Romi had always been there. On the sidelines of his games. In the kitchen at 2 a.m., making him grilled cheese after a bad loss. Rolling her eyes at his terrible jokes but laughing anyway.
“Romi,” he started.
Logan’s chest tightened. He looked at her—really looked. At the small scar above her eyebrow from a childhood bike crash. At the way her fingers twisted the hem of her shirt when she was nervous. At the fact that she’d stayed. The Mistake Vk Elle Kennedy
Then she smiled—small, crooked, the one she only ever gave him—and said, “About damn time, hockey boy.” Romi had always been there