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His brow furrows. Heard me what?”

“Tell that girl I was like your sister. That you were only there because Dad asked you.”

Bishop closes his eyes. “Fuck.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “Yeah.”

He takes a step toward me. “Becks, that wasn't⁠—”

“Wasn't what? True?”

“No.”

I stare at him.

He lets out a breath. “I said it because she was asking questions. Because she saw me dancing with you and wanted to know what was going on.”

“And what was going on?”

He looks at me.

For a long moment, neither of us speaks.

Then he says, “I was trying like hell not to kiss you.”

My heart gives a painful little squeeze. “What?”

“You were eighteen, Laney. I was twenty-three. Your dad was my coach. Your brother was my best friend.” He shakes his head. “And you walked into that dance wearing that blue dress, looking at me like…”

He stops.

“Like what?”

“Like maybe I could be something more than the guy who'd been hanging around your house for years.”

I swallow.

“Then why did you say it?”

“Because I was scared.” The honesty in his voice makes my eyes burn.

“I knew what people would think, what Declan would think. And I figured if I said it enough times, maybe I'd start believing it.”

I look away.

Five years.

Five years of thinking I'd imagined everything.

Of convincing myself that night meant nothing to him.

And now he's standing here telling me it meant something after all.

“You could've told me.”

“I know.”

“You could've told me tonight.”