Skyler #3
I inhale, waiting for him to continue. Something tells me what he’s about to say is difficult for him, and even though I still feel that little pang of anger deep in my stomach, I try to give him the time he needs to gather the words.
“My dad is sick, Skyler.” He chokes on the words a little, his facade breaking. “He has lung cancer. And he’s not going to live much longer.”
And just like that, there’s no oxygen left in the room.
My chest tightens again, this time from a completely different kind of pain.
I think of my own dad, of what I would do if the same were true for him, and it’s too much to bear.
Tears immediately sting the backs of my eyes, but I hold them back, because this isn’t my time to cry.
This is my time to listen and be there for Kip, even if I’m not sure I can be.
His dad is sick.
And now, suddenly, everything between us seems so small.
“Oh my God, Kip.” I shake my head, reaching out to grab his hand in mine. He flinches at first, but then he takes mine in his and squeezes like it’s the last thing in life he has to hold on to. “I’m so sorry. I’m such a bitch. God, I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head. “No, you’re not. I didn’t tell you. I was going to that night at formal, but you weren’t exactly in the best state.”
He eyes me for a second and I blush, looking down at the table. I made an ass of myself that night and I know it.
“I know this doesn’t change anything between us.
I know I still betrayed you, lied to you, earned your trust when I didn’t deserve it.
I know that,” he says, his voice fading.
“But, I wanted you to understand. I needed you to be able to look at me from across the table tomorrow and know that I’m here for my dad, not because I don’t love you. Because I do. I love you, Skyler.”
He pulls me across the table and our lips meet in the middle, his hands moving to either side of my face. I let him kiss me and I kiss him back, but my heart is still torn. I still don’t know what to believe. I don’t know what was real between us and what was an act.
I’m still broken.
I wish this kiss alone could put me back together, but it can’t.
When he pulls back, he runs the pad of his thumb over my cheek once before dropping his hands.
We both stand there for a moment, and I know this very well could be the last time I stand this close to him.
We’ll be at the tournament together, but there’s no telling if either of us will even make it far enough to sit at the same table together.
And after this, he’ll be gone from Palm South.
From me.
“Is your dad here?”
He hangs his head. “He can’t travel right now. He’s watching from home.”
A pain shoots through my heart and I bite my lips together. “I’m sure he’s proud of you.”
Kip nods, trying to smile but failing. Finally, he looks up at me once more, his diamond blue eyes glimmering in the soft light. “For the record, I hope you win tomorrow.”
I cock my brow and he leans in, kissing my forehead.
“I want to win for my dad, yes,” he says, eyes still on me. “But, more than anything, I want to see you happy. And if that means you kick my ass tomorrow, then so be it.”
My skin stings from where his lips touched my head, and my fingers move to the spot as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a long, slender case. He hands it to me and I know what it is without even opening it.
“Good luck, number four.”
He winks before turning and walking away. I watch as he walks across the room until he disappears behind the doors and I lose sight of him. Then, I grab what was left of his drink and down it, open the case, and try not to show any emotion.
Inside are the same glasses he got me before, though I know he smashed that pair, so this is a new one. On the top left of the left lens, there are four gold dots, just like my freckle tattoo. I swallow hard, closing the case again before sitting back in my chair.
For some reason, I find myself wondering if Kip has a tell.
What is the sign that he’s bluffing? I can always spot it, a person’s giveaway. Always. I can read every single human being I meet.
But not him.
Why? When he tells me he loves me, why do I believe it’s true? Yet, there’s still something warning me that maybe, just maybe, he’s bluffing.
But what could his tell be?
Is it the way he kisses me? The way he runs his hands through my hair? The way his eyes shift from dark blue to sky blue? The way he smiles when I touch him?
What is it that will give me the true answer?
I need another drink.
I head back to my room not too long after that, exhausted from our conversation. My heart and soul ache for him and what he’s going through. I can’t imagine losing either one of my parents, and knowing what a big part his dad played in his life, I know this isn’t easy for him.
As if I’m a glutton for punishment, I pull his oversized black t-shirt from my bag and slip it over my head, taking everything else off. I don’t know why I packed this, why I kept it after all this time, but there’s something about it that brings me comfort.
Wrapping up in the covers of the bed, I pull the shirt to my nose and inhale his scent, closing my eyes as tears start to gather again. I hate crying, and I hate crying over him more than anything else. But, lately, it seems it’s all I can do.
I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to feel.
He told me he loved me tonight and I believe him, I just don’t know what that means.
I understand why he’s in the tournament still, but how do I know what was real between us and what wasn’t?
Does he really love me, or did he just get caught up in his game?
As I drift off to sleep, I think about love.
Love is like the wind, someone once told me, because it’s felt and not seen.
But I think you actually can see it. You see love just the same way that you see the wind — by the way it moves other things.
Love has moved me, it’s changed me, and I can see it more clearly than the sun in the sky. Clearly, love has moved Kip, too.
The question is, will love move us together, or sweep us apart?