He glared, the tension rising again. “For what?”
My heart sank. “For reading my notes. For assuming the worst about me. For anything.”
Patrick’s jaw tightened stubbornly. “Maybe you shouldn’t have written those things.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have read them. You’re insecure enough not to be able to handle it,” I shot back, voice thick with hurt. The silence expanded painfully between us until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I regretted saying that, but I couldn’t swallow my pride, either. “Forget it,” I finally said, turning away. “I’m leaving.”
Suddenly, panic flashed in Patrick’s eyes. “Why? Hold on. We’re not done yet.”
I hesitated, the pain in my chest nearly unbearable. “Aren’t we?” My voice cracked. It was all I could manage before turning my back on him.
“Shane.”
But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Walking out of that room felt like ripping myself away from the only genuine connection I’d ever had, knowing I’d likely severed it forever. My footsteps echoed dully down the hall, each one dragging me further from Patrick, further from reconciliation.
Outside, the drizzle had turned into a steady rain, cold drops soaking through my coat, numbing my skin. My fingers tightened around the notebook, and my chest squeezed painfully. Had I really gone too far at the end? Had I let pride ruin everything we’d built?
My dorm loomed ahead, dark and lifeless. By the time I climbed the stairs and fumbled open the door to my room, tearswere burning fiercely behind my eyes. I stumbled inside, closed the door, and leaned heavily against it. My head fell back, hitting the wood with a dull thump.
Then, finally, in the safety of my solitude, the tears escaped. My throat closed around a strangled sob as the weight of everything crashed down on me. My knees shook, my entire body trembling. Patrick was right, in some ways. I’d used his vulnerabilities, even if unintentionally. But he’d breached my trust just as deeply.
And yet, standing there alone, miserable, I didn’t care who was more wrong. I only knew the unbearable pain of walking away from him, the sickening feeling of having ruined something precious, something rare and true.
My notebook slipped from my fingers, hitting the floor softly, insignificant now. It was just words on paper, meaningless without context, meaningless without him.
In that moment, standing alone, broken by a loss I’d brought upon myself, I wondered bitterly if this was exactly what I’d feared from the start—this painful consequence of getting too close, too attached, too vulnerable.
I sank slowly to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest. As the room blurred with tears, I realized I’d learned something vital and horrible all at once:
The cost of caring this deeply was losing everything.
SEVENTEEN
PATRICK
I tightenedmy grip around my stick, circling restlessly on my skates as I waited for the puck to drop. The ref hesitated, holding the moment in suspense, and I stole a glance toward the stands.
Habit, maybe. Or maybe something more.
But for the first time in two months, Shane wasn’t there. The spot he usually claimed—a spot I’d grown annoyingly used to—sat empty and glaring, a silent accusation in a sea of noisy faces. My stomach twisted sharply, raw and hollow. It felt like someone had carved a hole into my chest and left it open to the cold air of the rink.
I clenched my jaw, trying to ignore the ache. It wasn’t working.
“Hey, P, you awake?” Easton teased, nudging me gently with his elbow as we prepared for the face-off. I didn’t answer, barely even registered his voice. I was locked into that empty seat, searching for Shane’s messy hair, his oversized hoodie, and those damn notebooks of his.
Nothing.
When the puck dropped, something inside me snapped. The blade of my stick hit the ice with a furious crack, and I lunged forward, faster and harder than I’d ever moved in practice. Icesprayed up behind me, and my muscles burned, but I embraced it, pouring every bit of frustration and confusion into each stride.
I caught the puck effortlessly, weaving around two Ice Hawks who hadn’t anticipated the fury I brought tonight. One guy—big and mean-looking—tried to knock me into the boards, but I ducked low, skating circles around him. If I’d cared, I might’ve smiled at the curses he hurled after me.
But tonight, nothing was funny.
I’d spent two days replaying our fight, two nights staring at the ceiling, wondering how it had all gone so wrong. Shane thought I’d betrayed him, that I’d violated his trust, but hadn’t he done the same thing? Hadn’t he been watching my every move, noting my every flaw, reducing me to a case study, an experiment? Anger flared hot in my chest as I fired the puck to Elio, who redirected it quickly toward Easton. It narrowly missed the net, bouncing off the post with a hollow clang that echoed my frustration.
“Fuck!” Easton growled, slamming his stick against the ice.
I circled back, heart pounding. It didn’t matter. I’d set it up again. I’d fight harder, skate faster, anything to quiet the noise in my head, to fill the gaping hole Shane had left behind.
