Page 186 of Break Away
Holy fuck, I wanted to.
I wanted to walk through the rain, pound on her door, and say everything before courage could sour back into pride. I wanted to see her face and know whether she had cried herself empty or armored herself back into something sharp enough to survive me.
But showing up raw would have been another version of taking, so I sat in the mess.
I ate half the breakfast sandwich cold over the sink because my mother had terrifying range and Ryan had absolutely told her what I ate. I rewrapped my hand because Cade’s medical supplies sat on my counter like judgment with adhesive. I took two pain relievers, pressed a bag of frozen peas against my ribs, and watched a Red Wings replay without registering a single play.
The next day, I skated until my legs shook.
The day after that, I worked a shift at North Cut Rink, sharpening skates for kids who still looked at hockey like it was magic instead of a place men hid from their own heads.
For the days that followed, I learned what silence felt like when I didn’t use it as a weapon.
It was ugly.
It was loud.
It was full of her.
By the time I stood outside the ABC apartment at eleven at night with rain dripping from my hair and a KFU Fury hoodie plastered against my skin, I still didn’t know whether I had the right words.
I only knew I was done letting the wrong ones speak for me.
20
Aura
By the third time Charm quoted the airplane scene with a disturbing amount of commitment, Bliss had one hand buried in a family-size bag of sour cream and onion chips, one blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a traumatized burrito, and the smug expression of a woman who had decided healing required cinema, carbs, and making me watch Kristen Wiig unravel in public.
“I still think this movie is an attack on female dignity,” Charm said, curled at the opposite end of the couch with her legs tucked beneath her and a bowl of chocolate-covered pretzels balanced against her hip.
Bliss pointed a chip at her. “You laughed so hard during the bridal shower scene you wheezed.”
“That was social commentary.”
“You said, and I quote, ‘I would also fight a giant cookie if it came for my emotional stability.’”
Charm considered that while chewing. “That sounds like me.”
I sat wedged between them under the largest blanket in our apartment, wearing leggings, fuzzy socks, and the softest sweatshirt I owned, the hood pulled halfway over my braids. It was the kind of outfit that said I had given up on being perceived sexually by anyone with a pulse, which felt fitting considering my sex life had recently become an emotional crime scene with furniture damage.
Bliss leaned forward to grab the gummy worms from the coffee table. “This is why my wedding planning has to beorganized from the beginning. I cannot have either of you going rogue.”
Charm’s head snapped toward her. “Excuse you, I am the only reason this wedding will have taste.”
“You suggested black taper candles and a violinist playing ominous covers during cocktail hour.”
“That was atmosphere.”
“You called the seating chart a strategic warfare document.”
“It is.”
I reached across Bliss for the popcorn bowl. “To be fair, wedding seating is just emotional terrorism with place cards.”
Bliss groaned and sank deeper into the blanket. “See? This is exactly what I’m talking about. You two are going to ruin me.”
Charm sat up straighter, deeply offended. “We are going to elevate you.”
