say he would even notice? He’s pretty absorbed in whatever he’s got going on.”

It landed like a slap. Part of me knew he had a point, even if his delivery did sting. But Derek and I had made headway in mending the fence. Things weren’t perfect by a long shot, and if I let myself think too hard about things, I might let my frustrations get the best of me.

“That’s a little harsh,” I said. “Besides, he ended things with Jill.”

“Cool, now he can start making up for being shitty to you.”

“Damn, Carter. Tell me what you really think.”

Yes, he had a protective streak a mile wide, but sometimes he could stand to soften the blunt delivery a little.

“Remember when I said I’d always tell you the truth?” His tone was flat. “If the truth hurts, I’m not the one you should be mad at.” He unzipped his hoodie, exposing the white tee underneath. He was always overheating. Arguing probably didn’t help that.