If You Keep Me

Book 6: The Toronto Terror Series

by Helena Hunting, H. Hunting

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Sports Romance

Synopsis

Things I should never, under any circumstances ever do: ask my secret crush, aka. the most notorious (reformed) playboy in pro hockey, to take my virginity.

Too bad, I did.

After a string of terrible dates, I did the unthinkable. I propositioned Flip Madden.
Of course, he said no.

It isn’t that he’s almost a decade older than me, or that I’m still in university.
It’s because I’m his coach’s oldest daughter.
Not to mention my dad would bludgeon Flip with his hockey stick if he found out.
Which he won’t, because it will never happen.

And now things are awkward because there’s no going back.

Except Flip is more protective than ever, and his eyes follow me around every room we’re in together. He brings flowers to my recitals and reads all the books I recommend.

Things I should never, under any circumstances ever do: hope Flip Madden might actually want me too.

*Flip and Tally's coach's daughter, age gap, forbidden romance and the final standalone in the Toronto Terror Series.

Release date: March 5, 2026

Publisher: Helena Hunting

Print pages: 524

Reader says this book is...: happily ever after (1) heartwarming (1) high heat (1) satisfying ending (1) sex scenes (1) strong chemistry (1) swoon-worthy (1)

Sample

Chapter OneTally

“I just want to have s*x.”

The table goes silent for a moment, and all eyes shift to me. 

I’m out for brunch with my Babe Brigade. These women are my friends, though they’re all a little older than me, and also almost all affiliated with the Terror, Toronto’s pro hockey team, of which my dad is the head coach. 

Hemi’s eyes flare. “Uh-oh, what happened last night?” She’s the head of Terror PR and married to Dallas Bright, a forward on the team. 

“The same old same old.” I’m the last virgin standing in my university friend group, and I don’t see that changing any time soon. “It’s so stupid. All these idiot boys just want to f*ck the coach’s virgin daughter.” 

A table of dad-aged guys close by looks our way. Hemi stares them down, and their breakfasts are suddenly super interesting.

“It must be frustrating.” Essie’s expression is all empathy.

Somehow a rumor proclaiming my unsullied status—to counteract the previous one where my ex called me a bad lay—has made its way through the douchebag population of my university. It’s become a fun game to play: Who can deflower the precious Terror virgin? Or at least that’s how it seems. 

“Why can’t I find a nice boyfriend who wants to know me?” 

Maybe my expectations are too high. Maybe I need to read less LoTR fanfic and omegaverse romance where the heroes are head-over-ass in love with their partner and exceptionally focused on providing unparalleled pleasure. Is that too much to ask?

Dred tents her fingers under her chin in contemplation. “Maybe hockey parties aren’t the ideal location to source such a man?” She’s married to Connor Grace, the Terror enforcer, who lives to make her happy. 

I sigh. “You’re right. I know this. But my friends are all connected to the hockey world. There’s no escape. Last night some guy waited in line with me for the bathroom, and we got to chatting. He seemed so nice and legitimately interested, but when it was my turn, he asked if I was down to fuck. It’s horrifying how predictably horny university boys are.”

Rix and Essie make matching icked-out faces. “That’s awful.”

“Right?” I point my fork at my friends. “There are guys out there capable of a meaningful connection and know where to locate a fucking clitoris.”

“Women know where the clitoris is,” notes Rainbow, our server, as she tops up my coffee.

“I wish I was attracted to vaginas and not peens.” I sigh. 

“Peens are fun.” Rix bounces a little in her seat.

I keep my cucumber comment to myself.

“So fun.” Essie looks all dreamy.

They each have a Stiles brother who is wholly dedicated to their happiness and their vagina. I hang out with the youngest Stiles brother, but we are one-hundred-percent platonic, and he’s woefully obsessed with my friend Enid.

Rainbow finishes filling the coffees, humming to herself, and then flounces to the next table.

My rant continues. “I spent all of first year holding out because I wanted it to be with the right person, but it’s three-point-five years later and I’m still searching for someone to give my V-Card to! But it’s about more than sex,” I admit. “Sure, I want my first time to be great, and not some lackluster wah-wah experience with a guy who’s afraid of intimacy and needs a map and written directions to find my hot button. But I want my person. Someone I can hang out and cuddle with.” I envy the women I’m with because they all have their person. Even some of my university friends have serious boyfriends. I want someone to love, who loves me back.

“You’ll find the right guy,” Dred assures me.

That gives me pause. It’s possible I’ve already found the right guy. I’m just not on his radar. I probably never will be. 

The conversation moves away from my single/virginal status as we finish brunch and head up to Rix and Tristan’s penthouse to hang out. Conveniently, they live in the building above the breakfast place. My stomach fills with butterflies as we enter the living room, because the star of all my late-night fantasies, Terror forward Phillip “Flip” Madden (also Rix’s older brother), is sitting on the couch, looking far too delicious for his own good. And mine.

He’s well over six feet of chiseled, broad hockey player. His thick brown hair curls around his ears, a few weeks past needing a trim. He’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt, pushed up to reveal defined forearms. I just want to rub myself all over him and scent him like a cat. 

Essie, Rix, Dred, and Hemi are greeted by their significant others, who have also gathered in the living room. I long for that kind of casual affection; to have someone who knows all my secrets. 

Hammer and I drop onto the empty love seat. 

“Hollis is on the road this weekend?” Quinn Romero, a Terror enforcer, asks. He joined the team a couple of years ago. He has hair the color of fire and a Milky Way of freckles dotting his pale skin.

Hammer nods. “He’s coaching the junior team in Ottawa. They should be back later this afternoon.” 

Flip passes his game controller to Kellan Ryker, the Terror goalie, and his dark-maple eyes shift to me. “How’s it going, Talls? You have your holiday dance showcase coming up soon, right?” 

“Yeah, it’s next weekend.” I try not to get overly excited that he remembered, but I also inconveniently recall the way fantasy Flip made me come last night after I’d read a particularly spicy fic update by my friend Cammie. I always replace the heroes in her why-choose stories with different versions of Flip, and of course my stupid cheeks heat.

“Is this one a solo performance? Or are you dancing with your troupe?” Flip leans forward, elbows resting on his thick thighs. 

He always asks me about dance, and he always seems genuinely interested. “It’s a whole-class ensemble this time, but I have one of the main parts.”

His face lights up. “That’s fantastic, Talls, and not a surprise since you’re magic on the stage. Can you drop the date in our group chat?”

“There isn’t a game that night,” Hemi says before I can. 

“So your dad will be able to go.” 

“As long as he doesn’t have a meeting.” My dad can’t always make my performances, and when he does, often the Terror show up along with him.

“Right.” Flip rubs his bottom lip. “Are there still tickets?”

“I can check for you,” I offer, a little lightheaded. To be Flip Madden’s girlfriend is the ultimate dream. But he’s almost a decade older than me, my dad is his boss, and he’s part of my extended friend group. 

“That’s okay. I can do the legwork.” Flip leans back, a warm smile on his perfect mouth. 

“I’m so excited to see you perform again!” Rix pipes up, breaking the spell I was under.

A chorus of agreement follows. When their schedules permit, the Babes attend my dance showcases at Tilton U, where I’m a dance major. Occasionally, the guys come too, when they don’t have a game. I appreciate that they do what they can to accommodate my events, since we’re in different phases of life. 

“Are you feeling confident about your routine?” Essie asks. “Cammie said you’ve been at the dance studio a lot lately.”

“Yeah, my troupe has been great about making time to rehearse.” Even if we have to take the early-morning studio slot.

Essie’s younger sister, Cammie, is one of my closest university friends. My university and the Terror world are hopelessly intertwined. Cammie’s boyfriend plays hockey for the university team and is best friends with Brody Stiles, Nate and Tristan’s youngest brother. 

The conversation shifts, taking the focus off me. I sit back and listen, happy to be surrounded by the people I’m most comfortable with. The Terror crew is like a big extended family.

Well, except Flip. He doesn’t feel like family at all.

When I was a teenager, I had a huge crush on him. I still do. But it’s shifted in ways I didn’t expect over the past year. He’s a great guy. He coaches hockey for kids with special needs and plays cards with little old ladies at the retirement village.

He’s fun to be around, I’m comfortable with him, and he’s always been nice to me. Protective even. Countless times I’ve imagined what it would be like to be more than just his friend. To be his.

Warmth blooms low in my stomach and works its way up my chest.

Flip’s brown eyes meet mine, and he gives me a questioning look. It feels like he’s paying more attention to me than usual. Or maybe I’m hyperaware because of the conversation earlier at the Pancake House and his questions about my upcoming showcase. I excuse myself to the bathroom before the heat can reach my cheeks and inspire questions.

I splash cold water on my face and grip the edge of the sink. If things were different. If Flip saw me differently…

Could he?

Would he?

I’m so tired of being a fetish and untouchable at the same time.

I want someone to want me for me. Someone who cares about me and not who my dad is.

Lately the loneliness has been eating at me.

I sigh and pat my cheeks dry before I leave the bathroom.

As I round the corner I nearly run right into Flip.

“Whoa, hey.” His wide, warm palms settle on my shoulders, steadying me. 

My hand lands on his chest. “Hi. Sorry.”

I inhale the mouthwatering scent of his cologne as I lift my gaze, hand still pressed over his heart. I should step back, stop touching him, but he’s still touching me, too. 

He tips his head, maple eyes searching mine as he drops his hands, fingers gently skimming my arms on the way down. A shiver runs through me. For a moment I believe he’s not just my friend. For a moment a spark of something hot flares. 

“You okay, Talls?” 

Tension builds and swirls, twisting my stomach into a knot. Flip is an amazing person. He knows me. I know him. He cares about me the same way I do him. I’ve yearned for him for years. Previously innocent fantasies have spun into darker, baser desires over time and merged with my longing for something real. Flip has always been protective of me. He would take care of me. He would make me feel revered. With him, I’d be safe. 

Flip Madden would be the perfect man to give my V-card to.

Before I can think it all the way through, I blurt, “I need your help with something.” 

His eyes soften, and a warm smile tips the corner of his mouth. “Of course. Anything you need, just name it.” He’s so earnest, his smile so genuine, like he’s pleased I would come to him.

I pull in a deep breath. “I need you to take my virginity.”

 

Chapter TwoFlip

Shock leaves me speechless for a moment. I have done everything in my power to never think of Tallulah Vander Zee outside the neat, perfect little box labeled Friend and Forever and for All Eternity Off-Limits. Despite her being an independent, intelligent, talented, and beautiful woman, I have carefully avoided all landmines that might lead me to think of her in any way that would make her father, my coach, want to bludgeon me with my hockey stick. 

I have stopped myself from chasing off other men. I have stood by while Tally has dated idiots, and silently cheered when she realized she could do better. Which was every single time. None of those guys have been good enough for her. 

I have not been possessive. Protective, yes, but I have kept my fucking mouth shut even when I haven’t wanted to. Especially when I haven’t wanted to. 

So what the hell am I supposed to do when every wrong thing I’ve tried valiantly, mostly successfully, not to want over the past six months falls into my lap, gift wrapped with a pretty bow?

Definitely not unwrap it and play with it every fucking day for the rest of my short life—because surely, I’d be dead, and her father would be in prison. The image of her gift wrapped just for me pops into my depraved mind unbidden. I beat back that fantasy with a fucking weed whacker. But it’s like a dandelion, growing and duplicating faster than I can mow them down.

I don’t know what my expression must be, but Tally squares her shoulders and lifts her delicate chin. Her eyes are alight with so many emotions: determination, conviction, and most, dangerously desire, that echoes through me. The emotion that cuts me off at the knees, though, is hope. 

“I’m so sick of university boys and their single-minded incompetence,” she explains.

I can’t disagree there. The guys I went to university with were pretty damn clueless, and I doubt much has changed. We were all hormones with our brains stuck in our dicks. Still, I keep my mouth shut, trying to figure out how to let her down gently. Because what she’s offering, what she’s asking…that’s a place I should never want to go. Based on the scenarios suddenly clogging my brain, I do want to go there, badly. This is what I get for being celibate for almost two fucking years.

“I don’t want to have a shitty first time with some guy who only wants to fuck me because I’m the Terror coach’s daughter,” she continues, making yet another frustratingly valid point. 

I’m aware that this has been a problem for her, in part because of her father and her university friend group. Not to mention the fact that she hangs out with all of us. I’ve spent years watching out for her, she’s become a friend, someone I enjoy being around. “Talls, I—”

She cuts me off. “I want my first time to be good, something to remember because I enjoyed it.”

I open my mouth to say something wise, something other than, “Let’s have this conversation at my place, in my bed.”

But Tally pushes on, her face growing redder with every word that tumbles from her soft, plush lips that I will not imagine kissing. Ever. “We’re friends, right?” 

“Yeah, we’re friends, b—”

“Exactly,” she cuts me off again. “We’ve been friends for a long time. You take care of people. It’s what you do. You would take care of me. I want to have sex with someone who actually cares about me. You’ll know exactly how to make me feel good.” Her voice drops to a sultry whisper. “I mean, you might even make me come.”

The gut punch is swift and damning in so many ways. And the unexpectedly vicious ache in my chest makes it hard to swallow. My past steamrolls me with ruthless, yet entirely deserved force. She doesn’t want me. She wants my experience. Will I never get out from under the reputation I’ve built for myself?

Her fingers move to her lips, and her tone shifts, bordering on desperate as she steps closer, tipping her head up, eyes wide and imploring. “Please, Flip.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat, hating that for a moment I allowed myself to see her as something she can never be. “Your first time should be with someone you trust—”

Before I can continue, she makes a fresh slice on my already scarred heart. “I do trust you. No one would have to know. It could be our secret,” she says. “It probably has to be because of my dad, and our friends, and I wouldn’t want to make it weird. But I know you. I’d be safe with you. And you can even teach me—whatever tricks you think I should know so I can make you feel good, too.”

If ever there was a time I wanted to erase my past, it’s now. The damage my ex, Fiona, did turned me into something I never wanted to be. But here I am. That Tally views me this way is just…devastating. It’s one thing for her to want this from me because I mean something to her, because she cares about me and she knows I care about her, too. But to ask because of my extensive history as a fuckboy… It hurts in ways I didn’t anticipate.

Maybe because I knew she had a crush and I thought it had progressed beyond the infatuation. 

Tallulah Vander Zee is the dream I’ve never dared to let myself have.

My voice is thick and guttural, but my tone is firm, with no room for argument. “Your first time should be with some who loves you, and who you love back, Tally. And I can’t be that guy.” I’ve spent the last decade hiding from love, fearing what could happen if I let someone in again. Tally deserves someone who isn’t jaded and broken.

Her shoulders slump, and her eyes dart away for a moment. When they return to mine, they’re full of frustration, defiance, and the same hurt I feel. It’s like someone reached inside my chest and punctured my heart with a hundred poison-tipped knives. “Please, Flip. It’s just this one favor I need help with.”

I recoil, and then strike back. “You’re not asking me to hang a picture.” My teeth grind together. “You only get to have this experience once, with one person, and they can never give it back to you. It’s supposed to be special.”

“But we’ve known each other for years.” Her voice wavers, another stab to my heart. “You would make it special.”

I shake my head, desperate to erase the forbidden images trying to form in my mind. In another world, where I wasn’t such a mess of a human, I would be so good to her. But it would change everything, ruin our friendship in ways she doesn’t understand. Our friends would be appalled. I would never forgive myself. “I can’t.” I care about you. I can’t take something special that I haven’t earned. 

How awful would I feel when she realized down the line that she’d given a precious part of herself to someone who for years had drowned in pleasure to avoid connection? Even if I could give her what she needs, it would be a huge emotional step backwards for me. “You’re… I can’t do that.”

Her eyes fill with tears, and her chin wobbles. “Anyone but me, right?” 

My mouth falls open. That’s a jagged, raw wound I won’t recover from.

She skirts around me and rushes down the hall.

I want to go after her, to tell her she deserves better. I could explain that I can’t give her what she wants without losing a part of myself, but nothing I say will soften that blow. And she has no idea she’s ripped open a never-healed wound.

I stand in the hallway for a long time, letting the self-loathing seep in. I deserve to feel this shitty. I’ve hurt people I care about with my past behavior, so this is retribution. I spent my twenties avoiding anything with depth, and I won’t go back down that road. Not for anyone, and especially not for my coach’s fucking daughter, who I care deeply about. Maybe more than I realized based on the ache in my chest. 

When I finally return to the living room, Tally is gone. Dred Grace, who knows me best in this crowd, gives me a questioning look as I sink into the couch. I feel awful for so many reasons. Especially when Hammer mentions how stressed Tally seemed before she left. 

I search for the winter showcase at Tilton U. I might not be able to give Tally what she wants, but I can still show her that I care. “Who needs a ticket for Tally’s performance?”

“We have ours.” Hemi motions to the girls. 

“You guys in?” I ask my teammates. 

All the guys agree, so I secure our tickets. 

Eventually everyone starts to disperse, and I follow my friends to the door. 

“You okay?” my sister, Rix, asks as she pulls me in for a hug. “You seem preoccupied.”

“Yeah. All good. Just thinking about practice.” It’s not untrue. I keep thinking about how dead I’d be if I’d said yes to Tally’s request and Coach Vander Zee found out.

Dred, Connor, and I file into the hall and pile into the elevator. I live in the building down the street, while Dred and Connor live in a mansion his Meems owns on the edge of the city. They got married last fall. 

“Up for a game of Battleship?” Dred asks as we make our descent.

It’s what we play when one of us needs to talk something out.

I glance between her and Connor. “Do you have time for that?”

She turns to Connor. “You’re okay to pick up Everly and Victor?” 

Dred and Connor adopted teenage twins earlier this year. I’ve never seen her happier than when she’s with him and those kids. The twins were in foster care, just like Dred growing up, and she wanted them to have a home with stability and love.

“Of course, darling. We’ll go for cake, and Everly will convince me to take them shopping, where I’ll buy them something outlandishly impractical.”

“This is why you’re their favorite.”

“You’re their favorite, and mine.” He kisses her softly. “Message when you’re ready to come home.”

We reach the lobby and Connor heads in one direction, while Dred and I go the other. We cross the street and take the elevator to my floor. I let us into my apartment, and Dred sets up Battleship on the kitchen island while I pour us glasses of Tang. 

“What happened with Tally?” 

I grip the edge of the counter. “She asked for help with something, and I had to say no.”

She gives me her full attention, eyes lit up with curiosity. “Would you like to elaborate, or should I guess?”

I drag my eyes away from the Tang. “She propositioned me.”

“As in…”

I choke out the words. “She asked me to take her virginity.”

Her eyebrows pop. “Oh wow, she’s got balls.” 

“It’s not funny.” 

“I’m not really laughing.”

I run a hand through my hair. “She’s ready to throw her virginity away like it’s an old shirt!”

“She’s been holding out for a long time, so that’s not quite accurate.” Dred props her hip against the table. “Tell me, Flip, how old were you when you first had sex?”

I shake my head. “I’m a—”

“Do not finish that sentence if it ends with some gender-normative stereotype,” she warns.

I clamp my mouth shut, because that’s exactly what I was about to do.

“I was seventeen,” Dred confides. “It was with a guy I’d been dating for a month, and we broke up three weeks later. I was not in love with him, but I was in lust. We had great chemistry, and I thought it would be good. It wasn’t the best, but it also wasn’t the worst. We were fumbly, and it was awkward, but it did get better after the first time. Could I have waited? Sure. But I liked him, and he liked me, so I made the choice, and I don’t regret it.” She makes a you-have-the-floor motion. “Now, how old were you?”

I huff. “Sixteen. But it was my ex, and we’d been together for months by that point. We cared about each other.” 

“You care about Tally,” Dred points out.

“It’s not the same! I loved Fiona, and I believed that she loved me. We were in a committed relationship.” We stayed together for the rest of high school but went to different universities on opposite ends of the province. We reconnected in my last year when she moved back, but that went sideways. Fiona broke more than my heart when we ended the second time. It was gutting to have the person I loved tell me she didn’t want me. But it was so much worse when she dug the knife in deeper, telling me no one would ever want me for me, and that I was only good for two things: money and my ability to make her come. She created unhealable wounds when she left me, and I’ve spent the years since terrified to give my heart to someone else and find out she was right all along.

“Tally only wants me because I’m good at sex, not because I’d be a good boyfriend.”

“Is that what she said?”

“Basically, yes.”

Her expression shifts to empathy. “Do you really believe that?”

“She said I could probably make her come.” It’s gutting to have her see me like that.

Dred blows out a breath and shakes her head. “She’s not wrong, though, is she? University guys are not great at that, in her experience.”

“I don’t want to talk about Tally’s experiences with the dickheads she dated!”

Dred arches a brow. 

“She’s too important to be treated like some bunny I picked up at a bar! I will not indulge in meaningless sex like I used to, I’ve come too fucking far to go backwards.”

She holds up a hand. “What if what you heard Tally say and what she meant aren’t the same? She left pretty flustered, Flip. What if she does want you, but she’s scared to ask for that?” 

I shake my head. “She doesn’t.” She can’t. “I have too much baggage.”

“Everyone has baggage. And what if she does want you, what then?” Dred repeats.

I swallow. “Her dad is my coach. We’re friends. It doesn’t matter what she thinks she wants. It’s literally the worst idea in the world. All our friends are interconnected. The risk is way too fucking high to even consider. I haven’t had a relationship of substance since I was twenty and that ended horribly. I can’t afford to entertain these kinds of thoughts about Tally. I’ve known her since she was a teenager.” 

The team has always looked out for her. Protected her. I’ve protected her.

“Do you disapprove of Hollis and Hammer, then?”

“No, but that’s different.” Although I suppose it was equally complicated. Hollis is twelve years older than Hammer and her dad’s best friend.

“Do you just want it to be different?” Dred presses.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You’re worse than my therapist!”

“You can pay me a hundred and fifty bucks an hour to ask you questions you already know the answers to, if it makes you feel better,” she offers cheekily, but her voice softens, and her expression shifts to empathy. “I understand that you have always had Tally’s safety in mind, and you’re probably reeling because you’ve been trying to keep her inside a space she doesn’t fit into anymore. It’s also clear that she hit you in a sore spot without realizing it, probably because she was nervous and babbling. I think this is less about the request coming out of left field and more about being afraid of what this could actually mean.”

I frown. “She’s off-limits.”

“She won’t be forever.” She squeezes my hand. “She’s had a thing for you for a long time. When Tally was a teenager, it was sweet. Now she’s an adult, and even if you don’t want it to change things, it does. We also both know you have two eyes in your head, and a heart in your chest, and you’re not immune to her.”

I shake my head as I move to the Battleship table. “I need to stay away from her, Dred. She needs time to come to her senses.”

CHAPTER THREE

TALLY

“Three minutes and we’re on.” Arya does a full-body shimmy.

“We’re going to be amazing.” I shake out my hands and do a few deep knee bends. This showcase is worth twenty percent of our final mark this semester. It’s another step closer to where I want to be; a graduate on my way to becoming a professional dancer. Top performances tonight mean first choice of studio time in the beginning of semester two, which is huge, so I’m manifesting good things.

“We’ve got this.” Charles and I fist bump.

The rest of the ensemble echoes our excitement.

Tonight we’re performing a modernized, full ensemble version of The Nutcracker. Every performance is preparation for our final showcase of the year. In second semester, we’ll dance as part of a full-class ensemble like we are tonight, as well as with our troupe, plus a solo number.

That my dad is able to attend this time because the Terror doesn’t have a game tonight feels special. My mother has never missed a single performance. As a kid, she would even come to rehearsals when she could. She’s been my biggest supporter, always encouraging me to pursue my dreams. But it’s rare for my dad to make a performance work. I’m excited and nervous to have him here. I always want to make him proud.

I center myself as the current song ends and the other dance class exits to join us in the wings. I squeeze Arya and Charles’s hands before we leave the wings, the rest of the class falls into place around us on the stage.

I steal a glance at the sea of faces filling the theater. No seat is empty. I spot my parents with my brother and sister. Ties and Fenna both look bored, which is understandable since they’ve been dragged to countless performances over the years. The Babes are a few rows back, and my heart stutters and skips a beat as my gaze finds a group of the Terror guys as well. Even Flip is here, looking gorgeous and untouchable. He rejected me, but he still came to support me, which just proves he’s a great friend, and I’m an idiot for having asked him what I did.

The first notes of the song filter through the sound system as the lights come up, forcing me back into the moment. I’ll panic about Flip later.

But for now, I channel all my emotions into our routine as I move across the stage. This is my happy place, where I get to live in the music and tell a story with my body.

Charles steps in behind me, and his hands find my waist. We move as extensions of each other, synchronized and fluid as he lifts me and I float on air. We hold our position while Arya spins around us, and the rest of our troupe follows, a ribbon of graceful bodies twirling across the stage.

I count the beats, every muscle locked tight so Charles can maintain his balance as he spins, and every time we face the audience, my gaze catches briefly on Flip, whose eyes are fixed on me. My feet touch the ground again, and I leap across the stage, spinning as I weave through our troupe until I’m back in the center with Charles, converging for the final lift. He sets me on my feet and dips me backward, and I arc over his arm, the crown of my head nearly touching the stage as the final notes drift through the auditorium.

It always feels like it’s over too soon. We hold the pose for a count of four, chests heaving with exertion. The audience erupts in applause. I’m breathless and high on adrenaline as I join hands with Charles and Arya and the rest of the class, and we step forward to curtsy and bow.

Flip stands and whistles with his fingers. His proud smile makes my silly heart clench. He probably thinks of me like a little sister. Embarrassment hits when I’m in the wings. I can’t enjoy the high of our performance because I’m a giant bag of what-did-I-do? all over again. For the past week, I’ve buried that conversation under practice and coursework. But he’s here tonight and I can’t hide from the sting of his rejection. I don’t know how I’ll recover from the mortification: the look on his face, his disbelief, his definitive no, all play on an endless loop in my head. As if Flip Madden would ever want more from me than friendship.

And yet, he showed up for me. I don’t even know what to do with that.

“The Terror are in the audience!” Charles grabs my shoulders. He has a thing for hockey players. I get it, truly. “What I wouldn’t give to be in the middle of a Madden and Stiles sandwich.”

“Stiles is married,” I remind him. I avoid commenting on Flip, because I don’t trust my voice.

“Yeah, but in my fantasy world he’s not, and they’re both into me.” Charles’s grin is downright lascivious.

Flip’s previous reputation isn’t a secret. For a while his exploits were splashed across the internet. But it’s been years since Flip has lived up to his fuckboy status.

“I would take Quinn Romero home any night of the week,” Arya adds dreamily.

“He does have that strong, silent type vibe,” I agree. Of all the guys, he tends to be the quietest. Also, I’m happy to indulge infatuations that don’t involve Flip.

“And those freckles.” Arya sighs.

This incites an entire whispered conversation about which Terror player everyone would like to take home for a night while we touch up our makeup for the post-performance reception. We’re still in full costume as we traipse out to greet our families and friends. I’m reeling with nerves. Will Flip still be here? Did he leave as soon as the show ended?

My dad is the first to find me. He’s beaming with pride, and that settles my nerves a fraction. “What an incredible performance! You were wonderful up there.” He pulls me in for a hug. “I’m so glad I could be here for this.” He presents me with an excessively large bouquet of roses.

I bring them to my nose and inhale their soft scent. “Thanks, Dad. These are beautiful.”

He tucks a hand in his pocket, his smile sheepish. “Your mom picked them out.”

“I just suggested the color, the rest was all your dad. You were perfect as usual.” Mom’s smile wavers a little, like she’s on the edge of emotion. “I’m so proud of you. You’ve come so far.”

“Thank you for always supporting me and being my cheerleader.”

“Always and forever, sweetie.” She squeezes me tightly, and I return the embrace.

My mom and I have always been close. With my dad on the road three quarters of the year, it was often her and me looking after Ties and Fenna.

Eventually Mom releases me and I look to my siblings. Ties is on his phone, and Fenna is picking at a loose thread on her cuff.

I tap my sister on the shoulder, and she pulls out one of her noise-cancelling earplugs. She’s sensitive to noise in large crowds. “Do you have your scissors in your purse?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you get them out and I’ll fix that?” I nod to the loose thread. Usually, Mom would be on top of that.

“Okay.” She retrieves them for me. Her face brightens as I trim the thread and pass the scissors back.

“Thanks.” Fenna has some sensory issues, and that thread has likely been frustrating her for as long as it’s been loose.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice that, honey,” Mom apologizes.

“It’s okay. Tallulah fixed it for me.” She turns to me. “I liked the song choice.”

I grin. “I thought you might.”

Fenna’s in grade nine, plays the cello, and basically lives and breathes classical music.

Ties, who is in his final year of high school, drags his eyes away from his phone long enough to give me a thumbs-up. “Good job.” He has a robotics competition next week and being here is probably cutting into his preparation time.

“Once this is all wrapped up, we’ll go for dinner.” Dad glances at Mom before refocusing on me. “Does that sound good?”

“That sounds amazing.” It’s rare enough that my dad can make it to a performance, let alone stick around to celebrate after. I haven’t seen much of him over the past few months because of school and his schedule, so I can’t pass up the opportunity.

My girlfriends step in to give me a huge group hug and a shower of compliments.

“That was flawless.” Fee, my roommate and one of my best friends at Tilton U, makes prayer hands and bows. “You are wildly talented.”

“What she said. You are the music when you’re out there,” Cammie agrees.

“So awesome.” Enid nods her agreement.

I glance around, stomach in knots as I search the crowd. Flip and the other Terror guys are being bombarded by fans, which is not unusual. But he’s still here. Did he feel like he had to stay because everyone else was?

He’s wearing black dress pants, a pale blue dress shirt, and a dark tie. His hair is still a little too long, curling around his ears. He looks handsome and delicious and remains my favorite fantasy and eternally out of reach. Eventually he makes his way over, a bouquet in his hand.

My mouth goes dry, and my palms start to sweat. It’s not like he’ll bring up our last conversation in front of all these people, but the residual mortification is overwhelming.

Still, I take a step forward, though I don’t know what to do or how to act around him now. “Thanks for coming.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. You owned that stage,” he says.

“Thanks,” I croak, and struggle with what to say. He brought me flowers, so maybe we’ll be okay. “We worked really hard on that number.”

“It absolutely showed.” He holds out the bouquet, which is a fraction of the size of some of the other flowers I’ve been given tonight, but they’re stunning blooms in shades of pale blue and white to match my costume. It’s like he picked each one with intention and knows all my favorites.

Or maybe I’m projecting.

I bring them to my nose and inhale. “These are beautiful.”

“They match you, then.”

My eyes flare as he wraps his arms around me. I awkwardly pat his back, and my nose mashes against his armpit because I didn’t turn my head in time. He squeezes my waist, chin bumping my temple.

I break out in an anxiety-riddled sweat.

He steps back, his expression is both gentle and amused, but also… “You should be really proud of yourself, Talls.”

I’m flustered, and I want to apologize, but we’re surrounded by our friends and my family. I wave a hand around in the air, then grip the flowers to stop my flailing. “I had a whole team out there with me.”

He tips his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his full lips. Is that empathy or sympathy in his eyes? And which is worse? “Everyone was incredible, but you stole the show,” he says. “You’re phenomenal to watch.”

My stomach is a cement mixer. My stupid heart is all aflutter at the compliment.

But he said no, my helpful brain reminds me.

He’s being kind.

He’s smoothing things over for the sake of our friend group.

He’ll never see me as anything more than his coach’s daughter and a friend. ...