For a while, it even works.
Until I hear the doors open behind the glass.
I glance up, watching people trickling in. Mostly figure skaters, a few staff. But my eyes find her immediately.
Maisie.
Walking into the rink with her head down and earbuds in, connected to her iPod. My heart stutters and I slow my pace without meaning to.
She looks up, and for a second, our eyes lock. Just a single second. Feels like eternity, though. A million-and-one questions fly between us, before she looks away.
Isabella waves her over, and Maisie heads toward her, smiling as she approaches her. That crinkly-eye, scrunched-nose, full-face kind of smile.
Fuck, I miss her.
It’s insane how much I miss her.
Like a week without her has sucked all the color out of everything. Food tastes dull. Music’s quieter. My chest feels too tight half the time. And I keep checking my phone for messages I know aren’t there.
BecauseI’mthe one who disappeared.Imade it this way.
She’s the reason I passed that test. The reason I’m back on the ice. The reason I didn’t completely lose it.
And I haven’t even thanked her.
Because I’m a fucking coward.
Great job, Austin.
I let my stick drop to the ice and skate over to the bench. Pretend I’m thirsty. Truth is, I just want a better angle to look at her without it being obvious.
Maisie doesn’t even glance my way.
Good. I don’t deserve her attention.
Isabella wraps her in a hug and says something else that makes her laugh. Arealone. Bright and loud, her face lighting up.
It’s the same smile I haven’t seen in a week.
And I want it back.
I want to walk over there. Say something.Anything.
But my feet stay glued to the floor, because I don’t know how to fix what I broke. And I’m scared shitless of what happens when I try.
Coach shouts for a line change, and I stay out too long just to burn it off. Whateveritis. Guilt. Regret. The ache that’s been sitting in my chest since last Tuesday. I told myself kissing her was a fluke, that I was just caught up in the moment, but even now, a full week later, I can still feel the softness of her lips. Still remember the warmth of her cheek under my palm when I grabbed her face like I needed to touch her.
And I did. I still do.
But I can’t. I can’t want both. I can’t be thinking about Maisie like this and still feel what I feel when I talk to?—
Coach blows his whistle signaling the end of practice, and I shake off my thoughts, skating off behind the others.
My eyes flick back toward Maisie again. I watch as she waves goodbye to Isabella and walks toward the locker room. Her eyes meet mine for another second and my heart jumps, before she looks away and follows the other girls inside.
I should head to the locker room. Should rip my gear off and get this practice over with. But I’m still standing there, my chest heaving and my eyes locked on the door she just walked through like maybe—just maybe—she’ll turn around.
She doesn’t.
