Page 304 of Face Off
The movement around me stops. Cade stands near the boards with his gloves tucked beneath one arm, studying me as though he needs to decide whether I mean the rink or the estate.
“When tonight?” he asks.
“After the reception. I moved my flight to the red-eye.”
Briggs straightens slowly. “You were supposed to leave tomorrow.”
“I know.”
Rider comes closer. “Does Charm know or is this her doing?”
“Not yet and no. I need a clean break.”
Cade’s jaw shifts. He doesn’t look angry, but he doesn’t hide that he hates the answer. “What happened after the fire?”
I skate toward the boards and rest my arms over the top of my stick. There isn’t a clean way to explain last night because nothing about it was clean. Charm heard about Temple, let fear turn one night between two single adults into a betrayal, and accused me of using her body while never intending to choose her. I responded by opening every door I’ve kept locked since Thanksgiving and making sure she understood exactly what living without her cost me.
I tell them enough.
“She thinks recovery means she should be finished,” I say. “It doesn’t. She did the work that saved her life, and I’m proud of her for every fucking second of it. That doesn’t mean there aren’t things inside her treatment never reached. This weekend proved there are.”
“Did you tell her that?” Easton asks.
“I told her more than that. I told her she loves weakest when she’s scared. She protects boundaries, appearances, and whatever keeps the immediate situation from getting worse, even when doing that hurts the people she claims she would do anything for. She keeps asking me to believe her love is different now, but the first thing that hurt her sent us straight back into the same shit.”
Briggs’s gaze lowers to the ice. “Temple.”
“Temple, who Charm didn’t fucking know when it happened. Temple, who I slept with once while both of us were single. Charm heard one sentence from Lyric and decided I had used her all weekend.”
“She was hurt,” Cade says, but there’s no accusation in it.
“I know she was hurt. That’s the fucking problem. Charm gets hurt and everything else stops existing. My honesty. My right to have lived after leaving her. Every conversation where I told her I needed time. None of it mattered once her fear and pain got loud enough.”
Cade nods once. He understands the distinction even if he hates where it leaves us.
“She’s still fighting,” Rider says. “You know that.”
“I do know that.” I push away from my stick and begin skating slowly along the blue line. “I know she isn’t the same woman I left. I know last night wasn’t proof that none of her work mattered. It was proof there’s more work to do, and I can’t keep putting my life on hold while I wait to see whether she’ll do it.”
Easton folds his arms over the top of the boards. “Nobody should expect you to.”
The simple agreement cuts deeper than an argument would have.
“I’m not done,” I say. “That’s what makes this so fucked up. I’m leaving, but whether we’re done is up to her now. I told her what I need. If she finds that part of herself and deals with it, I’ll listen. I meant that. I’m not closing the door, but I’m also not standing inside it until she decides whether she’s ready to walk through.”
“You shouldn’t,” Briggs says. “Hope isn’t supposed to be a fucking prison sentence.”
I look at the bruise beneath his eye and know he isn’t only talking about me.
“No,” I agree. “It isn’t.”
Cade skates closer. “What are you going to do?”
“Go home. Report to camp when I’m supposed to. Play hockey. Read a fucking book without acting like it belongs to her because she fell asleep beside me while I read it.” I drag one hand over my face. “Maybe try living like my life isn’t something I should keep suspended in case Charm finally becomes ready for it.”
“You deserve to be happy, Ry,” Easton says. “Whether she gets there or not.”
The words land somewhere I don’t have the capacity to examine. I glance at Briggs instead because it’s easier to turn my attention toward someone else’s pain than let mine settle.
