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Holt laughs, the sound adding to the melody of heavy rain pelting the truck, echoing in the cab. When his laughter fades, I feel his eyes on me. I always feel when Holt’s eyes are on me. I’m hyperaware of everything Holt. My house faces his, my bedroom overlooking the street we share. Somehow, I seem to catch sight of him every time he leaves his house. Tate, too, if I’m being honest. So maybe I’m just hyperaware of Holt’s house?

A heavy, warm hand falls on my thigh. I feel the scorch of his touch through my jeans and can’t help the flutter of sparky little wings inside my belly. How can he make me so warm when everything around me is so gloomy?

“Can you promise me something now, Faye?” His voice is softer than usual. I’m not sure if it’s vulnerability I sense, or something else. Only that I like it.

“Anything.”

He pats the seat beside him once again. “Come closer.”

Glancing once at the road the water bounces off ahead, I unbuckle my seatbelt and slide across the seat. Then I buckle into the seat beside him. “I’m closer.” I wait, watching him expectantly.

He looses a soft chuckle. “Promise me that from now on, when we’re riding in my truck, you’re sitting right here beside me.”

“You don’t want me in the other seat?”

“I want you close to me.” His hand moves to rest on my thigh, his other on the wheel. “I always want you close to me.”

My heart jitters. “I always want to be close to you, too.”

“Fuck,” Holt curses. His head falls back against the headrest and his jaw hardens as he stares out the windshield. “August is going to be so hard.”

“Brutal,” I agree, a whisper of grief and longing already infecting my tone.

We’re months away from August, and yet it’s coming too soon. It’s been coming fast, the days flying, the months here and then gone one after the other.

Before long, August will be here and Holt will be on a plane, flying to tournaments in Nashville. Who would have thought the Rubble Ridge Hockey Team would be so good, they’d tour to Nashville? Who would have thought sixteen-year-old players jet-set around the world to compete. Not me, I know that much.

It seems every month that passes, something great happens to Holt. Something that pushes him that much closer to his goal of playing professional hockey for the Vancouver Vikings.

And me? Nothing happens to me. Every day is the same as the one before. I have absolutely no ambition for stardom and find it difficult to wrap my head around the life Holt wants so much.

So, where does that leave me?

I’ve asked myself this question a thousand times. I can’t seem to find an answer.

“Thoughts?” Holt likes getting inside my head. I’m a thinker, and he likes to dissect each and every deep thought I try to hide from him. He likes to strip away my insecurities even as he unknowingly helps to craft new ones.

“Just thinking about when you’ll be gone in August.”

“It’s going to be great, but I’m going to miss you.” He slides his hand over my thigh and squeezes. “I’ll call every day.”

I offer him a smile. It shakes.

I want to support him in his dream.

I vow to myself that while Holt is gone, I’m going to sit down and find my own dream. One that complements his. Something that fits me into the wild chaos of this lovely life he wants so much.

I feel a little happier on that thought, and say, “Coach Kirk says there will be scouts in Nashville, right?”

“Yeah.” He releases a nervous breath. Holt is so very rarely nervous. He’s always so confident, so unshakeable. “I know I’m going to play for the Vancouver Vikings, Faye. I know it. I just don’t know how it’s going to happen yet.”

I snuggle into his side. “It is going to happen. I’ve never met anyone quite as stubborn and devoted to the game as you.”

It’s not just the game, though. Holt has a passion that very few have in life. It drives every breath he takes, and I can’t imagine being the reason he ever stops breathing. I couldn’t survive knowing I was the collapse of his dreams—his purpose in this life.

He chuckles. It’s a light huff of air, nothing more. “Does that bother you?”

“What?”