“Why are you with Vanmussen?” Devan’s cool voice had me looking up at him. Did he think there was truth to the rumors I was sleeping with the guys’ team captain?

“He’s coming to look at an apartment with me. Throw some credibility behind my application.”

Devan made a noise in his throat, and my eyes flashed to his. We were caught in a weird stare-off until he swallowed hard, spinning around and walking back into the house. In the doorway behind him was Rigby, his face dragged down with sadness.

Devan shook his head at his friend. “Leave it. She made her choice.”

Rigby took a step forward. “Nova,” he called softly, like his heart was fucking breaking.

Just like mine was. “I’m sorry.”

I hightailed it off the front porch and back into the car, speeding out of the driveway and down the road several blocks before pulling off onto the shoulder. Then I broke down in huge, wracking sobs.

“I’m… sorry…” I said in disjointed hiccups to Clint, who rubbed my back soothingly.

“Fuck, it’s okay, Nova. Come sit on the passenger side. I need a fucking beer, and its only 9 a.m. Lucky I know just the bar for day drinking.”

And that was how we both ended up catching an Uber to the open house at eleven, half-drunk on mimosas—hold the orange juice, please—and signing the contract to my very first apartment less than an hour later. Turns out the agent was an IceCaps fan and willing to skip formalities for season tickets in the VIP seats.

Julieta chewed us both out like we were naughty teenagers when she picked us up from the real estate office after lunch, which just made me laugh. Somehow, my laughter just made her look more worried, but she told me she was happy I’d found a place, though she’d miss me.

It was one more step on the path to independence, and I hated every minute of it.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

DEVAN

It had been two weeks since Nova left. Muss had been feeding us insider knowledge up until three days ago when Nova and Huey moved into their own apartment. He hadn’t told us her address, but thankfully Nova had. She’d trusted us with the knowledge, believing we would respect her wishes and not turn up on her doorstep at 10 p.m., begging her to come back. I was pretty sure she had too much faith in us.

Or at least in Rigby, who I’d caught every night for the last three days, standing in the foyer, staring at the door with his car keys in his hand. But eventually, he’d put them back down and retreated back to his room. He’d barely been out of it since Nova left. He trained. He slept. He ate what he was contractually obligated to eat. That was it.