I’d finally fallen asleep last night when my heart stopped racing and my brain thinking of ways to get out of this dinner. I settled myself as being paranoid from the scarring I’d dealt with after prom night and fought against the gnawing feeling in my chest that August didn’t want to see me in that capacity. That he wouldn’t hate every minute of spending time with me around his family.

When I woke the next morning, I gave in and texted August. After all, I did have his number, why hold back?

Harper: Great game last night. Hope you don’t mind about tonight.

It killed me to commend Troy last night on his game when the three of us knew damn well who played and won. And since I doubted I could tell August—the real hockey star—this tonight. I texted it instead.

The text came as read a minute later, but nothing came back for a good twenty minutes.

August: Did you get anything good out there?

I tried not to respond within the first thirty seconds. But I couldn’t help myself.

Harper: I would say so.

There was no response for another few minutes. Then a ping.

August: Why would I mind?

Harper: I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.

August: Not any more uncomfortable than celebrating opening season in my boxers.

I sent back a face covering emoji.

Harper: Great so, no pants for you again this weekend?

August: I plan to be fully clothed. You?

I laughed.

Harper: Shame. I mean same.

I face-palmed myself in real life after hitting send on that one. And counted every painful second until he responded.

August: Good. See you then.

“What the hell are we going to do?” I snapped at my brother on the drive to Staten Island.

“You’re being paranoid, he doesn’t have a clue.”

“You don’t know dad as well as I do.” It was true. If there was one thing my father was good at and I’d like to think I inherited from him, was being able to tell when someone was full of it

My father was also the only other one who knew that I stood in for Troy when the scouts came early senior year for the draft. He’d looked the other way since I had my own plans after college and had already lined up an internship on Wall Street.

We both played in college, but I never planned on making it my life. Not the way Troy did.

For Troy, he had nothing else.

For me, I couldn’t decide between numerous things I wanted to do.

He hadn’t asked. But Troy knew he wasn’t good enough for the draft. I was.

When we hit traffic, I put the car in park, knowing we wouldn’t be moving on this bridge anytime soon.

“What about Harper?” I mumbled.