Chapter 52
FIFTY-TWO
CONNOR
That’s how we end up on the front steps of Coach Reid’s house halfway across town. I’m pretty sure he thought about taking our skates to our throats for disturbing him on a Sunday, but when Luke started laying the story out for him, he finally invited us through to his kitchen.
Two cups of coffee later, I’m practically bouncing off his couch, my knee bopping a million miles an hour to try to keep the rest of me still. Aiden keeps glaring my way, like he’s about to tear the limb off.
“It’s not my decision to make,” Coach starts after the story is all out there.
He’s been quiet the entire time, letting me speak. And once I was done, the guys took over, each of them recounting all of the games and training sessions they’ve attended with me. Detailing the progress they’ve seen in the kids over the last year and a half.
At some point Luke all but promised that the team would give Coach the perfect opportunity to mold future star players on home ground.
I’m not sure how I feel about putting that much pressure on the kids—it’s still just fun to them now, and I want it to stay that way for as long as possible—but if it means the difference between ice time and no ice time then I’ll gladly take it.
“I’ll need to pitch it to the board, but if you’re really sure about this I’ll back you all the way, son. ”
The lump in my throat doubles in size. “I am. Thank you, sir.”
“I’ll call it in.” He nods. “Don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t,” I promise.
“Good,” he grumbles. Then he turns his full glare on Luke. “If you ever drag half the team to my front step again on a Sunday, I’ll guarantee you that captain band will be ripped straight off your arm.”
Luke takes it in strides, not breaking his stare once when he says, “Won’t happen, Coach.”
Then we’re backing out of there, running with our tails between our legs before Coach can decide to rescind his offer.
“Did that just happen?” I ask, blinking wildly at my teammates once we’re all huddled together on the pavement.
“I think it did.”
“We’re celebrating,” Ollie declares, swooping an arm around my shoulder and tugging me toward Luke’s car. “And after that, we’re planning the biggest end of season bash this town has ever seen. Starting with a proper sendoff to the old rink.”
I only manage to get out of Ollie’s attempt to get me to go out with them, because I promise him that we’ll celebrate later on. Then I make a sorry excuse of needing to pick something up from the arena before bolting out of there.
The truth is, I don’t feel like being around anyone right now.
I feel like my life has been upended a dozen different ways since the semester started, and now that it’s coming to a close, I’m struggling to make out all the pieces of it.
The only constant I’ve ever had in my life was skating, so I head for the rink to put in some ice time on my own.
I make a quick coffee stop at The Independent on the way.
The small café is quiet at this time on a Sunday, most students opting to spend the day at home after a long week on campus. I’m relieved to find it mostly empty—less risk of running into anyone I know and being forced to make small talk.
I lean against the counter while I wait for my order. Squeezing my eyes shut, I rub at my temples, trying to ease some of the throbbing headache that’s been nonstop all morning. I barely manage a smile at the barista when she slides a steaming takeaway cup my way.
I offer her a small thanks, then turn for the door. I’m distracted by my own thoughts, when I almost collide with someone. Looking down, a flash of blonde hair hits me like a ray of sunshine, and I inhale so sharply I feel it sting in my chest.
“Connor,” she gasps, sounding just as surprised to see me here as I am her. Fuck, seeing her feels like the first beam of sunlight after a long winter, and it’s only been a week. It’s going to suck when she leaves. “You’re here.”
“I am. Caffeine run,” I tell her, holding the little takeaway cup up like she doesn’t know we’re standing in a fucking coffee shop.
Smooth.
I feel like the world’s biggest loser. It was never this difficult before, but there’s something about laying your heart out on the line and getting it shut down that makes your hands a little clammy in front of your dream girl.
I clear my throat and divert my eyes from hers because it physically hurts to look at her when I can’t touch her.
I spot the table behind her, her laptop open and her purple notebook abandoned besides it.
It’s the same book I’ve watched her scribble countless notes into over the last few months. “How’s the book going?”
She softens at my question. I wonder how many people in her life actually care about the things she does. How many people actually care enough to ask her about her stories, without criticism or mockery.
“Slow. My deadline is next week.”
“Are you going to make it?”
“I hope so,” she says, visibly softening. “Are you okay? I heard the council made their final decision.”
“Not really.” I sigh, hoping she hears the double meaning in there. That it’s not just the rink closing that has me feeling like I’ve been run over twice and stitched back together. “I had to tell the kids today.”
“I’m so sorry.” She reaches for me, her warm hand coming to rest on my arm in a sign of comfort, and it’s like a live wire straight through my blood stream. I would give anything to hug her right now. “Is there anything I can do?”
I shake my head and clear my throat, trying to rid myself of the built-up emotion. “Not really. The team is putting on a final game fundraiser next Sunday.”
“That’s good. Are you staying?” She asks, eyeing the cup in my hand.
“No. I have some stuff I need to do.” My finger taps against the plastic lid to release some of the nervous energy coursing through me.
“I know you’re mad at me but—” she starts, and my tapping stops. How could she ever think I would be mad at her?
“I’m not mad at you.”
“You’re not?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think I ever could be.”
“But you haven’t been home? Vanessa told me you’ve been staying at the guys’ place.”
“I thought I would give you some space.”
“Oh,” she says, her brows pulling together the way they always do when she’s trying to figure out a particularly difficult scene. “Thank you.”
She really shouldn’t be thanking me for that, not when it’s a struggle every day to stay away. Not when it’s still a struggle for me not to pull her closer.
I nod, because it’s the only thing I can do that won’t send me to my knees begging for her to give me a chance.
“Sorry, you were leaving. I didn’t mean to keep you.
” She steps aside so I have a clear line for the door, but instead of heading for it I take one step closer to her, needing her to hear me at least once before I let her go.
She tips her head back as I get closer, her bottom lip pulling between her teeth.
I can’t help myself from reaching up to tuck that lone tendril of hair behind her and my thumb lingers on the soft skin on her cheek. Her head tilts slightly at the touch, and I pretend she’s leaning into me, because it feels too good to wreck the dream just yet.
“I want to make one thing very clear, Tulip; just because I’m giving you space, does not mean I’m giving you up.
Because I’m not.” When she doesn’t pull away, I dip my head, until my forehead is leaning against hers.
“So have your space, and when you’re ready I’ll be right here, pining for you the way I have been for months now.
I already told you I’m all in. The ball’s in your court now. Are you in or are you out?”
I don’t give her a second to respond before I pull myself away from her and head for the door. It takes everything in me not to glance back over my shoulder. I only manage because I’m too scared of what I’ll see if I do.