Ethan’s eyes sting. Didn’t mean he didn’t hope that Casey was waiting for him in his bedroom so they could talk.
Oh, who was he kidding? Casey was the guy who’d pushed everyone away when his Dad had died. Who’d kept himself so busy that he didn’t have to think about his loss. There was no way Casey was waiting for him. More likely he’d run back to his dorm and planned on avoiding the topic forever.
Pulling away from the curb, he let the wind keep him awake as he drove back to the House, determinedly keeping his mind as blank as possible by going over the math homework he’d be helping Laura with tomorrow. Except when he glanced up after parking, hands clenched on the wheel, he found himself in the parking lot behind Casey’s dorm.
Fuck.
Well, his heart certainly knew what it wanted, didn’t it?
His thumbs drummed on the steering wheel. Would Casey be awake to come let him in through the turnstiles? More importantly, would he be receptive to talking right now?
Ethan pulled back out onto the street. It was late, he was tired, the cold was making his left wrist throb, and he was in no frame of mind to have a mature conversation.
The fuck had he been thinking anyway? Asking Casey to be his boyfriend like they were in seventh grade or something. Just that Casey had been giving him mixed signals for weeks. And then tonight he’d called Ethan his boyfriend when Britton wasn’t anywhere around when they’d agreed this fake-boyfriends charade was for Britton’s benefit only.
He’d thought . . . He’d hoped . . .
Except Casey had laughed at him.
Hurt warred with anger, choking off his air. As he turned onto his street, he rubbed his chest and blinked until his vision cleared. Once he’d parked on the street in front of the House, he sat for a minute, going through his game and practice schedule in his head as a distraction. Game on Thursday night to make up for the one they didn’t have tonight; the hockey gods—or whoever scheduled college hockey games—had seen fit to give all teams Halloween night off. Practice Monday and Wednesday morning.
He blew out a long, steady breath. It didn’t help the hole in his heart, but at least his chin no longer wobbled.
He was fine. He was always fine. He’d survived Mom’s death. He’d survived Casey pulling away right after. He’d survived a diagnosis that was going to cut short his career in this sport he’d loved since he was a toddler.
He could survive Casey’s rejection too.
Although the music was no longer thumping out of the house, there were still lights on downstairs, which meant partygoers were probably still lingering in the lounge, eating the last of the snacks and drinking the last of the beer. Before he went inside, he schooled his expression into one of calm indifference.
“Hey, Rain! Come meet Shelley.”
Indifference cracked. Sucking in a harsh breath that burned the back of his throat, his hands twitched into fists before he consciously relaxed his fingers.
“Shelley, this is the guy I was telling you about,” Britton went on, oblivious to Ethan’s clenched jaw. He sat on a couch with a couple of their teammates, seniors like Britton, and a couple of women dressed in school uniforms—short kilts and low-cut shirts tied beneath their breasts.
The one who must’ve been Shelley waved. “Hi.” She was cute, all blonde and blue-eyed. Maybe Casey would want to get to know her.
The thought had Ethan’s stomach clenching.
He nodded. “Nice to meet you. I’m heading to bed.”
And he escaped to his room.
Where he found Casey sitting cross-legged on his bed, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands, staring blearily at the duvet cover.
Ethan froze in the doorway, hope and hurt and confusion cresting inside him until it stole his words.
Casey looked utterly wrecked. He was still in the onesie, though he’d pushed the hood back, making it look like someone had decapitated the Cowardly Lion, and his hair pointed in every direction.
A pained gasp escaped Ethan’s throat. Why did Casey have to be so beautiful even when he was sad? It took everything for Ethan to remain where he was, just over the threshold, and not run to Casey to comfort him. He’d never been able to stand a sad Casey. Why should this be any different?
“There you are.”
Ethan’s head jerked toward the other bed, where Theo and Harkrader sat facing each other, playing a game of cards. God. Casey had been