Page 137 of Scoring Lessons

“I know I overstepped.” He placed the coffee cup on one of the steps and turned to face me completely. “I know that. And I’m not here to justify it, because there are no excuses.” He exhaled. “But I need you to understand where it comes from.”

I did. That was the hardest part.

“You’re my sister,” he continued, his voice turning hoarse. “And I watched you with Jack for years.”

His words caught me off guard, and it must have shown, because he paused, let out a sigh and then a short bitter laugh. “Yeah. You thought I hadn’t noticed, but I did. I watched you shrink. Watched you apologize for things that weren’t your fault. I tried to convince myself it was all in my head, but when you told me you were moving here, I knew my instinct had been right all along.” His jaw ticked. “And knowing I was going to have you close, I swore I’d never let someone do that to you again.”

“Wesley isn’t Jack.”

He was far from it. Where Jack had made me smaller, Wesley saw me whole. He looked at my flaws without flinching and never once let me apologize for them. He pushed me to take up space, to want things without shrinking from them, to own what I desired without hesitation.

To put it simply—Wesley Hayes made me feel alive. Happy. Like myself.

“I know that now.” Henry reached for my free hand and squeezed. “I think I knew it then, too. I was just terrified. And I handled it wrong.” His throat worked. “I’m sorry, Olivia.”

I leaned my head against his shoulder the way I used to when we were kids after the worst of the nights. When the house had finally gone quiet and we’d sit in the dark hallway and just breathe. “You’re still an idiot,” I said.

He let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “Yeah.”

I grinned. “But you’re my idiot.”

He matched my smile. “Okay, little sister.”

I rolled my eyes. Then I looked at him. “You need to apologize to Wesley.”

“I know.” He sighed. “I also heard you two sort of⁠—”

“We don’t have to talk about that.” My throat tightened. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’ll fix it.”

“I think something else triggered him. Something that had nothing to do with us.” The tears came quietly, and I let them pool without falling. “Doesn’t mean it hurts any less.”

He was quiet for a moment. “You really love him, huh?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “I do.”

THIRTY-NINE

WESLEY

DO YOU HONESTLY BELIEVE THAT?

Hours turned into long days. Days turned into weeks. And I didn’t know where I stood anymore.

I hoisted my practice bag over my shoulder and grabbed my phone and wallet from my stall in record time so I could get the hell out of the locker room before my teammates filtered in.

I was ready to go home and do the same thing I’d been doing for the past two weeks—successfully avoiding everything and everyone.

I turned the corner toward the exit and stopped dead in my tracks. Anderson was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, one foot propped behind him.

He gave me a clipped nod. “Can we talk?”

I pushed through the door, and he followed. “I can’t. I’m late,” I muttered.

It was hard to face my former best friend for many reasons. I wasn’t ready to talk because I had nothing left to say.

“Hayes, come on, man.” The waver in his voice made me falter. I let out a slow breath.