JACE
Kissing her should have made me feel guilty.
Instead, it felt like coming home.
For months, I’d convinced myself that crossing the line with Violet would be the absolute destruction of my life.
I’d thought the guilt of looking her brother in the eye would tear my chest open, or that the sheer panic of breaking my sacred locker room code would ruin my focus on the ice.
But as I walked back to the hockey house through the thick, freezing midnight fog, my pulse was still giving a frantic, erratic sprint of pure, unadulterated adrenaline.
My lips were completely raw, still holding the wet, sweet trace of her vanilla perfume, and the suffocating weight that had been crushing my ribs all semester had finally vanished, replaced by a profound, electric clarity.
I was fully aware of
