Chapter Seven Daphne
“ M aeve!” I call out to her and Jackson, who are on a paddleboat thirty feet out from the dock. “Lunch is ready!”
I grilled burgers and hot dogs for us with homemade potato salad for lunch.
One of the cons—or pros, depending on how you look at it—of celiac disease is that you have to learn how to cook. Because if you don’t, the only things you’ll be eating are bags of chips, packaged food, and raw veggies.
About the only place I feel safe eating out at is Maddio’s Pizza because they take the mention of celiac and allergies seriously, going as far as having separate ingredients stored in other fridges to avoid cross-contamination.
Don’t get me wrong; there have been plenty of days when I said screw cooking and just ate cereal for every meal because I was too lazy to cook. It’s more of a necessity than a passion.
Maeve waves back to me, and they start pedaling this way.
I head inside to dish my food up before they get back so I can avoid any cross-contamination with their definitely not gluten-free buns. I also take a second to package up some of the extras and set them aside so they’re safe for me for later.
Grabbing my loaded-up plate and a Red Bull from the cupboard—room temperature because that’s truly the only way to drink it—I head to the rocking chair out back and stake my claim. I’m sure the two new lovebirds will want the swing to themselves.
Maeve told me they spent the night of the party sitting out here and talking for hours. Eventually, she fell asleep on his shoulder, and he carried her to bed.
Are you kidding me? How cute! And then he slept on the couch downstairs after everyone left since it was so late.
I felt so bad when I woke up. I had slept through the entire thing. Our one party that we were supposed to be hosting together, and I was in a gluten coma the whole time.
It’s not actually a coma, but sometimes, it feels like that. Those naps take me; I don’t take them.
Imagine you’re fighting anesthetic when getting surgery.
You can try and stay awake as long as possible, but you will fail eventually because the drug will take over.
That’s kind of what it feels like, but a little less dramatic.
And when you wake up, you don’t feel rested at all; sometimes, you feel even more exhausted.
Maeve told me not to feel bad though because I let her and Jackson have total privacy. But Maeve isn’t the only reason I feel bad.
She told me Mason stopped by and saved her from that creep. Well, technically, she saved herself, and he came in at the end to take credit, according to her.
And then her new beau knocked him out cold. God, I wish I could have been there to see that. It would have been a moment for the books.
But of course, gluten had to take that away from me.
She told me that Mason stopped by my room, but I don’t remember it at all. That wasn’t because of the brain fog, but because I was passed out.
I wonder if he just walked by and ignored me or if he checked in and saw me sleeping. I know I had a water bottle on my nightstand that certainly hadn’t been there when I fell asleep.
Did he put it there?
I haven’t seen him since the grocery store, which has given my head a chance to clear a bit during our time apart. I swear he has the ability to turn my brain and any logical reasoning into mush.
“Thank you for making lunch.” Jackson looks kindly at me.
Maeve’s smile is uncontrollable as they walk up the porch.
“Of course,” I say back before they disappear inside, taking another mouthful of my burger.
While cooking isn’t my favorite pastime, I take pride in being damn good at it. Probably better than Mason.
“Daphne, was this your dad’s recipe?” Maeve asks, stepping back outside after a couple of minutes.
I nod, feeling a tightness in my chest. He may have never made it for me, but I’m sure he would’ve if he had gotten the chance.
“It’s my favorite. God, I could just eat this.” Jackson moans and groans as he eats, and I can’t help but feel that this is a private experience that I should look away from.
Maeve lifts her eyebrows at me with a dirty smirk, and I roll my eyes and avert my gaze, fighting back a chuckle.
I’m glad she found someone who makes her so happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for her. Now it’s my turn, right? To get my happily ever after. God, I hope so.
After my class leaves for the night, I stay on the ice rather than take my skates off and pack up. I think more clearly on the thin sheet than anywhere else in the world. It’s my second home, where I’m far more relaxed.
Today has been … weird. I’ve felt off .
It’s probably the gluten from this past weekend, if it’s still lingering in my system somehow. You never know. Sometimes, I feel like those symptoms last in me forever.
Maeve and I usually spend every second of the day together, but since she met Jackson in person on Friday, they’ve practically been inseparable, aside from when he’s at practice.
I love that for her—I do—but I also miss our couch snuggles and hangout time.
I glide slowly on my skates, meandering meaninglessly.
“Can’t get off the ice?”
His voice snakes down my spine, and I whip around to see Mason gliding onto the ice, wearing all of his gear, sans his goalie mask, which is held at his side with his glove.
My heart rate picks up, and I stutter back a step. “What are you doing here?”
Keeping my skates in place, I cross my arms and hold my ground. This only earns a smirk from him as he skates out to me.
“I …” He pauses, his mouth closing and opening as he decides what to say. “Honestly? I came here to see you. See how you’re doing.”
I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth. “Doing great, thanks.”
“You look good on the ice.” I feel his eyes on me like a physical caress as they trail longingly down my body. “But you always have.”
Angling my skates, I push away from him as he starts to close in on me. “I know.”
He chuckles and bites down on his bottom lip, smiling. “Some things never change.” He jerks his chin up, gesturing to the open ice behind me. “Show me something, Sunset.”
I raise my eyebrows and drop my jaw. “You want me to do a trick?”
He nods, and my blood ignites with anger.
His question reminds me how little he knows about who I am now and what I can and cannot do anymore.
“I’m not a toy. You can’t just wind me up.” I turn, pushing away from him with strength and vigor.
He catches up to me almost instantly, gliding alongside me, even taller than usual with his skates on. “What? It’s not that hard. It’s just figure skating.”
My eyes shoot daggers into him as my head cranes straight back to meet his humorous stare. He’s saying that just to get under my skin because he knows it’ll work. And annoyingly enough … he’s right.
“Just like how being a goalie is so easy when you’re the size of the entire net. I mean, you practically just have to stand there. Your pads do the rest.”
This earns a genuine smile from him. “Oh, yeah, right! That’s why there are so many goalies in the world compared to other positions.”
I scoff. “Maybe most hockey players just don’t want the laziest job on the team and they want an actual challenge.”
“You have no idea what it’s like to be in my skates, Daph.” He glides closer to me.
I shrug.
His fingers slide along my waist as he swings around to the front of me and blocks my path. “The same could be said about figure skating. You just twirl and jump around the ice.”
I cackle uncontrollably at his audacity. Jabbing my finger into his strong chest, I huff out a breath. “You have no idea how hard it is.”
Bending down and crouching, he matches my eye level. “I could probably do it in my sleep. Unlike hockey, that takes real skill.”
“Yeah? I’d like to see you try to perform one of my old routines,” I sneer.
He smirks, his eyes flicking to my lips for a split second. “With ease. Try having a shutout and making eighty-five saves when your defensemen seem to be playing for the other team.”
“I could do it with my eyes closed. Like that.” I snap my fingers in his face.
He lashes out and grabs my wrist, firm but warm and tender.
“I love it when you flirt with me,” he mutters effortlessly, catching me off guard, his thumb stroking my wrist back and forth.
God, I can’t breathe when he’s this close to me. I can’t think. I need space .
My glare returns as I flatten my hand against his chest and push away from him, heading to the bench. “It wasn’t flirting, Mason. Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Oh, stop fighting it. You know you like me.” He skates after me.
I wish I had something to throw at him right now. “I don’t actually. I prefer to use words like despise , loathe , hate .”
I reach the board, and he cages me in, his hands on either side of me. Turning around in the small space between us, I look up at him and try to even my breathing, not letting him know how much he’s affecting me right now.
“ Funny .” He cocks his head to the side. “I know you, Daph. I’ve known you for a majority of my life. Come on, just talk to me. For real this time. No bickering or jokes.”
“I’m always real. And honest. And communicative .” I huff out a heavy breath. “ You’re the one who’s not. You’re the one who disappeared and went on with your life without a word to me about what happened between us.”
My eyes well with tears, and frustration overtakes me. I hate that I’m crying in front of him right now, hating that he’s seeing my vulnerability. I push that sensation as deep as it will go, and my eyes dry out with a few quick blinks.
But the words continue to flow from me uncontrollably.
“You were off, living your college life, playing hockey, and living out your perfect dreams. But me?” I pause, sucking in a sharp gasp.
“I was shattered, in more ways than one.” I hesitate, catching my breath at the unintentional double meaning.
“So, stop pretending like you know anything about me. We haven’t had a real conversation in four fucking years. You need a reality check.”
“Daph …” His voice is pained. “I’m sorry. I’m so sor?—”
“I don’t want your apologies. I want you to leave me the hell alone. If you knew anything about my life now, you’d know I’d give anything to skate freely without pain or fear. Yet you asked me to do a trick for you as if that wasn’t the one thing in this world I want for myself.
“You …” My head shakes side to side ever so slightly as I gather myself before continuing, “ You have no idea what it’s like to be in my skates.”
“You’re right. I have no idea what it’s like to be in your skates,” he mutters, almost in time with me, somehow and someway, as if in that moment, our minds are connected through a single tether.
We hold each other’s eyes, neither of us budging from our stubborn ground.
For a brief moment, I want to pretend that this isn’t our fate. That we didn’t ever split apart. We aren’t standing in an empty rink, facing off as foes. That maybe we’re still soulmates and deeply in love.
Part of me wants to accept a simple apology and see if maybe we could work, but the other part of me—the part my mom raised, to not take anyone’s shit and to know my worth—understands that words can be empty and actions are what matter the most.
This isn’t some imaginary fantasy or one of my movies. The reality is, we aren’t meant to be. We aren’t in love. We aren’t anything.
He remains quiet, letting me make the next move. But my thoughts are all over the place as I contemplate what to say and do.
And then something happens.
In the depths of Mason’s pupils, there’s a glimmer, a burst of light, like a star falling across a dark sky. Something unnatural and freaky .
My voice is a breathy whisper. “What the …”
My hair blows back from my face, falling down my back from a gust of wind that shouldn’t exist in this enclosed room.
The same happens to Mason. A whoosh of air lifts strands of his hair off his forehead. He glides backward from the mere force as I’m pushed against the board.
Our eyes lock, unshielded and raw, as the world seems to tilt on its axis around us.
A moment later, it’s gone, as if we imagined it altogether, and we’re left staring into each other’s eyes with confusion and shock at what just happened.
Taking a moment to catch my breath, I drag my hand down my face as a shiver works its way down my back.
Regardless of whatever the hell just happened, it was a grounding moment that I desperately needed because Mason had me levitating off the ground, being this close to him, my head cloudy and heart racing.
He wants to flirt and talk and pretend that this would ever work. As if he’s not going to play pro hockey after this year, all the way on the other side of the country. I’m not setting myself up just to get hurt all over again. I don’t think I could bear it a second time.
Protecting myself with an emotional wall, I straighten my spine and open the board.
“Thanks for checking on me. But next time, please don’t.
And stop toying with me, Mason. It’s exhausting.
This isn’t going to work— ever .” I gesture back and forth between us.
“You’re going pro in months, moving away again .
I’m not repeating history just for the fun of it. ”
He opens his mouth to say something, yearning and longing in his gaze, but I stop him with my hand in the space between us.
“Just don’t , okay? Not tonight. I’m exhausted. I’m going home, and that’s that.” I turn and skate away from him, leaving him at center ice. “Good night, Mason.”
I can feel his eyes on me as I step off the ice and quickly change shoes, getting out of the building as fast as possible.
Locked-up emotions I thought I had moved on from resurface, and the pain in my chest tears me apart all over again.
My eyes burn as I unlock my Jeep and hop inside, not hesitating to peel out of the parking lot.
“Dammit,” I mutter to myself as tears trail down my cheeks. “ I’m over him. I’m over him. I don’t care about him anymore .”
After tonight, I’m done— officially done —with Mason Holt.
I turn up the radio and scream-sing the song that comes on, pouring all of my frustration and built-up tension into my performance on the short drive home. Thankfully, Maeve is home alone when I arrive, and she greets me when I come in the front door.
“Hey, I was wondering what took you so long.” She notices the redness I’m sure is all over my face and my teary eyes. “Oh my God. What’s wrong?”
I sigh obnoxiously loud and stomp into the living room, dropping to the couch beside her. “Mason.”
Her jaw clenches, and she throws her arms around me, pulling me into a tight side hug. “I’ll kill him. I swear to God, I’ll kill him.”
I chuckle at her immediate shift to murder. “It’s okay. I think we came to an understanding to keep a bit of distance from one another.”
She studies me carefully. “And that’s what you want?”
“Yeah.” I kick my shoes off and hear them fall to the floor. “That’s what I want.”
Right?