Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
NEVER SLEEPS
LOLA
It’s possible to love a city and still feel like it’s chewing me up.
That’s New York. I lost all tenacity when Daniel pushed me out of Tully’s life.
I rolled over and let him win. But some days, when I have a full day of clients and I do a piece that lights someone up, I feel like maybe my scrappiness is still in there somewhere.
Those moments are fleeting, though.
Most days, I don’t know how I’m putting one foot in front of the other.
I miss Tully. A hollowness lives in me now that I can’t imagine ever going away.
I’ve kept my promise to Daniel and stayed away, but it takes constant work to do so. He’s been quiet for the most part, only following up once after I got to New York to let me know he knew where I was and he wasn’t going to let me forget that he was still keeping an eye on me.
But last week I saw that the Minnesota Fierce are playing at Madison Square Garden tonight, which I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.
I told myself I wouldn’t go. I repeated it like a mantra while I locked up, while I rode the train, and I paused only long enough to buy the cheapest ticket from a scalper.
Stepping into the arena is like walking into a different life. The air’s thick with the smell of hot dogs, spilled beer, and that electric buzz only twenty thousand screaming people can make. I shouldn’t be here. I know this. But I just could not stay away. Not when he’s right here in my backyard.
No one will know. I just need one more look, and then I’ll go back to the shadows, where I belong.
The lights dim. The anthem ends. The crowd roars when the teams hit the ice, and there he is—skating out third in line, his helmet low.
He’s changed. His hair is longer and he’s broader across the shoulders, and on the screen, his jaw looks sharper under the cage, but the way he glides, effortless, like a wolf on the prowl, is still the same.
Is he the same Tully who used to chase me around the kitchen, pretending to check me into the fridge?
I’ll never know. My throat closes. I grip the railing until my knuckles ache.
The puck drops.
For the whole first period, he’s relentless. New York fans boo him; Fierce fans scattered in the stands chant his name. I don’t say a word. I just watch, my heart slamming so hard I can barely breathe.
During the second period, he scores. The red goal light pulses.
The horn blares. His linemates crash into him, gloves pounding his helmet.
He pulls back and grins wide—that big, unguarded smile that used to make me feel like the only person in the room.
The Garden half-hates him, half-loves the show.
I can’t stop crying, and I’m furious at myself…
for the tears? For my weakness? That I gave him up?
Or that his happiness makes the last year almost feel like it was worth it.
He’s happy. He plays better than I’ve ever seen him play.
I realize with a sick twist that Daniel was right about more than I wanted to admit.
Tully didn’t need me. He needed this: the game, the team, the city lights reflecting off his visor, nothing standing in his way. He’s soaring without me. As he should.
During the third period, he seals the win 5–3 for the Fierce. The away bench erupts. Tully skates the length of the ice, arms raised, soaking in the mix of cheers and boos like it’s all applause before disappearing down the tunnel.
I stay until the Zamboni rolls out and the ushers start sweeping. With no hope of catching a glimpse of him, my body just feels too weighted to move. I sit in the emptying section, my hood up, and let the cold seep in.
He’s okay. Better than okay. He’s everything he was always supposed to be.
And that will have to be enough for me.
The next morning, I’m unlocking the shop’s back door when I see him. Daniel’s leaning against the brick wall like he’s been waiting hours, arms crossed, his coat open despite the October bite. He has the same cold eyes and a little less hair.
I freeze with the key halfway turned.
“What are you doing here?” My voice comes out smaller than I want.
“Funny. I was about to ask you the same question.” He pushes off the wall and steps closer. “You think you can go to a game and I won’t find out about it?”
My mouth drops. “You’re watching me? I don’t…how did you know? It was one night. I didn’t talk to him.”
“I told you to stay away from him for good.” His tone is flat and final.
“Why do you even care anymore?” The words spill out before I can stop them. “I did what you asked. I disappeared. I’m out of his life, Daniel. What’s one fucking game?”
He grins, and it’s chilling. “Because you don’t get to change the rules. I told you to stay gone. That doesn’t mean showing up at his games whenever you feel like it.”
I laugh, but it’s brittle and hurts my throat. “But why? I don’t understand what the problem would be now.” My voice cracks on the next part. “I lost the baby. I’m not a threat to his career.”
The words hang there between us, ugly and naked. My eyes burn. I blink hard, but the tears come anyway—tears I swore I’d never let him see. I turn my face away, press the heel of my hand to my mouth, like that’ll stop the sob trying to climb out.
Daniel just watches me unravel, looking dead inside.
“Tully is better off without you,” he says.
Like he’s stating the obvious.
I want to scream that he’s wrong, but the words won’t come.
Because standing here, crying in an alley behind a tattoo shop, with Daniel looking at me like I’m exactly the liability he always said I was…I can’t help but believe he’s right.
I wipe my face with my sleeve, turn the key the rest of the way, and push the door open. The cheerful bell jingling inside is a direct contrast to reality.
“You keep pushing this, I’ll get creative, Lola. Don’t test me.”
“What do you mean?”
“You think I don’t have your parents’ house mapped out? Isla’s apartment in Nantucket? Luca’s place in Boston?”
My blood runs cold. “You stay away from them. Why are you doing this?”
“I’m protecting my investments,” he says. “You think I’m scary?” He does a stupid low voice and laughs. “Lola, this has been me playing nice this whole time. Don’t push me.”
I’m trembling and turn to get away from him.
“Stay away from Tully,” Daniel says to my back. Not a request.
I don’t answer. I just step inside and let the door swing shut behind me. I drop my bag on the counter, brace my hands on the edge, and breathe until the shaking stops.
Tully’s better off without me.
Within a month, the rent becomes too high, and I have to start over. Again.
Maybe if I reinvent myself enough times, I’ll land on a life that sticks.