Chapter 17

A small deckopens off Eli and Bailey's kitchen, so while everyone else gathers around the table to eat the lemon cream cake Gracie brought, Nathan and I step outside.

I answer Franklin's call just in the nick of time. "Franklin, hey."

"How are you? Sorry for calling so late."

I put him on speaker phone and lean my hip against the wooden deck railing. "No, you're fine. I'm with Nathan, actually. We're hoping you have an update?"

"That's right. I saw online that you two were together; I don't know if I should congratulate you or be mad that you didn't call to tell me yourself. You'd better call Andi soon. She's beside herself wanting to know all the details."

I look up and meet Nathan's eye. "I will definitely do that when we're not on speaker phone with Nathan listening."

Nathan's lip twitches in that almost smile way I've grown to love.

"Right. Good plan," Franklin says. He clears his throat. "How are you, Nathan? It's good to finally talk to you."

"Yeah. Thanks. Do you have any news? My brother told me about your meeting this week."

"I do. But first, I just want to say I'm a huge fan. You're a beast on the ice, man."

Nathan's eyes lift to mine for the briefest second, then he looks away, hooking a hand over the back of his neck. The light is dim on Eli's deck, but not so dim that I miss the blush brightening his cheeks.

"Thanks," he says, and I wonder if it's getting the compliment that makes him uncomfortable or just getting a compliment in front of me.

"So, here's the situation," Franklin continues. "The four other boys who were arrested with Blake all have previous records. Two are brothers—twins—and they happen to be the sons of an important Massachusetts congressman with very deep pockets. The third is a kid with the last name Pike. His father is one of the biggest defense attorneys in the city. This guy's got a reputation for high profile cases and big settlements, and he's got connections all over town. The fourth kid is one of the Boston Treemonts."

"Like, the Treemont hotel chain?" I ask.

"The very one," Franklin says.

"And like freaking Gregory Treemont from Sports News Daily," I say. "At least now we know where he got his information."

"Who?" Franklin asks, and Nathan gives him a brief rundown on the reporter who brought up Blake during the Chicago press conference.

"Not sure I can see one of the Boston Treemonts doing sports reporting, but I'll look him up," Franklin says. "See if we need to worry about him at all."

"I don't think we need to worry," Nathan says, looking up to meet my eye. His gaze is appreciative as he says, "Summer was pretty thorough when she talked to him."

Franklin chuckles. "I bet she was."

"I just don't understand how Blake even fell in with these guys," Nathan says. "He's the scholarship kid from Portland. This isn't his crowd."

"I asked him that exact question," Franklin says. "He said it was because of your father. Your dad's name carries a lot of weight, and these kids treated him like NHL royalty."

"But not enough like royalty to extend their high-dollar representation to him," I say. "How nice. We're basically looking at four kids with inexhaustible resources and top-dollar representation and one kid with a court-appointed public defender."

"That's precisely why they were trying to pin everything on Blake. Because they thought they could," Franklin says.

Nathan drops into a patio chair, his head falling into his hands. His fingers press into his temples before he looks up, his expression anguished, his jaw tight. "Can you help him, Franklin?" he asks, his voice cracking.

"Hang with me," Franklin says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "I'm just getting to the good part."

Franklin goes on to explain that the district attorney prosecuting the case has it out for the older boys because this is not their first offense. He's tired of them getting off because of who they are, so this time, he's pushing to try them as adults so the consequences will really stick. But the attorney representing them is powerful, and they aren't backing down. And they aren't opposed to throwing Blake under the bus if it means getting their clients lighter sentences.

"So, I had my private investigator do a little bit of digging," Franklin says. "Turns out, there's security footage from the house across the street that shows Blake sitting in the car the entire time. And a homeowner who, when pressured, revealed that she'd been offered ten grand not to turn over the footage."

"But that's…" Nathan's words trail off, and he looks at me.

I smile wide and finish his sentence. "Obstruction of justice."

"And I have every intention of nailing him for it," Franklin says. "But first things first. I've already talked to the DA, and while I can't make any guarantees, he seemed optimistic about dropping the charges against Blake altogether. Worst case scenario, they'll put him on probation, require a little community service. But I don't think even that will happen."

Nathan sits stone-still for a long moment, his gaze trained on the floor. "When will we know for sure?" he asks, his voice quiet.

"Blake has a plea hearing on the twenty-seventh," Franklin says. "I doubt the DA will do anything before then, though technically he could."

"Why wouldn't he?" Nathan asks.

"Because he's likely playing several hands at once," I answer. "And the new security footage will influence the case against the other boys. The DA is required to submit the new evidence to the opposing counsel, but if he can work the timing to his benefit, he will."

"Exactly," Franklin says.

Nathan nods, but he still looks tense, his muscles taut, his hands clasped in front of him. "What if Blake's attorney decides something different? Or what if the DA?—"

I crouch down in front of him, and wrap my hands around his, cutting off his words. "Nathan, Franklin is Blake's attorney now. And he's the best there is. It's going to be okay."

He looks up, hope in his eyes. "I thought he was just asking questions."

"That's how it started," Franklin says through the phone speaker. "But one conversation with your brother, and I knew I had to do more. He's a good kid. He doesn't deserve to be railroaded like this. I'm waiting on statements from his hockey coach and his principal speaking to his character. I'll pass those along to the DA, and that should be enough to seal the deal and make this whole thing go away."

Nathan breathes out a long sigh, then sniffs and wipes at his eyes. "Thanks, man," he says. "I don"t know what else to say. Please bill me for your time. Whatever you've done. Whatever you need, I'll cover it."

"Are you kidding? I should pay you for the opportunity to take down the jerk attorney representing these other kids. He's the kind of man who gives us all a bad name."

"Just the same, your time, your efforts?—"

"Just take care of Summer, and we'll call it even," Franklin says.

Nathan's eyes lift to mine, a sudden awareness sparking between us.

I could correct Franklin. Tell him we've only been faking our relationship for the press. But I don't say a word, and neither does Nathan.

"Listen, I gotta jet," Franklin says. "I've still got ten more phone calls to make before I quit for the night. If anything changes, I'll call you. But in this case, no news is good news."

"Wait, Franklin, can I come to the plea hearing?" Nathan asks. "If I can make it work, I'd like to be there."

"Sure," Franklin says. "Absolutely. I'm sure Blake would appreciate it, and it would be great to meet you in person. My wife has an Appies hoodie she'd love for you to sign."

"Bye, Franklin," I say, but I don't take my eyes off Nathan.

As soon as the screen goes black, the call disconnected, Nathan stands and pulls me to my feet. Without saying a word, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me against his chest for what has to be the greatest hug of my entire life. He is warm and strong and solid, and somehow, he's holding me both tightly and gently at the same time. He dips his head, burying his face in my hair and just…holds me.

I could stand like this all night, my hands slowly sliding up and down Nathan's back. Even though the early March air is frigid. Even though we're standing in front of an enormous glass door and all our friends could see us at any moment. Even though I don't actually know if I'll ever have a real relationship with Nathan.

None of that matters right now.

Nothing matters but this moment, this feeling.

Nathan pulls back the slightest bit and drops his forehead to mine, his hand lifting to my jaw. He holds my face, his thumb brushing a slow line along my cheek, and my eyes flutter closed.

His lips are so close, his breath fanning across my skin. It would be so easy to just push up on my toes and kiss him.

But I'd have to tell him first. That was the rule I demanded.

Nathan knows the rules as well as I do, and he's not offering up any declarations, so this hug is just…a thank you hug. He's overwhelmed, he's emotional, grateful for Franklin's help, and I'm here and available for a hug. That's all this is.

So what if Nathan loves fancy coffee and plays Settlers of Catan with unusual skill. So what if he loves teaching kids how to play hockey and is endlessly patient with his fans. So what if deep in my bones, I feel some kind of kismet, a recognition that this thing happening between us is bigger than anything I've ever experienced before.

If he doesn't feel the same way, none of it matters.

But that's just it. I think he does feel the same way. I just have to figure out why he's so determined not to.

I hold Nathan a little closer, already anticipating how he might react to my next question.

"Nathan, will you tell me about your dad?"

Sure enough, Nathan's entire body tenses, and his hands fall away. "I don't love talking about him," he says as he moves over to the deck railing.

Pain squeezes my heart. Whatever Nathan went through, he's clearly not over it. "You don't have to talk about him," I say gently. "I don't mean to pry."

Nathan quickly shakes his head. "You aren't prying. This is not a you problem."

It isn't much of an explanation, but it's clearly all he's capable of giving me, so I move over to where he's leaning on the railing and rest my hand on his forearm. "You can talk to me about him if you ever need to," I say, "but you definitely don't have to right now."

Nathan nods, but he doesn't look at me. His gaze is fixed somewhere out in the darkness of Eli's backyard before he says, "He died of liver failure. Basically drank himself to death."

I shift my hand up to his shoulder. "That must have been tough."

"Not as tough as living with him before he died." He reaches under his shirt and pulls out a gold chain looped through a ring, the same one I noticed the morning I woke him up in Chicago. He holds it up, and I step close, taking it in my hands. It's gold and studded with diamonds. Across the top in navy lettering, it reads Stanley Cup Champions.

"Your dad's ring?"

Nathan nods. "I wear it to remember the mistakes he made. So I don't make the same ones."

A knot tightens inside my chest. "Mistakes?"

"He made life miserable for my mom," Nathan says. "Always gone. Always drinking. She didn't deserve to raise her kids alone, Summer. She didn't deserve to be so lonely."

Dread pools at my feet. So Alec was right. Nathan doesn't want a relationship because he doesn't want to hurt anyone like his father did.

I get it, but I also want to shake some sense into him. Just because his parents had one kind of relationship doesn't mean Nathan is bound for the same thing.

"Nathan, you aren't your father," I say. "I didn't know him, but from what you've told me, it doesn't seem like you're anything like him."

"You're right," Nathan says, a new terseness to his words. "I'm not, because I don't have a family. I'm not in a relationship. Dad told me once that you can't have both. You can't love hockey like he loved hockey and be good at anything else. I knew it was true, because I was living it. I was the collateral damage. I won't make the same mistake."

"So don't make them," I say. "Just make different choices. Have a different kind of relationship."

Nathan is quiet for too long before he finally says, "It's not that easy." Then he pulls out his phone, and I know before he says anything else that our conversation is over. "I should call my Mom and Blake," he says. "I'm sure Franklin has already called, but I want to make sure Mom understands everything."

"Right. Of course. That's a great idea."

It takes all my willpower to leave him alone outside. Mostly, I just want to hug him and tell him everything is going to be okay. The intensity of that caring is something new—more than just butterflies or fluttery feelings or sparks of attraction.

I want Nathan to be happy for his own sake, regardless of whether that happiness has anything to do with me.

And that feels big. Possibly too big? And highly illogical considering the status of our entirely pretend relationship. But I'm not sure logic even matters anymore. My heart is on a different frequency, and it does not want to pick up the signal.

Luckily, the guys have all moved back to the living room, but Gracie, Parker and Bailey are still in the kitchen. As soon as I reach the center island, I press my palms flat against the counter and take a long deep breath.

The ladies look on for a moment before Gracie wordlessly cuts me a slice of cake and slides it over. Bailey hands me a fork, and Parker rips off a paper towel, folding it into a napkin-sized square before setting it down beside my plate.

I smile gratefully and take an enormous bite of cake.

It's delicious—exactly what I want—and I finish it off in four more bites.

"This feels serious," Bailey says quietly. "Cut her another piece."

Gracie quickly complies, and I eat half of that one before I finally put down my fork.

"Give me a percentage," Parker says, and I immediately know what she's asking. I told her I was forty percent in love with Nathan after ice skating, so where am I now?

"A solid sixty-five," I say, and she lifts a hand to her chest.

"Oh, Summer," she says. "Sixty-five is big."

Gracie looks at me, then back to Parker. "Trying to piece it together here. She's sixty-five percent…?"

"In love with Nathan." It's Bailey who fills in the blank, which is surprising because she knows the least about my situation. She was at the last home game, and we sat in the same section, and I'm sure Eli told her about all the publicity stuff I've been doing with Nathan. But she doesn't know about my feelings. My real feelings.

I look at her, eyebrows lifted.

She shrugs, almost apologetically. "It's written all over your face. And watching you guys play tonight. Anyone who knows you both is going to recognize your feelings are real."

I sigh and Gracie reaches over, dropping a reassuring hand on my back.

Sixty-five percent isn't all the way in love, but that's flimsy reassurance when I've already fallen so far, so fast.

The last thirty-five percent seems inevitable.

And where will that leave me but on my way to heartbreak?