I nod, and he exhales, brushing his thumb over my cheek again like he’s trying to calm himself.
“This isn’t it,” he says finally. “You hear me? I’ll find a way. This won’t be the last time we’re together.”
I want to believe him. I want to let that promise drown out everything waiting outside this room. So I nod, even though some part of me already knows it’s a promise he can’t keep.
He pulls me close, his breath warm against my shoulder, our fingers tangled together. I fall asleep like that—wrapped in quiet and his unspoken words—holding on to a promise that won’t make it to morning.
Chapter Seventeen
Tessa
Chills run up my arms as I blink awake, eyes adjusting to the light slipping through the window. The room’s quiet, but it takes me only a second to know he’s gone.
I sit up, the blanket slipping down my shoulders. Clothes are scattered across the floor, and the faint smell of his cologne hangs in the air. Last night comes back in flashes—his hands, his voice, and the way he looked at me like he was saying goodbye without the words.
Afterward, we talked for what felt like hours. He told me how weird it still feels being out of the league. How he’s been trying to figure out what’s next—something that keeps him close to hockey without being back on the ice. He said he’s been living out of bags more than he’s been home, trying to find somewhere that actually feels like one. His voice went low then, tired in a way that made my chest ache.
I remember teasing him about how serious he got when I mentioned late nights at the Silver Spur. The flash of jealousy that crossed his face was impossible to miss. I told him he had nothing to worry about, that the only guy I ever left with was the bouncer. The small smile that tugged at his mouth then—it’s the one I can’t stop seeing.
At some point, I must’ve drifted off. When I woke up, the other side of the bed was cold. At some point, he slipped out quietly, careful not to wake me. I tell myself he just didn’t want to risk getting caught by my mom, but the knot in my stomach doesn’t buy it.
I push the covers back and pull on my tank top and shorts. My hair’s a mess, and there are faint shadows along my neck—marks I can’t exactly explain. Heat floods my face as I tug on a sweatshirt and head downstairs.
The smell of maple syrup and cinnamon hits first. Candles flicker downstairs, and the familiar sound ofElfplaying in the living room. It feels like home.
“About time you crawled out of bed,” Mom calls when I step into the kitchen. She’s still sporting her favorite Christmas apron, cheeks pink from the heat of the waffle iron.
She hums along to the music on the TV as she pours batter onto the hot plates. “I was wondering when you were going to drag yourself out of bed. For a second, I thought I’d have to lure you out with breakfast.”
Relief hits that I managed to wake up on my own. If she’d come knocking earlier, I don’t even want to think about the questions I’d be answering.
The iron clicks shut, steam curling from the sides. Mom wipes her hands on a towel and looks over at me.
“Well,” she says, her smile softening. “Looks like it’s just us this morning.”
I blink, still shaking off sleep. “Us?”
She nods toward the window. “Your brother and his crew headed out early. Erica wanted to beat the snowstorm coming through. And Clay…” She reaches for a plate. “He left not long after them. Said he had some work things come up that he had to handle. It sounded pretty urgent.”
My stomach twists, and my brows deepen in confusion. “So who’s left?”
“Just you, me, your dad, the Barlowes, and Evan,” she says, smiling like it’s no big deal. “Should be a quiet day. I love having all you home under one roof, but I won’t pass up a chill day with my girl.”
I circle the island, pretending I’m just looking for coffee, but when I glance out the kitchen window, the driveway looks tooempty. The sports car that was parked there last night is gone. My chest tightens before I can stop it.
The microwave clock blinks at 9:47. He must’ve left around sunrise, deciding it’s better if I don’t wake up to see him go. Still, knowing he slipped out without saying goodbye shouldn’t sting as much as it does.
Mom slides a platter of waffles across the counter, laughing at the part in the movie where Buddy calls the department-store Santa a fraud and yells, “You sit on a throne of lies.”
She turns back to me. “He wanted me to tell you he booked you a flight back to Kolmont. He needed to return the rental and wanted to make sure you made it back to school safely.”
Of course he did. I force a small smile.
I nod and move, because standing still feels worse. I pour coffee, trying to steady my hands, trying not to replay every second of last night.
In the living room, Dad’s voice carries over the crackle of the fireplace. He’s talking with Clay’s parents. Evan must’ve joined them at some point because I hear him laugh along with them. The sound is another reminder of the person I’m missing here.
I tell myself it’s fine. Clay has a life, responsibilities, and a hundred reasons to leave before things get messy. But the picture of him slipping out without even a goodbye sticks with me.
