Graham doesn’t seem to be in any hurry. “There’s one other thing. What happened with you and Summer?”

I inhale sharply at the mention of her name. The dull ache in my chest gives a painful kick. “Not talking about that.”

The wounds are still too fresh. It hurts too much. And I doubt that her rejection of my proposal will ever stop stinging.

Graham nods thoughtfully. “Fair enough. Every man’s allowed to have one thing that’s off-limits.”

“Thanks.”

“One other thing,” he says. “You tell anyone about this little heart-to-heart chat we had, and it’ll totally ruin my reputation for being an asshole.”

A laugh falls from my lips. “I wouldn’t dare dream of it. Your secret is safe with me.”

22

LOGAN

I often think of Summer’s advice to me . . . you can’t enjoy the sweet until you’ve tasted the bitter.

But lately, it feels like everything in my life has turned bitter. When she left, she took any bit of leftover sweetness with her. All the softness is gone, replaced only by hard edges. All of her sunny smiles and those sweet kisses and her gentle concern . . .

But I can’t focus on that right now, because I’m preparing to walk into a conference room at the Elite Airlines Stadium in Boston for a meeting with my coach.

I adjust my tie and check my watch. I’m five minutes early because Coach appreciates punctuality. See? I have learned a thing or two during my suspension.

Taking a deep breath, I wrap my hand around the doorknob, telling myself that I’ll be okay with whatever happens next. Only I’m not sure that’s entirely true.

When I enter the room, I find Coach Wilder seated alone at the conference table.

For a moment, I pause and blink at him. I expected there would be other people here—several members of the coaching staff, maybe that lady from player safety, perhaps even someone from the league. A tiny part of me held on to some hope that maybe Summer would be here at this meeting too. Of course, I’m not so lucky.

I built it up in my head, imagining what I might say to her if she were here. Pictured her lips tilting up in a smile at me from across the room. Thought about how it would feel to have her bright eyes directed my way again.

Those thoughts got me through the past few days. But of course she’s not here, and she’s not coming.

Coach Wilder, oblivious to my inner turmoil, stands and extends his hand. “Tate. Welcome back, kid. You’re looking good. You feel good?”

I clear my throat. “Is it just us, or . . .”