“Mommy.” I choke back a sob.
I want so desperately for her to be there to comfort me. I can’t hear her well, the sound of music and someone laughing in the background drowning out her voice. I want her to be the soft place where I can land after a bad day, or bad heartbreak, or anything. I want to hear her tell me I made the right choice about the bookstore. That I need to be careful with Jack.
I want my mom.
There’s another mumbled “Ssshh” before the line disconnects, and I’m left with me.
It’s always been me, and probably always will be. It’s safer that way because my mom sure as hell isn’t going to be there. I’ve always been the one to lift me up, to push me forward, after everything went to shit, time and time again.
I have no one to blame for this except me. I took a risk. I let myself want more, and now I’ve lost it all. This is what happens.
I should have just stayed safe. I should have remembered that people leave, and nothing good ever comes from wanting more. Because the moment I let other people in, I only fail myself.
The lights go out as the wind picks up outside.
Great. Now I’ve lost power too.
Chapter 24
Jack
I’ve spent a good part of my life on the ice, but that still doesn’t prepare me for the near-arctic breeze cutting through my pea coat. I turn up my collar and knock against the salmon-pink door again.
It’s too loud. Everything is too loud today.
Izzy’s Christmas wreath is draped in a rainbow of velvet bows. Her window boxes are stuffed with greens and silver ornaments, and there’s a hand-painted snowman behind me near the stairs. The world could be ending, but she’ll always find the time to make everything magical.
She can find time for almost anything, it seems, but to text me back after running out of my penthouse two days ago.
I hear a muffled groan before the sound of shuffling feet. The door cracks open, Izzy squinting against the bright, white December sun.
The sight of her hits me harder than any check against the boards. Izzy’s nose is a raw red, her eyes glassy with fever, and she’s swallowed whole by a heavy patchwork quilt.
“Go away.”
I wait a beat, blowing out a deep breath that dances around me in the cold. “It’s fucking freezing. Please let me in, Izzy.”
She mumbles something, then opens the door wider, clutching on to it for dear life.
“You’re sick,” I say, once I step inside. “What can I do?”
“No.” She shuts the door behind me. It sounds like she swallowed half the beach with how rough her voice is. “I’m fine.”
There’s an impressive graveyard of tissues piled in a small trash can in the living room, random mugs and bowls covering every flat surface. A humidifier chugs along beside the couch, and the air smells like Vicks.
“You’re lying.”
Izzy pops her hip out. Doesn’t matter that she looks like she’s about to keel over, she’s still as stubborn as ever. “Congratulations. You cracked the case.”
I scoff, reaching out. I just want to hold her. But she backs up a step.
Another exhale, this time to soothe the stabbing pain behind my eyes. Last night’s game with Nashville was a rough win. I tweaked something in my shoulder, was tossed into the penalty box more than I would have liked, and the cut over the bridge of my nose stings.
That’s nothing compared to how I feel standing here in Izzy’s living room, close enough to touch her, but still too far away.
“Why are you here?”
“I’m here to say I’m sorry,” I rush out, the words feeling clumsy. “I shouldn’t have let you walk out like that the other day. And I’m sorry. I messed up. You haven’t answered your phone, and I was worried. Went to the store, but Zoe told me you called out.”
