Lakelyn grins, sitting up straighter. “Took you long enough to grow a brain.”
“Thanks for the support,” I mutter.
She leans in slightly, her tone turning more gentle. “You were always the one who ran first, Lan. But if you’re saying it’s real this time...I believe you.”
“I am.”
There’s silence for a beat, the kind that means more than words.
Lakelyn tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “So…when are you coming home?”
“I’m not.”
Her brows lift.
“Not until she knows I’m not walking away again. Not until I prove it’s not just words this time.”
Chad lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Willow doesn’t stand a chance.”
I smile, small but certain. “She already knocked me on my ass. I’m just trying to be worthy of standing beside her again.”
“Good for her, you deserve anything she puts you through,” Chad replies. “But I’ve talked to her, and it doesn’t look good for you.”
I sigh, tugging my fingers through my hair. “I sent her ten dozen carnations.”
Chad raises a brow at me through the screen. “Trying to bribe her back into love with a funeral arrangement?”
Lakelyn smacks his arm with a roll of her eyes. “Chad.”
“What? Ten dozen is a lot of flowers,” he says, shrugging. “Might as well have sent her a petal avalanche.”
I huff a quiet laugh, even though my chest still feels tight. “And some derby gloves,” I add, softer now. “Hers are old.”
Lakelyn’s expression shifts in an instant. Her blue eyes, matching mine, fill with something warm and knowing, the kind of look only a sister gives. “See, that’s sweet. That shows you see her.”
Chad leans in and presses a kiss to her temple, then her cheek, and finally her lips. “He’s learning,” he murmurs between kisses. “Took him long enough.”
She laughs, resting her head on his shoulder, looking content in a way that punches straight through my ribs. Not with jealousy, just the ache of knowing what I almost had. What I threw away.
Chad looks back at the screen. “We gotta head out. Dinner with my mom. And apparently, Lakelyn needs an hour to choose an outfit.”
“I’m coordinating colors,” she says, mock-offended.
“You’re coordinating war strategies,” Chad mutters, kissing her again before glancing back at me. “Look…Willow deserves the world. And you hurt her before. If you’re serious, you need to keep showing up, show her you’re there to stay. Don’t stop. Even if it hurts. Even if you get your ass handed to you. Because if you hurt her again, you’ll be disowned.”
My jaw tightens. “I won’t.”
He nods once. And then the screen goes dark.
I lean back into the couch, phone resting against my chest, and stare up at the ceiling as if it has the answers.
The apartment is too quiet. I can’t stay here any longer. Practice isn’t for another hour, but I shove my feet into my shoes and grab my duffle and keys before heading to the rink.Maybe I can get some laps in. Work off some of this restless energy.
The rink is empty when I get there.
The kind of quiet that hums in your bones.
Just the overhead lights buzzing and the distant sound of traffic outside the old roll-up doors. I tug off my hoodie, lace my skates, and step onto the rink without music, without fans, without noise. Just me and the track.
