I’m not just breathless now. I’m also mindless. It’s simply impossible to think when there’s no longer any space between our bodies, no longer any inches to count or distance to measure.
There’s just him, just us, and the music playing something slow and soft while the snow falling around us like we're inside one of those globes you shake.
“I’m sorry, Thea.”
Was he really?
“I know my actions may not show it, but this is one of those times I need you to believe in my words. I need you to believe in me when I say that there’s nothing going on between Kimberley and me.”
Then why were they together?
Why was he letting her touch him like he was hers?
And why was I such a coward...that I couldn’t make myself ask any of these out loud?
“I need you to believe me, Thea.” His hand tightens slightly on my waist, and I can
feel each finger individually, can feel the pressure and the warmth and the way he's holding me like I might disappear if he lets go. "There’s a reason behind it. But I’m worried you’ll misunderstand the truth, and that’s why...I just need you to believe me.”
I want to believe him so, so bad. But should I?
“Please.”
We're swaying now, barely moving, just the smallest shifts back and forth. His thumb is rubbing small circles on my waist through my shirt, and I can feel each one like a brand. Like he's marking me. Like he's trying to erase every touch Kimberly left on his arm with each circle his thumb makes on my waist.
One circle. Two. Three. I'm counting them without meaning to.
"Last night," he says. "The phone call. I told you I would explain."
"You don't have to—"
"The team wants me back." He says it abruptly. Like ripping off a bandage. "For the next season. They are offering a contract extension. Three more years."
“O-Oh."
"I have not decided yet."
"Why not?"
"Because—" He stops. His hand tightens on mine. Tightens on my waist. Like he's anchoring himself. Or me. Or both of us. "Because for the first time in my life, I am not sure what I want. And that phone call—it was my manager. Telling me I need to decide. Soon."
"How soon?"
"Two weeks."
My head reels.
Two...weeks?
As in...fourteen days.
336 hours.
I need to think of it in terms of hours so I don’t start hyperventilating.
"Thea." His voice has gone softer. Rougher. "Look at me."
I've been staring at his chest. At the space between us that isn't space anymore. At the place where my hand rests against his shoulder and I can feel the warmth of him through the fabric of his jacket.
