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“Have you tried?” he asks like it’s the simplest question in the world.
“No,” I huff.
It’s not like she really waited around for debate that day. She couldn’t get out of my house fast enough after she gave me her piece of mind. But he’s fucking right. I haven’t even told her that she fucked up. She ruined the best thing she’ll ever have, that either of us will ever have. She didn’t even try to fight for us.
But I won’t make that same mistake. Also, I deserve some fucking answers.
My heart begins racing in my chest, and all I can see are memories of us together. Of the first time we met at Fireflies back in Duluth. The time we built birdhouses for the front of my house because she wanted to watch them out the windows. The numerous times we cooked dinner together in my kitchen while I pretended that it was our kitchen. Because the truth is, it was. And it still is. Even though I paid for that house before I even met her, it’s ours more than it was ever just mine. Everything I have is hers, for God’s sake. She owns my smiles, my laughs, my tears, and my soul. If she doesn’t want them anymore, then they can die in her possession because I don’t fucking want them back.
Jensen’s right. And I hate it when he’s right.
I’m done sitting here, wallowing. I need to talk to her. I need to tell her that there isn’t anyone else in this world that I want to love. If it’s not her, I won’t love again. If she really is done with me, I will let her go. Because she deserves to be happy, no matter how she finds that happiness—with or without me.
The lines on the ice are getting tired, and I know we will have to switch out soon. But I can’t do this right now. I can’t focus on this. I shouldn’t be here.
Fuck it.
Without thinking about it, I start untying my skates.
“What are you doing?” JD scoffs.
“What I should have done a long fucking time ago,” I say, kicking off the first skate. “Can you take care of my shit?”
I kick the other skate off and hand him my stick.
“Yeah, of course. Anything you need, bro,” he says with a proud smile.
“Thanks, man.” I dap him up and start walking around the bench to the tunnel.
“Larinski! What are you doing?” Coach yells from the ice.
“I’m leaving. I’m sorry,” I shout without looking back.
“Reed!” JD shouts before yelling, “Go get your girl!”
A smile breaks across my lips while my walk turns into a jog as I race down the tunnel toward the locker room. I just need my keys. And maybe my shoes.
I reach the locker room a minute later, slip my tennis shoes on, grab my keys and my wallet. I don’t even bother to change out of my pads and gear. I can’t stop. I need to get to her as fast as I fucking can. Ripping out of the locker room, I race to my car and take off for her place.
I need her back. I tried to give her space, to respect her decision. But her decision was fucking wrong.
Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I’m going to pound on her door, and she’s going to call the cops because she can’t believe that her psycho ex showed up at her house, unannounced. But I definitely will not be giving her a heads-up if that’s the outcome. I at least want to plead my case to her first.
I’m still sweating as I throw my pickup into park. My hair is sweaty and crazy. I want time to fix it. I want everything to be perfect. But I don’t have time for that right now.
Grabbing my Nighthawks baseball cap from my backseat, I throw it on my head backward. My legs are practically pumping by the time they hit the ground outside, and my heart speeds up faster and faster with each stride I take. My chest is rapidly rising and falling, and my stomach is in complete knots as I close the distance to her front door.
I can do this. I can do this. I feel like I’m about to throw up as I reach her door and hold myself up with my arms on each side of the doorframe.
I’m heaving, completely out of breath.
I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do if she turns me away. But I know I can’t go on without trying.
“I love you,” I whisper, and I do the scariest fucking thing I’ve ever done—I knock on her door.
16
Charlotte
