Chapter 34 Connor
CONNOR
Cateline tents her head in her hands. “I just need to think. How can I fix this? What am I going to do?” The questions seem less aimed toward me and more like she’s seeking solitary answers.
My thoughts repeatedly lead me to dark places. For once, I want to talk. “Was everything that happened these last four weeks part of the program? Part of my lessons, because if so, what did I do wrong? I thought that we—” My body weighs as much as granite under a riverbed.
“It’s like we’ve been running a race. Only, I’ve been running from myself. I’ve hardly had a moment to catch my breath after getting swept up in all of this,” she gestures between us, “and after the stay at the hospital.”
The stone in my chest cracks and splinters. This is the end. This is what it feels like to lose. We remain in the car, if for no other reason than we don’t have to face anyone else.
The garden lights remain on and the damp night air makes everything sparkly, full of potential, rather than the mess it’s become.
In another life, Cateline may have been my princess—my polite, strong-willed, ballerina princess with a kick-butt ability to prank, and an inner strength and endurance that rivals my own. We’re a perfect match.
She didn’t choose someone else. She’s chosen something else, her career. I think about the team and the game, knowing that when I return to the field, I won’t be the same.
Cateline’s voice comes to me as though from far away.
“When I was a little girl, I would sit by the window in my room, listening to the tinkling water in the river. I’d gaze up at the stars, wondering what else was out there.
Wishing to find a way out. When I was in my old bedroom earlier, I found a letter. ” She waves it in the air.
It’s probably a love letter from Gaston, expressing his true love—words I hadn’t been able to find quickly enough. Good thing, too, because I would’ve just embarrassed myself.
“I wrote it from my past self to my future self. A letter written so that if I ever returned, I would remember why I’d left.”
“Clever.” My voice is flatter than I mean. I can’t stay mad at Cat, but this does nothing to help me stitch up my heart. My entire body is heavy, dull, and completely emptied of everything except for disappointment.
“When I arrived in London, I had nothing except a different letter, acknowledging my enrollment in university. Then, when I graduated, I went to Concordia. After years of barely getting by as I made my way through my studies, I had next to nothing. Less than I’d left France with.
I’d sold everything but my ballet slippers, tights, leotard, and tutu.
I knew if I failed, I’d have something to turn back to.
” She gazes straight ahead through the windshield, hardly blinking, as though looking at her past and future simultaneously.
That’s it. She’s returning to her old life and there’s no room for me in it. Can I blame her? How many women had wanted more from me and I ghosted, not even bothering to return calls or messages?
Cat’s voice floats back. “I was alone and scared. I didn’t know what was next. I feel the same way now. If I hadn’t gotten the degree and the job at Blancbourg, what would that have meant for my future?”
Another car pulls out of the driveway, illuminating her face. Tears fill her eyes.
My reflection in the rearview mirror reveals a deep cleft between my brows.
“Connor, when we first met, seeing you, I saw parts of my past. Yet you’re this big, strong man. A specimen of physical conditioning, determination, aspiration...”
“You’re not a man, Cat.” I joke softly, hoping to at least get her to crack a smile to break this tension.
She shakes her head. “You don’t understand my meaning.
I was the same as you once. Seeking perfection, but in the form of ballet instead of football.
But like me, you’re after it for the wrong reasons and that is your weakness.
I stepped away from ballet and gave myself space.
During that time, I received clarity.” The thoughts she conveys into words have an abstract quality, like they’re freshly formed, or she’s having a hard time translating them from French.
“Are you suggesting I quit football? No way. That’s out of the question.”
“Don’t be silly. Remember, I asked you why you want to win?
Just before I stopped dancing, I realized that my mother wanted me to win because she was afraid of losing.
Even then, I knew that was the wrong approach.
So I stopped dancing altogether. But now I understand.
Dancing is in my heart just as football is in yours.
I want to dance without the idea that there is a win or a lose—a finite amount of possibility of success. Do you get what I mean?”
I don’t hear anything other than a slow goodbye.
She continues, “I want to dance, knowing now that there is no winning or losing, and success can look like and mean whatever I want it to. I don’t have to associate dance with my parents’ vision for my future.” She lets out a long breath. “So, I ask you again, Connor. Why do you want to win?”
My eyebrows dip and my lips twist. “Is it because you think I don’t want to lose?” Right now, I don’t have a better answer.
Her expression is frozen, impassive. I hear an imaginary game show buzzer, Bzzzt!
I sense Cat slipping away. Maybe she wants to dance in an infinite reality, or whatever it is she’s saying, but our time together is finite—coming to an end before my eyes. I know it. She all but said it.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, trying again, hoping that she’ll accept me not knowing why I want to win. Her beauty and the fact that I’m losing her right now erase all other thoughts from my mind.
She leans forward and lands the softest kiss on my lips.
I shiver because it has the end written all over it.
She opens the door partway, about to exit my life. My chest clenches.
“For the next twenty-four hours, you are still my student.”
“And I’m going to pass the program and show you that you were wrong about your not love list.”
The corners of her lips tease a smile. “No, Connor. Before we can love each other, you have to do a little more growing up.”
“Does that mean we’re splitting up?” I ask.
She stares out the windshield, leaving me feeling empty and alone. The lone wolf. A howl builds inside as I remember who I am and why I don’t date.
Horrible lies pour out of my mouth. “Yeah, well, I guess this is for the best.”
There’s more I want to say, namely the truth, to reveal my feelings for her, but they get stuck in my mouth.
Until Cat, I’d never experienced love and as soon as I let my guard down, she saw that beneath all my brawn, I’m just a boy, just like my father and brother always said.
It’s no surprise Cateline wouldn’t want a guy like me.
“I’m sorry for everything that happened here. I should go.” I thought I’d done the right thing, but I’d come on too strong, too fast. The question I posed to her parents probably scared her.
“Thank you for saying that. Thank you for everything. I think we both need to take some time. Sort out our priorities.” She smooths her hair and exits the car.
I can read between the lines. It’s over. We’re breaking up, if we’d ever truly been together in the first place.
I’ve taken serious poundings on the field, been tackled and concussed, but never has my chest ached so much. However, I’m a Boston Bruiser. It isn’t over until I’ve won. I can’t yet answer Cat’s question about why I want to win, but I have a question of my own for her.
Before I shout it into the night, the door to her house closes.