And right now, I’ll take anything she’s willing to give.
The silence between us hums louder than the overhead lights. I wait for her to pull back, to shut me out again, but she doesn’t. She just keeps skating, the straps of the gloves catching the light with every push. She keeps pace with me, our skates landing in sync, as though we’ve always moved around the rink together. My heart pounds in my chest as the hope grows inside of me.
I shouldn’t look. But I do.
Her slouchy sweatshirt slips as she rounds the curve, revealing the soft slope of her shoulder—and something else.
A mark.
Faint. Fresh.
But I’d know what it means anywhere.
My chest tightens. I falter for half a beat, barely catching myself. She doesn’t glance back. Or maybe she’s giving me space to catch my breath.
I force my voice steady. “You got a new tattoo?”
Her mouth tugs just slightly at the corners, but there’s tension too. “No.”
I already knew that. But hearing it out loud makes it real.
“So…” I try, careful, the air suddenly thinner. “You let them?”
She coasts to a smooth stop at the edge of the rink. I follow, a little slower, feeling like I’ve stepped into a conversation I’m not ready for, but one I can’t avoid.
“Let them what?” she asks, eyes steady on mine.
My stomach twists. I know she’s not being cruel, justhonest. She’s always been good at peeling back my layers, making me name the things I’m afraid of.
“Claim you,” I say.
She doesn’t look away. Doesn’t flinch.
“Yeah,” she says, quiet but sure. “I did.”
There’s no sharp edge to it. No intention to wound. Just the truth.
“I love them,” she adds after a second. “They see all the messy parts of me, and they didn’t hesitate.”
I nod slowly, trying to swallow the sting in my throat. “You deserve that.”
She glides a little closer, not enough to touch, but enough that I can feel the warmth of her again. Her gaze softens as she looks at me.
“I’m not saying this to hurt you,” she says. “But I need you to know...it doesn’t mean I stopped feeling what I feel for you.”
That one sentence hits harder than any confession.
“I don’t know what it is,” she continues, shifting her weight slightly on her skates. “If it’s just biology pulling at me…or if it’s something more. But you’re still in there, Landon. Somewhere in the mess inside my heart.”
My breath catches. She doesn’t owe me this. And yet, she’s giving it anyway.
“I guess part of me is still trying to figure out if I fell for you because you are my scent match…or if I just fell.”
I can’t speak. I don’t trust my voice not to crack wide open.
She gives me one last look—soft, unsure, open—and pushes off again, skating back into motion. But she leaves me there, standing still, with something I haven’t felt in a long time.
Hope.
