“To be clear, I was never hidingyou.” She bites down on her bottom lip. “I let myself get burned twice, and I promised myself it would never happen again.”
“Tucker?”
She nods her head, looking away, and I know that it must eat at her.
“What happened?”
“He took me out on a few dates, told me how much he liked me, and then told me that I should put in a good word for him to my dad.”
“What?”
“I guess he wasn’t good enough.” She shakes her head, shrugging a shoulder. “I don’t really know. It was enough to piss me off, and then I just never answered his calls or texts again. Honestly, I had forgotten all about him until we saw him in the library that day.”
The way she’s able to completely rid someone from her life is both impressive and terrifying. Someone like Tucker deserves that and more. He wasn’t good enough to get picked up out of high school or another league, so he took the bitch route and tried using her to get to her dad.
My fist bunches around the fabric pooling in her lap, but I breathe through it and ask, “And the other time?”
“High school. My brother and his teammate didn’t get along. At all.”
“He used you to get on the team, too?”
She shakes her head. “No. He was actually pretty good. He just used me to piss my brother off and taunt him. He’s said some vile things about me mid-game, trying to get Leo to lash out.”
Jesus. No wonder she hates hockey players.
I twist strands of her wet hair around my fingers. “Savannah, you have to know I would never do anything like that.”
“I know.” She nods gently. “I was hesitant to give Tucker a chance to begin with. I guess I just thought since he didn't actually play, there wouldn’t be the same issues. I’ve seen what people will do to be noticed and to get where they want to be. And I won't hold it against them, but I also won’t stand for it if that’s their choice.”
“Burning bridges and all that?”
“Kind of. Except I don't need to burn it to ensure I’ll never go back. I’ll just forget it existed altogether.”
I stare down at her lap, trying to figure out if I’m still breathing when I feel the comforting touch of her fingers through my hair.
“But Noah, I’ve never thought you were using me.” She cups my jaw in her other hand and tilts my face until I’m looking up at her. “I just struggled with getting over the idea of putting myself in that position again. It goes against everything that makes me… me.”
I tilt my head, studying her, dragging my palm across her upper back.
“You know, the real reason I don’t like to let people in is because when they disappoint me—or worse—leave, I have to accept that and move on. And I do. But…” Her hair tickles the back of my hand when she shakes her head. “It’s unbearable.”
My throat tightens. I try to swallow the idea of messing up and just being cut from her life, but a heavy exhale escapes me, and I drop my head to her shoulder as it all starts clicking.Her mouth says she doesn’t want to let people in, so she doesn’t have to cut them out, but I’m hearing she doesn’t want to let someone in because the possibility of losing them is too much for her. It’s not worth the risk for someone who knows such profound loss.
29
savannah
I don’t knowif the rest of the house is out or already sleeping, but it’s eerily quiet tonight. The wood slat blinds above Noah’s bed let in the tiniest sliver of moonlight. I pull my cheek from his bare chest and take a peek up at him. Shadows blanket his face, lining up perfectly to make his already sharp jawline appear even more pronounced. His pouty lips shine in the pocket of light, and although his hair covers his forehead as usual, a single, rogue piece hangs over his eyebrow. My fingers itch to run along those full lips, to glide through that full head of hair, and to cup his jaw, but despite how striking he is, my chest sinks with a heavy discomfort at the sight of the deep crease between his brows.
His heart beats at a steady, but oddly quick pace beneath my palm, and I wonder what thoughts are running wild beyond those beautiful eyes of his. I’m about to lay back down when he rises, inhaling sharply, and whips his head to the side.
“Hey,” I whisper, cupping his cheek and searching his eyes.
He blinks once, seeming to realize where he is, andreleases a controlled exhale as he drags a hand through his hair and sinks back down onto the mattress. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes are wide as they stare up at the ceiling. As someone who spent years waking up in the middle of the night just like this—often with a more extreme reaction—I know that whatever he’s battling right now isn’t going to go away just because he’s opened his eyes.
I lay back down and attempt to rub a comforting circle over his chest. His heartbeat is still quick, but it no longer feels steady.
I close my eyes and settle my breath. “On our third birthday, my brother and I got our first pair of skates,” I whisper into the darkness. “My dad coached a youth hockey team at the time. I think he wanted to introduce Leo to the sport, but since we were twins under the age of five, we always got the same gifts.”
