The walk away from the hockey ground was strangely quiet. Ryans had removed his hand from mine after a while and both of them were shoved deep into his jacket pocket, his steps steady but a little too measured, like he was forcing his body to pretend nothing was wrong. The glow from the streetlights caught the faint trickle of blood running down his jaw, and no matter how much he tried to make it look like nothing, I noticed. Of course, I noticed.
“You’re bleeding,” I said softly, my eyes narrowing on the corner of his mouth.
“I’ve bled worse,” he muttered, wiping at it with the back of his hand like it was a smudge of dirt.
“Which is not the point,” I snapped, quickening my pace until I cut in front of him, forcing him to stop. His brows shot up like he hadn’t expected me to block his
