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Or if having both is the opportunity I even want anymore.

Mom's mouth tugs into a full-blown smile, and I can't help but smile back. "You totally planned this, didn't you."

Mabel walks back toward me and drops her arm over my shoulder. "Nora, dear," she says brightly. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Lenny

Spring of Senior Year at Mage Hollow High

There's no rulebook for this.

There's no Reddit post that walks you through how to end a relationship you still want to be in. No Wikipedia page that explains how to break up with the person you still want more than anyone else.

But somehow, any of those things are exactly what I need.

Because I know what I have to do. I've walked through how to start the conversation at least a dozen times. I know exactly what I need to say—what I should have said already if I'm honest—and yet I can't seem to get my finger to even drift toward his name.

It was never supposed to happen like this. But that doesn't stop it from being the right thing now.

So, I force my thumb to finally move.

Immediately, his name lights up the screen, and before I can talk myself out of it, I press call.

It only rings once.

"Hello?"

His voice stops me in my tracks and reminds me of why it took me so long to dial in the first place.

My eyes fill already, my breath undeniably shaky. "Hey."

There's a long pause, then, "Hi."

"How, um…" I clear my throat, trying to steady myself. "How have you been this week?"

Jace blows out a heavy breath that sounds nothing like relief. "Fine, Lenny," he says, clearly frustrated. "I've been… fine."

"You had a game yesterday, right? You um… you never answered my text."

When he doesn't respond, I wonder if the connection is spotty. "Jace?"

It isn't.

He scoffs. "How's it feel?"

The words come out soft, almost under his breath, but they echo in my head louder than anything else.

"What?" I murmur.

He sighs, and I can picture him shaking his head, rubbing his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. "I didn't answer because you said good luck today. Same as last time." A second passes before he continues. "And what would you have said back if I had?"

"I—"

"Nothing," he spits out. "You would have said nothing, Lenny. Same as before the last three games."

My whole body tenses. "Jace…"

"No, I'm serious." There's a beat of silence, and when he speaks again, I can tell I'm on speaker as he scrolls through our messages. "It's the same from you every time—good luck today. And it's the same after I respond. I say thanks, you say nothing. I say miss you, you say nothing. I say I wish you were here watching, you say—wanna guess?"