30
Cecily
Tears threaten to spill down my cheek, but I suck them in. I’m still at a party with people around, and Dylan pulling this isn’t my fault. It was like he saw me and couldn’t help himself, like he’s spent the last two weeks trying to forget about me.
Well…
Too bad.
Because I’m not sitting around waiting for him to come to his senses. When I exit the door, I close it quietly behind me and look at the fence line. When I see the gate beside the house, I start walking toward it. I pull out my phone to text Marina that I’m leaving.
I came for fun, and this isn’t. I’m not doing this tonight.
“Cecily.”
That’s Dylan’s voice. I start walking faster.
I reach the gate and open it. Dylan’s right behind me, so he closes it behind him. I keep walking, ignoring him.
We reach the sidewalk when he stops in front of me.
“I’m done pretending that I’m okay, Ce.”
I look up at him. The sound of the party is behind us. Someone laughs loudly.
I shake my head. “You don’t get to keep doing this.”
“I know. I keep fucking up, Ce. I don’t know how to do this.”
I tilt my head and shrug. “You keep saying that, so how about I make it easy for you… We don’thaveto do this.”
I step around him and start walking. My boots click against the concrete.
He catches up a moment later, matching my stride. “Moo. I’m sorry, okay. I have it in my head that I can’t have both. That it’s either hockey or––”
“I would never make you choose, and if you had to, I wouldn’t let you choose me. I know what hockey means to you.”
“Is that why you haven’t reached out? Why you’re just fine?”
I halt. “I don’t know what you expect from me. We had a deal, an arrangement, and if you can’t fulfill your end of the bargain, that’s on you. Not on me.”
“So this is it then?”
I stare at him, not knowing what to say. A car drives past, headlights cutting through the darkness.
He grabs my hands. “I want you, Ce. I want you in my life, but not at the cost of everything else.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. He isn’t making any sense. I haven’t cost him anything. Anything that I know of, but the pain is present in his eyes. I come at a cost, even if I don’t know what it is.
I mutter, “I don’t know what that means.”
“It’s on me.” His voice is rough. “Not you.”
I look into his eyes, searching for clarity.
He continues, “The arrangement we had didn’t work.”
“Okay.”
