Page 96 of Counting Down To You

I let out a tired sigh. “Me neither.” I sip my hot chocolate, more for something to do than because I really want some.

“I should have told you sooner,” Leo says, his voice a soft murmur. I meet his gaze, like I’m drawn to it, though I make myself look away, back out to the rink.

“Yeah. Well, that would have been better.”

“I wanted to tell you,” he says. “I kept telling myself I’d find the right way. But then the day would pass and I still hadn’t done it and then…” He closes his eyes, ever so briefly. “And then I got to know you.” His voice is a soft caress, whispering over my skin. The nerves on the back of my neck prickle at the sound of it.

Stop it, Ali. It doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change what happened, or that he lied to me.

“It made everything so much harder,” he continues. “Because, once I knew you, I didn’t want to make you sad. And, Ali, I didn’t want you to push me away—which I knew would happen once I told you the truth.”

I want to ask how he could know that, but that’s exactly what I’d done, isn’t it? I’d pushed him away, of course I had. I think about arguing with the making-me-sad part, about telling him that sometimes, it’s okay to make people sad, if you’re telling them the truth.

Instead, I shake my head. “It’s all so impossible,” I murmur. He huffs a not-quite laugh at that, takes a sip of his cider. I risk peeking over at him. “Leo? I’m sorry about your heart.” I blow out a breath. “I should have said that before.”

“I’m not,” he says, so firmly I have to believe him. “I’m sorry that I needed the transplant—because it took a heart away from someone else.” I hear the words he doesn’t say. Away from her. “But I’m trying not to live in the past, to be sorry about things I can’t change. I’m trying to…”

“Live in the moment?” I guess.

“No. I’ve done that plenty. It’s more like…Live for the future. It’s something I’ve never let myself do before.”

“Is it why you kept moving around?” I ask tentatively. “Because you weren’t well?”

He rubs a hand over his chest, where his scar is. I wonder how it feels, to have that constant reminder. “Yeah, I guess. I’ve never wanted to put down roots. There didn’t seem much point, because I’ve never been sure how long I’d have, before things took a turn for the worse. It felt like I was living with kind of a ticking clock, I suppose.”

Not like Robyn. Her cardiomyopathy wasn’t something she’d been aware of, until symptoms started to present. I wonder which is worse. Having the time to prepare, or having it sprung upon you. Maybe neither is worse. They’re both terrible, both things no one ever wants to have to go through.

“Is that why you steered clear of relationships?” It feels like a dangerous subject, but I want to know all the same.

“Yeah. Remember I told you about Bethany?” I nod. “Well, it was true what I said—I didn’t want to hurt her. I didn’t want to get close to her, for her to get close to me, only for things to get bad, and for her to have to go through that with me. And, since her, it felt easier to keep things light, commitment-free. That way, no one gets hurt.” His brow furrows. “Or that’s what I thought, anyway. Didn’t always work out that way.”

I have a bit of a reputation.

“And it’s why your parents are so worried.” Another guess, but he nods.

“Yeah. They’ve always hated it, that I moved around so much. But it was easier to keep moving than to sit and feel like I was waiting for something to go wrong.” He sighs. “They hate the rescue-ski thing. They think it’s unnecessary danger, after such a close call.”

“It is?” I ask before I can think better of it. “Sorry,” I say quickly, “I just…”

“It’s okay. I suppose there are less risky jobs I could be trying to do. And maybe a part of it is proving that I can do it, that this”—he thumps a hand to his chest—“won’t stop me. But also—and I know this might sound a bit pretentious—I’m good at it. I might not pass the medical, but, if I do, I think I’ll be good at it. And I told you, right, that I’ll never be a doctor or anything, but this is a way to help people?” I nod again. I remember the way he’d spoken about it on the chairlift, the first time I went skiing. How passionate about it he seemed.

“Well, it’s exactly that,” he continues. “My life was saved. Other people saved it. The person who gave me this heart, the surgeon, the doctors and nurses who took care of me. So I want to do something to make a small difference for someone else. Not to give back, but…” He frowns. “Well, maybe a bit to give back.”

My throat swells. It’s the type of thing I can imagine Robyn saying, if she’d survived. The idea of giving something back, in whatever small way you can.

“I don’t think it sounds pretentious.” His gaze darts to mine, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “Have you told your parents?” I ask. “Why you want to do it?” It’s not my business really, and I half expect him to tell me so.

Instead, his brow furrows. Not in anger, but consideration. “I’ve tried to.”

I take another sip of my hot chocolate. “I saw my brother last night,” I say conversationally.

“You did? How was that?”

“It was…interesting. There’s a lot to sort through between us.” I pause. “He didn’t come to Robyn’s funeral.”

“Ah.” He doesn’t say anything more, but I can hear the understanding in the sound.

“I mean, it’s more than that. It’s all a bit complicated, but my point is it wasn’t easy, talking to him. And he was the one who had to try to explain things to me. But I think we both felt like it was the right time and I’m glad that we had the conversation, even if I don’t totally see his side of things.” I huff out a breath. “I’m saying this really badly. I know you speak to your parents, and I know you have a better relationship with them than I do with my brother, but I guess I just mean that I’ve recently realized that having a difficult conversation isn’t a bad thing.” Which is also what we’re doing now, I guess. So maybe the point is redundant.