Page 161 of The Power of Love
“Drew, don’t you dare?—”
But I’m already gone, arms spread wide, skating in circles around my boyfriend like he’s the sun and I’m a very enthusiastic planet. My voice joins Huey’s, belting out the lyrics at maximum volume, and with absolutely zero regard for pitch or dignity.
Gerard whoops from somewhere across the rink. “SING IT, DREW!”
I grab Jackson’s hands and pull him into a spin, both of us wobbling but somehow staying upright. The chorus hits, and I’m singing right into his face.
“You’re insane,” Jackson gasps between laughs.
“Insanely in love!”
The crowd has formed a circle around us now, phones out, cheering and clapping along. I spot Elliot pinching the bridge of his nose while Gerard bounces beside him, singing backup. Nathan’s shaking his head, and Kyle looks like he wants to murder me, which means he’s enjoying himself.
I pull Jackson close as the song builds, our foreheads touching, both of us breathless and grinning. “I love you,” I tell him, quiet enough that only he can hear. “Always have. Always will.”
The song ends, and the rink erupts in cheers and wolf whistles. Jackson kisses me right there in the middle ofeverything, his hands cupping my face, and I don’t care who’s watching because this is real.
This is us.
This is the power of love.
39
THE ICE QUEEN
Well, fuck.
The Ice Queen has been royally checkmated. After months of investigation and countless hours of critical analysis, I must admit defeat. The relationship I was certain was fake? It’s the most real thing at this entire university.
I’m not even mad. Watching Jackson identify his boyfriend by ass-feel alone, seeing the way Drew trusted him completely, and witnessing their genuine joy when the blindfold came off, was kind of beautiful. In a weird and deeply uncomfortable way.
So their love is real, their asses are memorable, and somewhere along the way, they made a believer out of me. It’s almost depressing to have to move on from these two lovebirds. But that’s the beauty of being the Ice Queen. There’s always a new scandal brewing, always fresh meat to investigate. And while the campus celebrates true love or whatever nauseating hashtag they’ll slap on Drew and Jackson’s confession video, I’ve already got my sights set on the next story.
Oliver Jacoby and Ryan Abrams.
Drew’s teammate and Jackson’s abandoned roommate. The boy who dresses like he stepped out of a 1950s catalog andspeaks with the formality of someone raised by a militant father. The same Ryan Abrams who knew Oliver Jacoby long before BSU. Before hockey. Before that impressive physique that has half the crowd fumbling for their phones whenever he walks by.
I pull up the photos from that night in downtown Berkeley Shore, showing paint-slicked bodies and theatrical grinding. There, in the corner of one shot, barely visible in the crowd, is Ryan with a face full of heartbreak.
The thing about unrequited love? It leaves breadcrumbs everywhere if you know where to look.
My fingers fly across the keyboard as I piece together what I know. Ryan and Oliver, childhood friends in a military base town. Separated when Ryan’s father got reassigned—classic military brat trauma. Years pass. They both end up at BSU, but now Oliver’s this confident hockey god while Ryan’s still the quiet kid who practiced his confession speech a hundred times but never delivered it.
