“I’ll leave you to it,” I say, skating away from the man I love toward the exit.
“Alondra,” Jack calls, and I look over my shoulder, hating the tortured expression I see. “I’m sorry.”
My smile is real, even if it breaks my heart in the process. “You don’t need to apologize. It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. I hurt you, and I never wanted to be like them.”
“You’re not like them, and I hate that you would ever make the comparison. I’m a big girl who knew what I was getting myself into. I was hurting myself, and that’s not your fault,” I say, and Jack shakes his head.
“I miss you so fucking much it hurts. Does that mean I’m hurting myself too?” he asks, but I say nothing because I’m right here. I’ve been right here, but I’m not going to beg him to love me. “Everyone keeps telling me what an idiot I am for losing you, as if I don’t already fucking know,” Jack admits, and the sound of his voice echoes through the arena he commanded only a few hours ago.
“You haven’t lost me, Jack,” I whisper, hating the distance between us.
“I’m sorry I messed us up.” He’s not the one to blame. We were messed up from the start. “I . . .” Jack trails off, and I shake my head.
“You don’t have to say anything,” I say, and even if Jack isn’t ready to believe in love, I can believe for us.
I don’t want to leave, but I know I have to.
No one ever said love was easy.
I hesitate before knocking on the frame of the door, and my dad looks up at me from behind his desk. “Al, come in.”
When I woke to his text this morning asking me to swing by, I was certain he was going to bust me for tearing up the ice last night, but I’ve decided I’m not even sure I care. What’s one more lecture?
I got a happy birthday text from him the morning of my birthday, but nothing else until now.
“Hi, Dad,” I say, stepping into his office.
“I wanted to talk to you about a couple things,” he says, setting his playbook down on the desk. “You can sit if you want.” Dad motions toward the empty chairs in front of me.
I take a seat, and I’m wondering if the football coach has finally talked to him about Bradley. Probably, or maybe he saw me in the stands last night.
“I talked to Jack,” he starts off, and I try to keep my face composed. When did Jack talk to him? Was it before I imploded everything, or after? “I’m sorry, Alondra. I should never have said what I did. I overreacted to the two of you being friends. You’re welcome to skate whenever the team isn’t using the rink.”
Holy shit.
Is Dad really apologizing to me? Am I dreaming?
“He shouldn’t have said anything to you about it. I asked Jack not to,” I say, hoping he’ll give me a little more information as to when this conversation would’ve taken place.
Dad clears his throat, and I’m stunned because even an apology after all our arguments about Jack is more than I ever expected. Sure, a little frustrating he was willing to hear out Jack and not me, but I feel like this is a win I should take, regardless of where it came from. “No, he was right to. I know I haven’t been very . . . accepting of your friendship, but I’m okay with it. I never asked how your trip to Texas went? Did you have a good time?” Dad asks, trying to start a normal conversation.
“Dad, why am I here? I know it can’t only be to talk about Jack,” I say, cutting to the chase because I don’t want to think about that trip. It was incredible, but after last night, it just hurts a little too much to think about it.
He sighs and leans forward to rest his forearms on the table, looking uncomfortable. “Did you file a restraining order against your ex-boyfriend Bradley Smith? The one on the football team here?”
This is it.I’m finally going to tell them what really went on during my relationship with Bradley. “I did. He used to physically assault me while we were together and is now refusing to leave me alone, even though we’re broken up.” I’m shocked by how easily it comes out. My voice is strong and never wavers. I’m done hiding.
A short giggle escapes my lips, and I’m sure it makes me sound crazy.
His jaw drops, closes and then clenches as he struggles to find the words. “He what?” he chokes out, and I feel my stomach flip when I reach into my coat pocket, pulling my phone out to find the hidden folder where I saved everything. I slide it across his desk to let him look through them, holding my breath. With each photo he looks at, his eyes grow cloudier, and he doesn’t make it through all of them before sliding the phone back. He’s seen enough to know the protection order is warranted, but I still feel bad because they’re hard to see.
“Why didn’t you come to us for help?”
I leave the phone where it sits. “I didn’t feel like I could come to you. I didn’t feel like anyone cared about me except Bradley. We accept the love we think we deserve, and I thought I deserved to be treated like that.”
Dad’s jaw drops once more at my admission. “Why do you think you deserved to be . . .” he falters, unable to say the ugly truth.
