Chapter 53 – Waylon
chapter
fifty-three
Waylon
I was not supposed to be on the ice at the ass crack of dawn.
There was no early-ice block scheduled. Coach Patton had given us Friday off before the road trip. But my keycard still worked, and when my head wouldn’t shut up, I skated until it did.
There were no drills and no structure. I just worked the same edges from one end to the other until my legs burned.
I’d left the athletic director’s office as soon as Josie finished her statement.
Marcus was on his way up, and I couldn’t sit there while he lied his way through it without putting my fist through something and proving every story he’d fed the scouts.
So I left Aaron with Josie and got out before Marcus arrived.
I never told her I left because of Marcus, not her.
It had been three days since the school issued a no-contact order and suspended Marcus pending the Title IX investigation.
Longer since Josie had ended things. Every day since looked the same.
I ran the trail alone in the dark, went to practice, and came back to a cottage that felt empty without her.
Trace had stopped checking on me every night because I’d told him to stop. He’d said okay and kept doing it anyway, just in the mornings now, which was Trace.
The door at the far end of the corridor opened.
My head came up. I’d been half listening for that door all morning. I pulled up at center ice and turned. Josie stood at the edge of the ice, just past the open gate to the visitors’ tunnel, wearing a dark coat and running shoes.
I made myself stay where I was. I didn’t know why she’d come, and I told myself I wasn’t going to skate over there just to hear another apology and watch her leave.
Then she said my name, quiet, barely carrying over the ice, and I went anyway. I crossed to her slowly, stopping a few feet away.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey yourself.”
She was in jeans and a coat she hadn’t bothered to button, cheeks pink from the cold, hair pulled back the way she did when she was bracing for something. Her footing was already going.
She’d come here to find me.
“I ended it,” she said. “I made the choice.”
“Yeah,” I said. “You did.”
I could see her swallow hard. “I was wrong,” she said.
“I let Marcus convince me I was the problem. That being with me would cost you your draft, your family, everything. So I left because I thought it was the only way to keep you safe.” She drew a breath.
“But he was lying. He took my scholarship, and then he spent three years telling me it was my fault. I let him do the same thing to us. I’m not letting him do it again. ”
She still thought there was an us.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me because I showed up. I know you’re angry. Marcus got in my head, but I’m the one who walked away. That was me.” She didn’t look away. “But I’m here. And I’m not doing it again.”
She’d come to find me in shoes she could barely stand up in.
Neither of us spoke. The compressors hummed under the ice. I wanted to close the distance. I stayed where I was.
“You left me,” I said.
She lifted her chin. “I know.”
“Marcus wasn’t there when you did it. You decided I couldn’t handle what came next. Or you couldn’t. I don’t need protecting, Josie. I’ve spent my whole life protecting everyone else. I needed you to trust me to handle my own shit. I thought you did.”
Her mouth opened.
“I need a partner who stays,” I said. “Not one who bolts the second it gets heavy and calls it a favor.”
Her jaw tightened. I wanted to close the six feet between us and take it back, but I meant every word. That was bullshit, and I knew it.
Her eyes filled. She looked down and tried to pull herself together, but it didn’t work.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t know what else to do, okay? I thought if I left, the bad stuff would go with me. You’d get your draft back. Mom would be safe. I know that’s not how it works. I know that now. But I was trying to fix it, and I broke the one thing I actually—”
She stopped herself, pressed her lips together, and shook her head hard.
“It doesn’t matter. You don’t have to do anything with this. I just—there’s one thing I never said, and I’m not leaving here without saying it.”
I couldn’t move.
“I love you.” Her eyes were wet, and she didn’t wipe them.
“I think I’ve loved you since the day I ran into you.
Literally. I was in the worst mood of my life, and I still couldn’t stop thinking about you.
” She gave a shaky laugh. “Then there were the runs and the voice notes and your stupid doctor bobblehead. It was you, Waylon. I was too scared to say it because once I did, I could lose you. Then I lost you anyway.” She took a breath.
“I don’t expect you to say it back. I just needed you to know. ”
Before I could answer, she turned and left.
For one stupid second, I let her.
She couldn’t storm off in running shoes. She shuffled to the boards with one hand out for balance, then worked her way along the dasher toward the tunnel.
I stood there like an idiot. Then I hit the bench in three strides and tore at my laces.
Come on. My fingers were stiff with cold, and of course the left skate was double-knotted.
The knot pulled tighter. I swore, shoved the boot off without untying it, then did the same with the right.
My socks hit the wet rubber, and I didn’t care.
I ran out the tunnel and down the corridor in wet socks and hit the crash bar on the side doors with my shoulder.
The cold hit me the second I cleared them.
The lot was empty and gray, frost on every windshield. Josie was halfway across it with her arms wrapped around herself, shoulders shaking.
“Josie?”
She spun around, eyes wide.
I crossed the asphalt in six strides, got my arms around her, and held on. She made a sound into the center of my chest, and her hands fisted in my shirt.
“Sorry that took me a second,” I said into her hair. “Had to get my damn skates off.”
She went still, then leaned back far enough to look down at my feet, standing on the frozen asphalt in nothing but a pair of soaked-through hockey socks.
Her mouth opened, then shut. “Waylon. It’s November. You’re not wearing shoes.”
“Yeah. I’m aware.” I pulled her back in. “Wasn’t about to lose the race stopping to find my Crocs.”
She laughed, even though she was still crying.
“You’re going to get frostbite,” she said into my shirt.
“I don’t give a fuck about the cold.” I tipped her chin up with two knuckles. Her lashes were wet and her nose was pink. “I’ll lose a toe. I have nine more. I’m a forward, not a ballerina.”
“That’s not how toes work—”
“Listen to me.” I held her face in both hands. “You don’t get to tell me you love me and leave before I can answer. You came all the way here. So stay and let me say it back.”
She stared at me.
“I love you,” I said. “I’ve been miserable since you left. I miss you in my bed. I miss you on the trail. I miss those ridiculous voice notes. I knew I wanted you the morning you smoked me on the trail and I called you Flash before I even knew your last name.”
“Waylon—”
“I’m not finished. You ran the wrong direction once. I’m not giving you another head start.” I pressed my forehead to hers. “I want you back, Flash. You know that, right?”
She nodded fast, both hands still fisted in my shirt.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “I know that.”
She took my hand and pulled me toward the doors. We made it back inside together, her laughing and me swearing every time my socks hit the frozen asphalt.