Page 41 of Only Ever You

I force myself to breathe in. “I’m not doing it to hurt you.”

“Then why does it feel like you are?”

The words hang heavy in the air between us.

“We’re supposed to be best friends.” My voice breaks.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I thought so too.”

I take a step closer and crane my neck, holding his gaze. “I’m not upset because you kissed her.” A shaky breath claws its way out of my throat. “I’m upset because she told me. Not you. It’s been a month, Michael. A whole month, and you didn’t say a single word. I thought we told each other everything.”

His expression falters, anger shifting into sadness and maybe a little shame. “I just…didn’t think it mattered,” he mutters. “Not like that.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I got that.” Because I’m a friend. Nothing more. Clearly, the pact didn’t matter to him the way it mattered to me.

The pressure behind my eyes is unbearable. I curl my fingers, digging my nails into my palms until it hurts. Anything to stop the tears. “Mom is probably waiting for me.” I nod toward the rink. “You should go too. Your coach won’t be happy if you’re late.”

I skirt him, and he lets me, stepping back. With my head held high, I walk away. I don’t need to turn around to know he’s watching me. His attention is a heavy weight, pulling me down.

As I reach the door, he says my name, his voice strained and hoarse. Instead of turning to look at him, I push the door open and walk out.

After today, I’ve got another pro to add to my pros and cons list, and I’m afraid this one is a deciding factor.

I’m leaving for Boston.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

we’re kind of growing apart

ISLA

Fifteen years old

Knees pressed to my chest, I sit in the swing chair on the terrace, holding a mug of tea, earbuds in, listening to Tender is the Night. I probably shouldn’t be sitting out here listening to an audiobook when Cade will be here in three hours, but I can’t make myself move. Milo, our family’s ancient corgi, is fast asleep beneath me. He’s been my shadow since I was born. Mom and I are his favorites.

The last two weeks have drained me of energy. All that’s left tonight is a shell of the person I used to be. All I do is go to practice, go to school, go to practice again, come home to do homework, and sleep, then repeat the cycle again. The days have blurred together, so much so that on Sunday, I woke up at 6 a.m. and got ready for my usual weekday practice and school. I was genuinely confused when Dad wandered into the kitchen in his sleep shorts. We had a laugh, though there was concern hiding behind his smile too.

I’m running on empty, and my stress levels are as high as ever, but I don’t know how to fix it.

I’m lost in my thoughts, my focus on the liquid in my cup, when a mass appears in front of me, blocking out the sunlight. When I look up, I find my mom smiling at me, so I take out my earbud, pausing my audiobook.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” she asks, lowering herself onto the chair beside me. It wobbles a little but stills quickly. “We need to do your hair and makeup.”

“I have plenty of time. It’ll be fine.”

“It’s your first school dance.” She gives me a hopeful smile. “Are you excited?”

I shrug half-heartedly. “I think so.”

With a sigh, she wraps her arm around me and pulls me to her side. “You’ve been so quiet lately. Is something bothering you?”

“Other than the move to Boston, you mean?” I snuggle into her, and the scent of coconut and strawberry envelops me, so familiar and comfortable. “All my days are the same. Practice and school, school and practice. I’m overwhelmed.”

“When you got into figure skating, your dad and I didn’t have any expectations. You loved it, and you were good at it, so we encouraged lessons. But it was a hobby. Now, it’s turned into something that makes me so, so proud of you, yet it scares me because it consumes your life so completely. You live and breathe figure skating, and you’re phenomenal, but I feel like you’re missing out on your childhood, on your teenage years. On making friends, falling in love.”

I stiffen at that last word.

By the way Mom holds me tighter, she notices. “Do you really want to continue training at a professional level?”