Page 78 of Puck Fest
“I don’t know, Danny. I wish I had an answer, but I don’t.”
“What if we didn’t hide?”
He looks at me, his eyebrows flying up. “What?”
“What if we just…you know, told people. Came clean. Dealt with whatever happens.”
His expression hardens. “You know what would happen. I’d lose my job. You’d be questioned about whether I gave you special treatment during probation. My father’s position would be compromised. The organization would be under scrutiny.”
“So we keep hiding forever?” I roll my eyes and let out a frustrated huff.
“Not forever. Just until we figure out a better option.”
“And what if there isn’t a better option?”
He doesn’t answer, but we both know the truth. There might not be a better option. There might only be this…stolen moments, secret visits, the constant fear of being caught.
“I don’t regret this,” Noah says quietly. “Whatever happens, I don’t regret you.”
“Me neither.”
“But I also don’t know how we make this work long-term. Not with Alex watching, not with people starting to notice, not with everything at stake.”
“Then we take it one day at a time. Keep being careful. Keep finding ways to be together.” I move closer to him. “And we don’t give up.”
“You make it sound simple.”
“It’s not simple. It’s fucking complicated. But you’re worth it.”
He looks at me, and I see the conflict in his eyes. The fear and the hope and the weight of our shared secret.
“I’m falling for you, Danny,” he says. “And that terrifies me.”
“Why?”
“Because the more I care about you, the more I have to lose if this blows up.”
“It won’t blow up,” I say.
“You don’t know that.”
“No. I don’t. But I know I’m not walking away. So we have to figure it out.” I grin. “Let’s go to your place and come up with a plan.”
We spend the rest of the afternoon in Noah’s bed, talking about everythingexceptthe impossible situation we’re in. He tells me about growing up as the coach’s kid, always feeling like he had to prove himself. I tell him about protecting my younger brother from bullies, how that instinct never went away.
We talk about stupid shit - favorite movies, worst hockeyinjuries, places we want to travel. Normal couple stuff that feels almost possible when we’re alone like this.
It’s almost six when I finally need to leave.
“I don’t want you to go,” Noah says.
“I don’t want to go either.”
“But you have to.”
“Yeah.” I sit up, start looking for my clothes. “Same time next week?”
“Probably not next week. We have to space things out more now that probation’s over. Make it less obvious.”
