Chapter 11
Lennox
I cry for three days straight.
Isla and Ivy stage an intervention on day four.
"Okay, enough," Ivy says, physically removing my laptop. "You're not writing another word until you shower and eat actual food."
"I'm fine—"
"You're not fine. You're devastated and that's okay. But you need to function." Isla hands me a granola bar. "Eat this. Then shower. Then we're talking."
They bully me into self-care, and by the time I'm showered and dressed, I do feel slightly more human.
"Talk," Ivy commands once we're settled in her room with wine. "What happened?"
I explain everything. Carter's father. The ultimatum. Our decision to take a break.
"That's bullshit," Ivy says immediately.
"It's practical—"
"It's bullshit. His father is manipulating him and you're enabling it."
"I'm protecting Maya—"
"Maya is not your responsibility. She's an adult who can make her own choices and from what you've told me, she explicitly said not to let their father use her as leverage.
" Ivy leans forward. "You broke up with Carter, yes, broke up, that's what a 'break' is because you couldn't handle the pressure.
Not because it was the right thing to do. "
Her words hit like a slap.
"That's not—"
"Isn't it? You've been scared of this relationship from the start.
Scared it was too good to be real. Scared you'd get hurt and the moment things got hard, you found an excuse to run.
" Ivy's voice softens. "I get it. I've done it too.
But don't pretend this was about protecting Maya. This was about protecting yourself."
I want to argue, want to defend my choice, but she might be right.
"What should I have done?"
"Stayed. Fought. Figured it out together instead of making unilateral decisions about your relationship." Isla takes my hand. "Look, Carter's father is a manipulative asshole, but the answer isn't giving him what he wants. It's finding a way around him."
"How?"
"I don't know, but Carter was trying to figure that out and you shut him down before he could."
I think about that conversation. The way Carter looked when I suggested a break. The way he said "I love you" like it was the last time he'd get to say it.
"I fucked up."
"Yeah. You did." Ivy refills my wine. "But you can fix it. If you're brave enough."
"What if he doesn't want to fix it? What if he's relieved?"
"Then he's an idiot. But I don't think he is. I think he's as miserable as you are, just better at hiding it."
***
I give it one more day. One more day of misery and second-guessing and wondering if I made the biggest mistake of my life.
Then I text Carter: Can we talk?
His response takes five minutes that feel like hours: Yes. My place?
I'm there in twenty minutes.
He opens the door looking wrecked. Dark circles under his eyes, hair disheveled, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that's inside out.
"You look terrible," I say.
"So do you."
"Fair."
We stand there awkwardly until he steps aside to let me in.
His apartment looks like it hasn't been cleaned in days. Empty coffee cups everywhere, books and papers scattered, that general air of someone who's stopped caring about basic maintenance.
"I've been researching loans," he says without preamble. "Financial aid for Maya's school. Therapy programs that offer sliding scales. I think I can cover most of it if I pick up a TA position and cut my own expenses."
"Carter—"
"I also talked to some teammates whose parents work in mental health.
Got recommendations for community resources if the private therapy becomes unaffordable.
It's not ideal, but it's workable." He's pacing now.
"And I talked to Maya. She's considering public school for senior year.
Hates the idea, but she's willing if it means I can—"
"Stop."
He stops.
"I was wrong," I say. "About the break. About making that decision without really talking it through. About running when things got hard."
"You were trying to protect Maya—"
"I was trying to protect myself. Ivy called me out on it. She's right." I step closer. "I was scared. Of your father, of the intensity of what I feel for you, of how quickly this happened and the moment there was an obstacle, I used it as an excuse to run."
"You had good reasons—"
"I had scared reasons. There's a difference." I take his hand. "I love you and I want to fight for this. Together. Not by running away the moment it gets difficult."
He smiles at me and it’s the first one I’ve seen since I got here. Then he cups my face and we kiss, and it feels like coming home. Like everything that was broken suddenly clicking back into place.
"So what do we do?" I ask when we come up for air. "About your father?"
"We call his bluff. I support Maya with loans and work. We prove we don't need his money or his approval." He rests his forehead against mine. "And we stay together. No breaks. No running. Just us figuring it out."
"Your father isn't going to like that."
"Good. I'm done caring what he likes."
"What about the draft? The scouts who are questioning your judgment?"
"If they don't want me because I have a personal life, then I don't want them. I'm a good player. Someone will see that." He kisses me again. "And if they don't, I'll coach. Or work in sports psychology. Or find some other way to combine hockey and mental health work."
"You've really thought about this."
"I've had four days of hell to think about nothing else." He pulls me toward the bedroom. "Now stop talking and come to bed."
"It's three in the afternoon—"
"I don't care. I haven't slept properly in days and I need you."
We fall into bed together, and it's different from before. Slower. More careful. Like we're both terrified this might be the last time even though we've just agreed it won't be.
"I missed you," he murmurs against my skin.
"It was four days."
"Longest four days of my life."
"Mine too."
We make love slowly, relearning each other, reconnecting in the most fundamental way. And when we both finally come, it's with whispered promises and tangled hands and the certainty that whatever happens next, we'll face it together.
After, wrapped in his sheets and his arms, I ask the question I've been avoiding.
"What if your father makes good on his threat? What if he actually cuts Maya off?"
"Then we deal with it. Together." He kisses my forehead. "But I think he's bluffing. He needs me more than I need him. His reputation is tied to my success. If I succeed despite him, it makes him look bad. If I fail because of his interference, it makes him look worse."
"So you're betting on his ego."
"I'm betting on the fact that he's predictable. He wants control and the best way to take that away is to stop caring whether he approves."
"That's very mature of you."
"I've been reading a lot of psychology texts." He grins. "Turns out understanding toxic family dynamics helps when you're living through one."
We stay in bed until evening, talking and kissing and occasionally dozing. It's domestic and comfortable and exactly what I need after days of misery.
My phone buzzes. Isla: Did you fix it?
Me: Yes. We're good.
Isla: Good. Sebastian and I want to have a couple's dinner. This weekend?
Me: I'll ask Carter.
I show him the text. He smiles.
"Double date with Sebastian Thornhill. Never thought I'd see that day."
"You guys know each other?" I ask him.
"Vaguely. Elite campus circles." He pulls me closer. "But yeah. Tell them yes."
"You're going to like them. They're disgustingly in love."
"Like us?"
"Worse than us."
"Impossible."
He kisses me to prove his point, and I let him, because honestly, he might be right. We might be the most disgustingly in love couple on campus.
And I'm finally okay with that.