The weather has changed, and snow flurries flutter down. It’s nothing threatening but it makes driving at night a little hard, especially once I get into town and have to deal with the glaring light from the lamp posts. I know exactly where the barber shop is, and I don’t slow down until I’m parked outside of it. Sure enough, Axl’s truck is parked in the alley.
I kill the engine, nearly tumbling out of the car, but something catches me.
Movement in my peripheral vision.
There’s a little park in the center of the town square. It’s where they set up the Christmas tree after Thanksgiving, and they do flea markets here in the summer. There’s also a little manmade wishing pond that’s purposely frozen into a skating rink in the winter
Someone’s on it.
I don’t need to ask Norma and her reliable church friends why Axl would live here.
This pond closely resembles the one he described from back home.
And if he’s still feeling down on himself, it makes sense that this is where he’d be.
It’s chilly, but I barely notice as I’m still scared. I jog across the street, and I know he can see me as I’m the only other moving thing out here at this time of night, but he doesn’t turn my way. He’s slamming the puck into the cement wall that surrounds the rink, rebounding it, and repeating.
Ignoring me.
My steps falter when they meet the edge of the rink. “Axl.”
“I told you to take that jersey off,” he growls, still not meeting my gaze as he fires off another puck at the back wall.
I suddenly know what happened.
There’s nothing else that makes sense. “Bill talked to you.”
His eyes slam to mine, and he rasps, “So you admit it?”
“I-I . . . Yes, uh, yeah.” I’m not making excuses. He deserves the truth, and I take a deep breath and let everything rush out. “I thought it was a terrible idea, but he insisted it would make everything better and help us both. I didn’t think you liked me, or that it would matter, and we both already agreed to fake this. My tour is running out of money, and my crew hasn’t even been fully compensated yet. He offered to pay their salaries, and I caved. That was before, though.”
“It was yesterday.” He scowls. “You can’t tell me you changed your mind since yesterday.”
“I can’t explain it.” I lift my shaking shoulders, willing to let all my honesty out. “You said it best when you said that the kiss changes it all. For me, it did.”
“What did it change?” His eyes snap up, and his expression can only be described as cold.
I shake my head. It’s so silly considering it’s only been a day, but everything feels different. “I went from feeling like we had a job to do . . . to I don’t know.” I wag my head, giving up. I havemessed everything up. “I’m so sorry, Axl,” I squeak out. “I never meant to hurt you, but I wasn’t faking it anymore.”
His lips twist into a cocky snarl. “So, tell me, how much does a kiss from me cost?”
My jaw drops, and I can’t spit out a rebuttal fast enough. “I didn’t take any money, and I won’t!”
“You didn’t take any money,” he says coldly, his eyes narrowing on me, “because you haven’t had time to cash the check?”
“No,” I assert, knowing I’ll never convince him. It’s hopeless. I did this to myself. I should have known better. This whole thing started as a way to get revenge on Rocco, and my getting my heart brokenagainis likely karma for my ill intentions. I reach down, taking the hem of Axl’s jersey in my hand, and pull it over my head.
I’m still wearing my pink sweatshirt, and even though I loved it this morning, I hate it now because it’s not Axl’s jersey. “I don’t know how else to tell you I’m sorry,” I choke out. When he doesn’t move to take the jersey, I fold it neatly into a square. With trembling fingers, I lay it on the ground next to the rink.
He still doesn’t budge.
In my head, I beg him to say he understands. I turn on my heel, ready to trudge back to the car, when he calls out. “Is there any other lie you need to confess?”
I spin on my heel, panicking that he believes something else, and I shout, “No, there’s nothing else! The only other lies are the ones you are in on, but I know I’ll never lie again. It’s exhausting, and I feel so terrible.”
“I have one.” His stony glare smacks me hard.
“One w-what?” I stutter, but answer myself, “You have a lie?”
