“Fuck…” The word comes out hollow. I drag a hand down my face, staring at the screen. I should call her. I should explain. But what the hell do I even say?
Hey, I might not make it because I let the cat get hit by a car?
And if I tell her, if I throw her off, it could throw Josh off and this game matters. Christ, I said I wouldn’t miss anything that matters again. My chest tightens so hard it burns. Because now, now I have to choose.
Stay here.
Or go.
And either way…
I’m letting someone down.
“Jesus…” I whisper, dropping my head into my hands. There’s no version of this where I win. No version where I don’t fail somebody. Slowly, I pick up my phone again, my thumb hovering over her name. I can’t leave. I won’t leave him. But I can’t tell her why. Not now. Not like this.
So I do the only thing I can.
The worst thing.
I type the words before I can second-guess them.
I can’t make it.
I hit send.
And just like that…I’ve failed everyone.
* * *
.
26
Maria
I stare at my phone, the strange text Tuck just sent glowing up at me, and my stomach coils tight enough to steal my breath.
Did he go home?
Did he see what I’d done?
Heat crawls up my neck as my mind races. If he saw it…did he hate it? Did it feel like too much? Like I’m trying to build something he doesn’t want, something he’s not ready for?
Is this his way of stepping back…without saying the words out loud?
My chest tightens.
Or maybe—maybe I’m doing that thing again. The spiraling. The bracing for impact before anything’s even hit. Maybe he just got busy. Maybe I’ve turned a simple text into a catastrophe because that’s what I’ve learned to expect.
I swallow hard, staring at the screen until the letters blur. I didn’t do it to trap him into something he doesn’t want. God, no. I did it because…because I wanted him to see it. To feel it. To understand that he’s not just orbiting our lives anymore—he’s in them. That he matters. That I?—
I drag in a breath that doesn’t quite fill my lungs.
“That I want more,” I whisper under my breath, the admission too quiet for anyone but me.
“Everything okay?”
Kate’s voice cuts through my thoughts and I blink up at her, her dark lashes sweeping over eyes that miss very little. I shift on the cold bleachers, the chill seeping through my jeans as the rink hums around us—skates carving ice, sticks tapping, the low murmur of the crowd building as warm-ups start.
