He shrugs, acting like my words didn’t affect him. But I know Penn. He’s trying to push me away before I can do it to him, and I feel sick, because it’s been kind of nice the last couple days, loosening up. I know better, though. Loosen up, and people get hurt.
Penn is already hurt.
I set down the bowl and shift closer, sliding my hand into thecrook of his elbow. “I really am sorry for what I said. I promise I didn’t mean it like that.”
Penn stares out the window, like he’s debating whether or not he believes me. Then he sets a dish back in the sink and turns, crossing his arms over his chest. “Fine. If you really want to talk about it, then we’ll make it weird.” He shrugs. “How exactly did you mean that I’m a ‘bad decision’?”
“Penn…”
“Look, I get it,” he snaps, talking with his hands in a way he never does. “I’m still figuring my shit out. I’m me, and you’re you. You, with your dream business, your perfect house, your whole life together.”
“My whole life together?” I huff out a laugh. “Penn, I don’t have anything together. You and I both know the rink should’ve folded by now. I shouldn’t even be able to afford this house. It’s all just…”A game.“It’s complicated, and honestly, I’m not even sure if The Disco Diner will be mine for much longer. I got an offer to team up with Rollerworld.”
Penn stills, incredulous. “When did that happen?”
“This week. It’s still in early talks, but…”
The groove between his brows deepens. “You’re not actually considering it.”
I shrug, feeling more helpless than I have since the day I arrived.
I miss feeling like myself—and knowing who that is. I’m tired of feeling like I’m caught between two worlds. Two selves. I’ve been fooling myself, acting like I’ve made any progress when I’m right back where I started: here, in this kitchen, arguing with Penn. Pants-less, yet again.
“Rollerworld is soulless, just like you said,” I admit. “But Imight not have a choice. Everything is breaking, Penn, and I don’t know what to think, or what I’m doing, or who I even am anymore. I’ve been so caught up in…” I trail off, the words right at the tip of my tongue:In the game. In you.
Penn stares back, waiting for me to finish the sentence. When I don’t, his gaze drops to the floor. Finally, he manages to look at me again, and he shakes his head. “You can’t give up on it, Ruby. It’s what you always wanted.”
He doesn’t know what I’ve always wanted. I don’t even know if I know.
And I’m not sure he’s only talking about the rink.
“Actually, it’s not what I wanted,” I say. “The whole thing is a fluke, and it doesn’t make sense. It never did.” I shrug. “It isn’t practical. It was just a stupid dream.”
Penn reels back like he’s been slapped. “Right. Yeah, of course. None of us should pursue those stupid dreams, huh? Better to be practical.” He spits the last word like it’s a curse, then looks at me blankly again, like he doesn’t know me. It’s chilling.
He’s misunderstood. I try to explain. “I’m not saying PennPals is a stupid dream. I was only talking about me. My stuff. Yours is the opposite. What you’re doing—”
“Ruby, stop.” He gives me a sad, weary look. “Please.”
This is going all wrong. I meant to apologize and try to make him understand, but I’m only making things worse. My head isn’t clear enough for this conversation, and I can feel a wall building up between us. “I’m sorry,” I say shakily. “I really didn’t mean…”
Penn scrubs a hand over his mouth. “I’m only upset because you’re right.”
I stop, confused. “What?”
“You’re right,” he says. “I’ve been trying to make my dream work, too, but—”
“Penn, yours is different. Don’t listen to me.”
His head hangs. “I lied to you,” he says, so quietly I barely hear him. “About my apartment. Why I’m staying with you.” He meets my eyes again. “It’s not being repaired.”
The room tilts. “What do you mean?”
Penn exhales and leans back against the counter, shaking his head. “I spent too much money trying to get PennPals off the ground in the beginning. Rookie mistakes. I paid for supplies out of pocket, offered too many discounts, and I couldn’t make up the difference fast enough. So then, when one of the bartenders mentioned he was looking for an apartment, I decided to let him take my place for a while. A win-win, right? He’d get a spot, and I’d get some extra cash. I planned to couch-surf while I saved. But Ryan’s place was too small, and then…” He glances at me. Swallows hard. “Then he told me that business had been tough for you, and I thought—well, I wanted to help. And it seemed like a good excuse to be around you, so I figured I’d shoot my shot.” His laugh is small. Sweet. “When you actually agreed to the deal, it seemed almost too good to be true.”
His eyebrows lift, turning his face into a question mark, but I’m not sure what he’s asking. For my forgiveness? Understanding? For me to tell him that he’s wrong and this isn’t too good to be true? That it’s just as real as he believes it to be?
I can’t tell him that. I don’t know what’s real.
