sweater. I’m still clutching his hair, and the dark brown waves are soft against my palm. Neither of us let go. “Okay,” I answer. “We’ll talk later?” “Of course. Milkshakes, right?” “Milkshakes,” Shawn repeats. “Right. Just like always.” His mouth closes then opens. There’s something else he’s not saying, but silence hangs in the air between us. Aiden is the one to break it. “Shawn,” he says, a gentle coaxing. “The guys are out of the locker room. The second half is about to start.” Shawn’s hand falls from my side, and he scoots back. His fingers curl around the metal railing and his eyes turn
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