Page 41 of Love on the Tracks
“Dad.” He looks at me, but I don’t think he’s seeing me. It’s important to me that he hears this though, gets my message loud and clear. I’m not going to raise my voice again to do it. So I take his arm in my hands and squeeze, hard. “I’m not abandoning luge, and I’m not abandoning you. Even if Zane and I do end up dating in, like, real life, I’m still going to live in Lake Placid. Even if I end up moving someday, I’d kinda hoped maybe you’d come with me?”
I hug him then, because my eyes have started leaking, and I want to get this out before I start outright sobbing. Maybe if I have something to hold onto, I’ll be able to. “You’re my best friend, and I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m not quitting anything, and even if I did, it wouldn’t be you. I promise.”
Against me, his chest heaves, and then his arms are wrapping around me, high on my ribcage and holding me tight. “I love you, Fishface. You know that, right?”
“I do.”
“I know I haven’t always done the greatest job with you—”
“Pfft. You’re the best dad in the world. Maybe not medaling this year, but your overall record’s making hall of fame for sure.”
“I guess what I’m trying to say is, if I trust your judgment on the ice and ninety-eight percent of the time off of it, I should give you the benefit of the doubt on the other two percent.”
He squeezes me tight one last time before we separate, and wipe our eyes in that trademark Andrews I’m-not-crying-you’re-crying way.
“I’m not overreacting about you having a concussion and needing to rest. I still don’t want you running around Denver trying to find this guy. If he cares about you as much as he seems to, he wouldn’t want that either.”
That’s true. Zane would hustle me into bed, and not for sexy fun times, either. And honestly, I don’t want to get worse. It was a pretty mild concussion, all things considered, but I don’t want to chance real damage. I was serious when I told my dad I wasn’t quitting luge. I want another shot, and to get it, I’m going to need to train as hard as I ever have. This body and this brain is my ticket to Trondheim, and I’m not going to risk everything. So yeah, Zane can come to me.
“Then I guess I have an invitation to issue.”
Chapter Sixteen
Zane
The text wasn’t long, but I didn’t need it to be. I was just thrilled to see it.
Hey, can you come over? I’m at my dad’s hotel.
She gives me the room number and the address, and I put it into the GPS on my phone before I reply.
Yeah. Give me half an hour?
Depending on traffic, I should be able to make it over there with time to spare.
I’ll be here.
I don’t want to ask her what this is about because I don’t want to have my hope extinguished. I want to keep the fantasy of maybe-she-wants-me alive, and not crush it with aYeah, I want to coordinate our appearances for the next week.The trip over feels like it takes for-fucking-ever, and when we’re about half a mile away, I tell my driver to pull over and I’ll walk the rest of the way. I’m edgy and impatient, and I don’t want to snap at Tony. He’s a good guy. Better for me to hoof it, and I’ve still got my mittens so my fingers won’t freeze by the time I’ve gotten there.
Jed opens the door when I knock, his expression wary, but not looking as though he’s going to tear me limb from limb like he did when I saw him yesterday. Did he seeTalk America? Did Rowan?
He lets me in and gestures to a small living area, where there’s a Rowan-shaped lump on the couch, hoodie pulled over her head and a blanket draped over her. I can barely see her face. I’m about to walk over when Jed sinks his fingers into my shoulder in a veritable death grip. “If you hurt her, pretty boy, I’ll end you.”
I’d respond, but Rowan waves before I can, and Jed’s painful clutch turns into a manly clap. I’ll pretend that never happened.
When I get closer, Rowan pushes her hood down, and gives me a sheepish smile. “I’d get up, but—”
“No, don’t even worry about it. You’re supposed to be resting.”
It’s possible that after they’d reported on TV that she suffered a mild concussion, I’d done some research on what exactly that meant. Almost called my sister who’s in med school, but decided the dump truck worth of shit she would have given me probably wasn’t worth it. WebMD would probably do as well, and with much less snark.
“Yeah.”
There’s room on the couch for me to sit, but I go for a chair because I don’t know what I’m in for. It’s torture to sit any farther away from her than I have to, but if this is just a professional arrangement, I don’t want to make it seem as though I’m eager for more. Because I’m totally okay being a big, fat, fucking liar.
Rowan’s sitting there, hands knitted together on top of the blanket, looking lost.
“Are you all right? Do you want me to leave? We can do this—”Whatever this is.“Later.”
