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She laughs. “That can be dessert, if you’re not in a food coma after dinner.” She opens my bedroom door. “Come on, let’s go hang out with our friends.”
“Hey. Hold on.” I grab her hand and tug her closer.
“What’s up?” She settles a hand on my chest.
My stomach flips with nerves, but I need to do this. I stroke a finger from her temple to her chin. “I love you too. So fucking much. I didn’t get the chance to tell you before,” I explain. “I wanted to say it back, but I didn’t get the chance.”
She laces her fingers with mine, her voice a whisper. “I didn’t realize you remembered that part.”
“I thought I dreamed it at first.”
“I needed you to know how I felt, just in case.” Her eyes turn glassy. “I was scared it was the only time I’d get to tell you I love you.”
“I couldn’t go anywhere without making sure you knew I felt the same way.”
I stop being a mopey asshole and start going to class again. Getting around on crutches gets easier the more I move. The shittiest part is how damn itchy the injury becomes as it heals. And there’s nothing I can do about it, because so much of it is internal. Thankfully, Winter proves to be excellent at distracting me when it gets particularly intolerable.
It’s Tuesday morning, and Quinn has the pleasure of driving me to class. I’m sitting at the kitchen table, shoveling cereal into my face while he polishes off leftover pasta Bolognese.
“How are classes?” he asks conversationally.
“Eh. Okay. I’m still playing catch up, and I’ve fallen way behind in Advanced Research Methods. I don’t know if I can recover enough to get the grade I need, but we’ve already passed the deadline to drop courses.”
“Given the circumstances, I’m pretty sure they’d make an exception if you need to go down to part-time this semester.” He sets his fork on the edge of his plate and laces his hands behind his head. “Your focus needs to be on recovery, not stressing about your grades. It’s better to keep the classes you’re doing well in and drop the ones you’re struggling with.”
I nod. “I’ll make an appointment with my advisor, see if there’s anything they can do.”
“You won’t know unless you ask, right?” He picks up his fork again, spins more noodles, and taps his temple. “How you doing otherwise?”
“Okay mostly. The doctor said I can move from crutches to a cane.”
Quinn arches a brow. “I can actually see you rocking a cane.”
I laugh. “Winter said the same thing.”
“That girl is something else. You two seem solid.”
“We are. She’s been great about keeping me on track. Doesn’t let me get away with shit.” I duck my head and hide a grin.
Quinn chuckles. “You fit.”
We’re quiet for a minute and then he asks, “You got a timeline for getting back on the ice?”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I don’t know. I guess once I’m past the cane stage? I’m not in a rush to get back out there, though.”
“Any particular reason why?”
“First Caroline snaps her tendon, and then Adele almost ends my life. I feel…cursed, maybe?”
He nods. “I get that. I mean, I’m named after my uncle who was beaten to death in front of my dad. I get that they wanted to pay homage or whatever, and it was meant to be a good thing, but a heavy weight comes with it.” He pokes at his pasta. “Accidents happen on the ice all the time. People get hurt. Caroline’s family was a huge part of that problem. If she’d been allowed to have a life outside of figure skating, she might not have been so dependent on you.”
“I feel like what happened with me and Adele is partly my fault because I set so many parameters around our relationship.”
“Have you talked to her yet?” Quinn asks.
I shake my head. “She’s left a couple of voicemails, but I haven’t listened to them.”
“You need closure on this, BJ. Otherwise you’re just spinning worst-case scenarios in your head. You don’t have to do it now, but when you feel like you can handle it, have that conversation so you can move on.”
