But she doesn’t. She just gives me another barely-there shrug.
Quiet settles between us, only broken by the soft melodies of birds scattered in the trees, and the cut of blades on the ice. We sit there in silence, and she stares out at the rink, like she’s somewhere else.
But I watch her. I watch the way her shoulders rise and fall with each breath, I watch the way her jaw tightens as she clutches that damn clipboard like it’s the only thing in the world that matters.
Her gaze flicks to mine, before darting away.
“You’re staring at me,” she says flatly.
“I am,” I respond.
“Why?”
Because I like looking at you.
The uninvited words teeter on the tip of my tongue, and I bite down in shock, a metallic taste flooding my mouth. With a wince, I quickly manage to blurt out something else
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
Her brows furrow defensively. “No,” she says, but the word is thin. A long, defeated sound spills out of her. “Yes.”
“Why?”
She hesitates, her freckled lips falling open, then closing again. When she finally does speak, it’s almost a whisper. “I don’t know.”
I know I shouldn’t press. I shouldn’t push her. But when something eats away at you for so long, it leaves you starving for answers. I chew on the inside of my cheek, the small bite of pain grounding me. “It kinda seems like you do know.”
Her eyes snap to mine, and I should feel bad for upsetting her. But all I can think about is how that glaze over her eyes evaporates. It’s replaced by a flickering flame, but I like the smell of smoke. “Peyton, I can’t do this right now.”
She pushes herself to her feet, but before I can think about it, my hand is on her sleeve,Harlowe’ssleeve, stopping her.
“What?” I can’t stop myself now. The words spill out pathetically. “Suddenly you don’t have anything to say to me? You tear me apart every day, pick through everything I do, and then when nothing’s left, you just act like I don’t exist anymore?”
Her gaze narrows, arm ripping away from my grasp. “Nowyou want feedback?” She snaps. “You spentweeksignoring every word I said.Weeksacting like I didn’t know a damn thing. And now, when I finally give up, when I stop wasting my time on someone who won’t listen, you suddenly care?”
All the air in my lungs vanishes. “Yes,” I admit. “I suddenly care.”
Darcy shakes her head, her eyes darting away from me, lips curling into a dry laugh. “Look, Peyton, I don’t have the energy for this.” She waves a hand between us. “Whateverthisis. You need validation? Fine. You can get that from anyone else. Are you really so self-absorbed that you need it from me too?”
Something strikes against my chest, like a match on hot concrete, and as much as I want to let it burn, I extinguish it with a deep breath.
“I hate it,” I admit, brushing a hand through my hair. My gaze falls to the dirt ground below. “I hate that everyone acts like I’ve peaked. Not because I’m great, but because my dad is. Ihatethat. I needthis.” A desperate breath slips from my lips, my gaze catching hers as I gesture between us. “I needyou. I need you to tell me when I’m wrong, to push me. I need the back-and-forth. I need someone who doesn’t just praise me when I haven’t earned it. I need someone who makes mebetter.”
A red hue tints her cheeks, spilling out from under those freckles. Her hands begin to tremble, clipboard rattling against her side. “I can’t do that anymore.”
I shake my head. “Why?” I hate how desperate I sound. How desperate Ifeel.“What is it? Is this about the fight? Because I thought we settled th—”
“It’s not just the fight.”
“Then what is it?”
“I—” She falters, voice cracking. “Look, it’s complicated, okay?”
And suddenly, I’m back in the locker room. Back where she watched me fall apart. Where she wiped the tears from my face. Where her lips ghosted over mine.
Why is it that I want to do the exact same thing right now?
“Is this about what happened in the locker room?” I ask. “About us—”
