Page 119 of Ice Cold Chemistry
The park near Tori’s place is quiet for a Friday afternoon.
Maisie is on the swings, pumping her legs with fierce determination while Tori and I sit on a nearby bench, coffee cups warming our hands against the March chill. The trees are still bare, but buds are forming on the branches—the first hints of spring pushing through.
“You’re quiet today,” Tori observes.
“I got a job offer.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Really? From who?”
“Seattle. They want me to run their flexibility program.”
“Wow.” She processes this. “That’s huge. Are you going to take it?”
“I don’t know.” I watch Maisie swing higher, her laughter carrying across the playground. “Part of me thinks I should. Clean break. New city. No more…”
“No more Banks?”
I don’t answer. I don’t have to.
“Win.” Tori’s voice is gentle. “What do you actually want?”
The question hits harder than it should. What do I want? I want to stop feeling like my chest has been carved out. I want to stop checking my phone every five minutes.
I want him to fight for me.
But he won’t. Because he doesn’t know how.
“I’m in love with him,” I say quietly. The words feel strange out loud—too big, too real. “I knowit’s stupid. I know he pushed me away. I know he lied and hid things and did everything wrong. But I’m still in love with him.”
“That’s not stupid. That’s honest.”
“What good is honest when he won’t let me in?”
Tori is quiet for a moment, watching Maisie slow her swinging to wave at us. We wave back. “Can I tell you something?” she says finally. “About Zayden?”
“Of course.”
“When we first got together, he was a mess. Walls everywhere. He’d been burned by his ex, and he was convinced that letting anyone get close was just asking to get hurt again.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “I almost walked away. Multiple times. It would have been easier.”
“What made you stay?”
“I realized that easy wasn’t what I wanted. I wantedhim—complicated, wounded, frustrating him. So I fought for him. Even when he made it hard. Even when he pushed back.” She turns to look at me. “Some people weren’t taught how to be loved, Win. They need someone to show them it’s safe.”
I think about Banks. About the foster homes, the families that didn’t keep him, the walls he built to survive. He told me himself—everyone leaves. That’s the lesson life taught him, over and over, until it became his truth.
No one ever stayed.
No one ever fought for him.
“What if I fight and he still won’t let me in?”
“Then at least you’ll know you tried. And you won’t spend the rest of your life wondering what if.”
Maisie comes running over, cheeks pink from the cold, demanding hot chocolate. The moment breaks, shifting into the practical chaos of motherhood and sugar negotiations.
But Tori’s words stay with me.
Some people weren’t taught how to be loved.
