One more week.
The realization lands like a body check on the ice, hard enough to split me in two.Along with something even more uncomfortable.
“You okay?”she asks.From the bleachers, I hear my name being called.I spot Jett in the crowd, waving, with Lia in his arms doing the same.Dane is nearby, arms crossed over his chest, deep in conversation with somebody.
I have it all right now.And that’s exactly the problem.
“Yeah,” I say, even though I’m not.
I’ve got hockey back.My season is secured.Everything I’ve been working toward is locked in.But still, I feel the old familiar churn inside me.The one that saysyou know how this goes.
Life always takes something away.
I can love something with my entire soul and then find out I’m not allowed to keep it.
My dad was the backbone of the family, and then one day he was gone.Loss is the one thing I can’t control.I can only control how exposed to it I am.
And I’ve been frighteningly good at controlling that.
Until Casey.
“Let’s go to Dockside,” I finally say, barely able to meet her gaze.“We can be in the sun, look at the water, have a few drinks…”
“Okay.I’ll tell your family,” she says.“I’ll tell Claire too.Maybe she and Paul will want to come.”
I rub my hand along her jawline.Looking at her in my jersey, I realize my major failing of the summer.
I managed every variable I could: the knee, the exercise, the workout plan, the food, the routine.But I couldn’t control how hard I fell for Casey.Even when I tried to pull back, tell myself it was contained, that this always had an end date…
We still ended up here.Her in my jersey, about to hang with our friends and family, and everyone knowing that there’s something between us.
“I’ll meet you there,” I promise her, and I pull myself away.
This next week is going to be hell.
And I don’t have any idea how to get through it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CASEY
It’s seven thirty on Thursday morning.
The wedding is in two days.I’ve been texting Claire a countdown for the past five days, featuring all the available bridal emojis and memes that modern technology has provided to us.
Griffin is in Cleveland, training and being amazing.
And I’m on the back porch, zoning out—something I now understand better than I used to, thanks to my therapist and the formal diagnosis I’m still getting used to.
This has been a very fast-paced August.It feels like everything is changing exponentially quickly.Every day compounds on the last.The Chicago job offer is still on the table; we conducted the second interview over video call a few days ago, and now they want me to come in person to meet with them.That’s supposed to happen on Monday, which is when I would slip back into the shell of my former life: prepaid apartment lease, ready-made friend group, a plan that made sense in May when I was gutted and desperate for something to cling to.
But the closer I get to Chicago, the more I know my answer.
That shell doesn’t fit anymore.This bookish hermit crab is ready for a new fit.
I want to fucking stay here.
In fact, I’ve already made my decision.I just haven’t embraced it until now.My body vibrates with excitement and certainty as I sip the rest of my coffee.This feels like both stepping off a cliff and opening a treasure chest.Is it insane?Yes, because I don’t have a parachute.But I have gold doubloons waiting for me in the metaphorical ancient wooden chest of life, in the form of fulfillment and passion and a bright, unchecked future.