Page 306 of Face Off

“I know.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know that too.” I look down at the roughened tape around the blade of my stick. “She’ll need it. This will be the second time I leave her. There’s no way it won’t leave a mark.”

Cade’s voice lowers. “What about the mark it leaves on you?”

I nod once, but I don’t have a smart answer. I don’t have anything clever enough to make leaving Charm hurt less or righteous enough to turn pain into proof that I’m making the correct decision. All I have is the truth.

“Add it to the list,” I say. “I can’t stay because I don’t want to hurt, it would hurt worse if I stayed for less.”

Silence settles across the rink. Nobody tells me love requires sacrifice because these men have watched me sacrifice enough. Nobody suggests I give Charm more time because they understand that time is exactly what I’m giving her. I’m simply refusing to spend it standing still.

Cade finally looks toward the clock. “We need to go.”

We leave the ice together.

The groom’s suite becomes loud within minutes of our return. Water runs in the adjoining showers while garment bags are opened and shoes are kicked beneath chairs.

Rider connects his phone to the speaker and chooses music everyone immediately complains about. I don’t join them because he looks directly at me when the opening notes begin.

“This is lyricism at its best, Ry. You like words, so take this in.”

The song is called “Willing and Able,” and I listen while the other guys keep dressing and talking over one another. Rider doesn’t explain why he chose it. He doesn’t need to. The song lays my position out plainly and painfully: loving Charm doesn’t automatically make me willing to accept the way she loves me, and wanting us isn’t the same as being able to survive us.

When the final note fades, I meet Rider’s eyes and nod. “Heard and understood.”

Nothing else passes between us, but he knows the song left its mark on me.

“I sent you the link so you can play it on repeat while you’re on the plane beating yourself up over this.”

I flip him off, but the alert lights my phone a second later, and I acknowledge it with another nod before slipping the phone back into my pocket.

Easton steals Cade’s deodorant, Briggs threatens to use hair product to make the swelling around his eye shine, and Cade checks the time often enough that I threaten to confiscate his phone.

The familiar bullshit keeps the room from becoming too serious. Nobody mentions Milwaukee again. Nobody asks whether I’m sure. They understand certainty has nothing to do with wanting the outcome and everything to do with knowing what I can no longer survive.

Cade waits until Easton disappears into the bathroom and Rider starts helping Briggs find something cold for his eye before coming to stand beside me at the mirror. I’m buttoning my shirt when his reflection appears over my shoulder.

“I think you need to tell her, “He says.

I meet his eyes in the glass. “Tell her what?”

“When you fell in love with her.”

My fingers stop against the next button. “Why the fuck would I do that now?”

“Because you deserved to tell her when you knew.” Cade leans one shoulder against the wall. “You should’ve been able to say it without worrying she would run, panic, or leave you standing there feeling like an asshole for loving her first. You didn’t get that, Ry.”

“I didn’t tell her because I was protecting myself.”

“I know, but you’re still protecting yourself from a moment that already passed. Maybe telling her now settles that fucking bees’ nest in your chest enough for you to find some peace in knowing she finally understands when it happened and what it felt like for you.”

“It might make her think I’m staying.”

“Then make it clear it doesn’t change what you told her.” His expression tightens. “It might piss her off. It might make leaving worse. Who the fuck knows? Maybe hearing it is what she needs to understand what she’s fighting for, but that isn’t the reason you should tell her.”

“What is?”