Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Oliver
“You coming for another go?”
Henry passes me by, headed for the ski lift, big grin splitting his weathered face. His cheeks are ruddy from the cold and exertion, his breath coming out in white puffs.
I wince and grasp my bad wrist, pain shooting all the way to my shoulder.
The joint feels like someone’s driving a nail through the bone.
It hasn’t been this bad in months, and it’s hard to even speak, let alone ski.
Each breath I take seems to make the throbbing worse, the cold air doing nothing to numb the fire radiating up my arm.
Not that any of that matters. If I don’t keep up with Devin’s family, they’ll think I don’t care enough, and that’s the whole point of me being here: to show I care. To prove I’m not the same guy who walked away from her five years ago.
“Be right there,” I tell Henry, but when I turn around, Devin is frowning at me. Those brown eyes see right through my bullshit.
“I’m good,” I tell her before she has a chance to say anything.
We catch a lift, and the other four are waiting at the top.
The ride up gives me no relief—my wrist throbs, protesting the way it’s being forced to grip the ski pole.
My fingers feel stiff and swollen inside my glove.
The journey down the slope makes it even worse, every small adjustment of my hand sending fresh waves of agony through my arm.
At the bottom, I can’t even hold the pole any longer.
It falls out of my hand and into the snow with a soft thud.
Even though I haven’t so much as mentioned my wrist since arriving at the resort, Jemma shoots me a look of thinly veiled annoyance.
Her mouth presses into a thin line, and she exchanges a glance with her mother.
It’s only a half-step up from the total silence she and her mom gave me over dinner last night, where they spoke to everyone at the table except me.
At least Devin’s dads are being friendly.
They were wary at first and gave me a complete interrogation in the grocery store on our first day here, but after I explained my past fuck-ups to them and how my life has changed since my accident, they softened.
Henry even wiped away a tear when I told them that Devin has always been the only woman for me.
Vera and Jemma? They’re a whole other story. It could be they never end up liking me, but if that’s the case, I don’t want it to be for lack of my trying.
On the walk back to our room, I keep my teeth gritted against the pain.
The ski boots feel like torture devices, and I’m carrying my poles, my skis, and the small backpack we brought with us.
I would hold my wrist with my other hand if I didn’t have so much to carry.
Instead, I try to keep it as still as possible, tucked close to my body.
Seeking the relief only heat can give, I carefully peel off my clothes and turn on a shower. My fingers fumble with the buttons on my thermal shirt.
Devin gasps when she sees my wrist. The skin is angry and red, swollen to nearly twice its normal size.
“How does it feel?” Her fingers hover above the swollen and red skin, not quite touching.
“Uh, not good.” I step into the shower spray, hoping the heat will penetrate deep enough to make a difference, but despite already being undressed, she doesn’t follow.
“We can skip dinner in the restaurant tonight,” she says through the steam. “And eat in here.”
“No.” It comes out harsher than I meant it to, echoing off the tile. “Sorry… The shower will help.”
The shower doesn’t help, though. The heat feels good on my muscles but does nothing for the deep ache in my wrist. Neither does the massage Devin gives afterward, her gentle fingers working carefully around the swollen joint.
She’s quiet while she does it, and I can feel the weight of her concern pressing down on both of us.
Lying on the couch and resting it on a pillow would be best, elevating it and giving it the rest it desperately needs, but Jemma and Vera will think that I’m coming up with an excuse to not see them.
They’ll see it as proof that I’m still the same selfish guy who couldn’t be bothered to show up for Devin when she needed me.
Popping an ibuprofen from the bottle in my toiletry bag, I get dressed and we head out.
Devin’s quiet as we walk through the resort to the restaurant overlooking the woods, the silence between us heavy with us both knowing that I’m pushing myself harder than I probably should.
Her hand brushes against mine once, then pulls away.
The payoff is worth it, though—and isn’t this what she wanted?
For me to come here and prove myself to her family?
Everyone else is already at dinner when we arrive, seated at a large table near the windows, a reminder that my wrist has made me and Devin ten minutes late.
Vera glances at her watch. We take our seats, a smile stretched across my face despite the pain radiating up my arm.
I should have taken two ibuprofens instead of one. What was I thinking?
It’s an old habit, taking as little painkillers as possible.
My parents always said that real athletes pushed through pain, that medication was for the weak.
It’s still hard to shake the tendencies I inherited from them, those voices in my head that sound like my father’s disapproval.
Even without meaning to, I do things the way I was always taught to.
“…next game?” Henry is asking. Too late, I realize he’s talking to me, that everyone at the table has turned to look at me expectantly.
“Oh. Uh. Sorry. What was that?”
“When’s your next game?” He asks, his tone patient but curious.
“Oh. It’s, uh…” The pain scrambles my brain. I can’t remember if it’s Friday or Saturday. Can’t remember who we’re even playing.
Under the table, Devin touches my leg, her hand warm and steady on my thigh. “Oliver’s injured wrist is acting up today. It’s pretty painful sometimes.”
Jemma laughs, sharp and cutting, and I brace myself before she speaks, knowing that if it’s coming from her lips, it won’t be good. “Devin’s right. You’ve changed. You used to be such a tough guy. Didn’t you once play with a sprained ankle? What’s different?”
The implication is clear: I’m making excuses. Being dramatic. Proving that I’m not the man Devin needs.
“It’s a shattered wrist,” Devin says quietly, her voice controlled but tight. “It can cause pain for years later.”
Jemma raises her eyebrows—okay, whatever—and pointedly picks up her menu, dismissing both of us.
That’s all it takes for me. I didn’t even realize I’ve been simmering all day, the pain and frustration building with each run down the slope, and now I’m at boiling point, ready to bubble out of the pot and scorch everyone around me.
The pain has pushed me to a dangerous edge, every nerve in my body screaming, this last remark from Jemma tipping me right over into the abyss.
I don’t want to explode at Devin’s family, but if I sit here any longer, I won’t have a choice. I’ll say something I can’t take back.
While I still have some self-control left, I push my chair back and stand. The legs scrape against the floor. “Excuse me.”
I thought I could do this, but I can’t. This trip was a waste of time.
A waste of Devin’s hope and my effort. Devin’s family will never accept me; it doesn’t matter how much I change.
They know the truth that Devin and I have been skirting around since the beginning, the truth I’ve been trying to outrun.
I’m not good enough for her.
“Oliver.” Devin’s voice breaks through the haze, but I’m already halfway across the dining room. The faces around me blur, other diners turning to watch the drama unfold, the throb in my wrist matching the one in my heart.
I never should have come here. Never should have pursued Devin again in the first place. Now that I’ve had a taste of what we could be, the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not watching, the warmth of her hand in mine, it’ll haunt me for the rest of my life.
“Oliver! Wait!” Devin catches up to me in the hallway outside the restaurant, and I turn around to face her. Her face is flushed, her eyes searching mine.
“I’m sorry,” I bite out before she can say another word.
She shakes her head, brown eyes wide and mournful. “No, don’t apologize. Jemma was out of line. She—”
“It’s not just Jemma.” I grit my teeth and shake my head in both frustration and pain. “We shouldn’t have sprung us on your family.”
She gives me a sad smile. “No. Probably not. I was hoping this would go differently. I was hoping if they could see how much you’ve changed... See us together—”
“I’m going back to Pine Island.” I cut her off before she can continue with her hopeful fantasy of her family actually liking me. All of us getting along.
She deflates, her shoulders and face dropping like I’ve physically struck her. “Oh. Um, okay.”
I swallow hard, wishing I could skip over this next part but knowing the only way forward is through. The words feel like gravel in my throat. “When you get back, I’d be grateful if you could organize a different physical therapist to come to the games… to keep things from being complicated.”
She laughs in shock, the sound hollow and broken. “What are you talking about? Why…”
“You deserve better than me, Devin. You need someone who can be around your family without exploding. A man who can…” My throat tightens, the words getting harder to force out.
“Can handle his emotions. One who knows how to treat you like a queen from the start. Not just one who’s learning how to now. ”
Her eyes fill with tears, the moisture catching the light from the hallway sconces, and mine burn as well.
I want to yank the words back down my throat and pull her to me, wrap my arms around her and tell her I didn’t mean any of it, but this is for her own good.
Someone like Devin, who has their life together, who has a family that loves her and standards she deserves to keep, doesn’t need to be lugging around my dead-weight ass.
She bites her bottom lip, a single tear sliding down her cheek and catching on the curve of her jaw. There’s no protest, though. No argument. She just stands there, looking at me with those devastated eyes.
She understands.
She agrees.
That should make it easier, but it’s another blow to my gut. Maybe she’s known all along that this probably wouldn’t work out. Maybe what I’m saying is even a relief, saving her from having to be the one to end it.
Then good. That’ll make it all easier on her. Even if I feel like I’m trying to digest glass, like my chest is caving in on itself, she’ll be okay. She’ll forget about me soon enough. Find someone who doesn’t come with all this baggage.
“I’m sorry for wasting your time,” I whisper.
Closing the distance between us with a couple steps, I press a kiss to her forehead.
Her skin is soft and warm, and I let myself memorize the feeling for just a second, the subtle floral scent of her shampoo, the way she fits perfectly against me.
Then I turn and walk away, my boots heavy on the carpeted floor, my wrist still throbbing with every beat of my heart.