Page 122 of Healing Eleanor

Before he notices the tears pricking my eyes, I spin and walk away, faster this time, not looking back.

He doesn’t follow this time.

The cold hits me like a wall when I step outside. I brush snow off the bench and sit, the chill seeping through my sweater, biting into my skin. Still, the freezing air is easier to bear than whatever is happening with Nik.

I couldn’t shake the way he looked at me—like he wanted to kiss me. And maybe I was foolish, but for a second there, I thought he might. Instead, he pulled away.

His rejection cuts deeper than I care to admit.

I dig through my bag with trembling fingers, sniffling as I fumble for my phone. I start dialing for a cab when headlights cut across the snow, and a car rolls up to the curb.

Nik.

He rolls the window down. “Eleanor, get in the car.”

I don’t look up. Instead, I shove my phone back into my bag and stand. I don’t care if I have to walk home in the snow. I can’t face him. Not after what just happened. The closer Nik gets, the more I want him. But the closer I get… the further he pushes me away. And my heart can’t take much more. I’m already barely surviving as it is.

A car door slams shut. “Eleanor, what are you doing?” Nik’s voice carries across the empty lot, edged with frustration. His heavy footsteps crunch closer. “Come on, get in the car. It’s freezing out here.”

I keep walking, sneakers slipping against patches of ice, each step clumsy but determined. Even so, I can’t get away fast enough.

He breaks my stride with a firm, anchoring grasp. I spin around, meeting his stormy gaze. His breath comes out in ragged white puffs.

“Can’t you just leave me alone?” My voice cracks, tears threatening to spill.

“Absolutely not.” A muscle in his jaw twitches. “It’s freezing out here, and I’m not letting you walk home or call a cab. Now stop being stubborn for one minute and get. In. The. Car.” He points toward it, each word sharp, leaving no room for argument.

I fold my arms, hugging myself against the cold. “Only if you tell me the real reason you’ve been avoiding me.”

“I already have!” He throws his hands into the air, exasperated. “What else do you want me to say?”

“The truth.” I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision. “Are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong? I thought we were friends, Nik.”

He drags a hand through his hair, looking skyward as if searching for strength. “Dammit, Eleanor…” His voice softens, raw. “Have you ever once considered that maybe I like you more than a friend?”

My heart slips into stillness.

He shakes his head, stepping closer until his voice drops low, meant only for me. “And how those feelings cross a line? What happened Thursday night shouldn’t have happened. I’m your coach.” He clenches his jaw. “It doesn’t matter if I want more with you. It can’t happen. At least not right now.” His eyes search mine, almost pleading. “So please… cut me some slack. Get in the car. Let me drive you home.”

I stand frozen, searching for words. Hearing him say those things to me feels surreal. That someone like him could ever feel anything for someone like me, with all my baggage… it feels impossible.

I nod, my throat closing around anything I might say.

Relief washes over his features. “Thank you.” He offers his arm with a crooked smile. “So you don’t slip. It looked like you were about to bust your butt a few times running away from me.”

A short huff leaves me. “Well, I wouldn’t have almost slipped if you weren’t chasing me.” I slide my hand through his arm, letting him guide me carefully across the ice patches.

When I get into his car, a shiver tears through me, and I nearly melt at the blast of heat from the vents. Nik rounds the hood and gets into the driver’s seat, the air between us thick with everything he’s just confessed.

I don’t know what it means for us. Not that there is an us… but there are feelings now—ones he’s admitted out loud. And mine, locked away in my chest, feel heavier than ever.

He reaches behind his seat and pulls out a black hoodie, holding it out. “Here. Put this on.”

I take it, our fingers brushing briefly, before tugging it over my head and sinking into its warmth. It smells just like him. Sandalwood and mint. A smell that’s becoming my favorite.

When I look at him again, his jaw is set, and his eyes are unreadable.

“You would really run out into the snow in a flimsy sweater just to get away from me?” His voice is low, more wounded than annoyed.