Page 51 of Date With Skates

It’s time to go home.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Connor

After the day is done, and all the energy is sucked out of me, leaving nothing but emptiness, I know it’s finally over. I played in the Olympics. I did my best. I’m going home with a silver medal. It’s not gold, but it is something. Because not everyone will get this chance. Only a select few are good enough to play on this team at all, and I am one of those people—I was one of those people.

I don’t know what the future holds for me. I don’t even know what team I’ll be on next year. All I can hope for is that I’ll at least be on one.

The sun has already gone down, and there is hardly anyone walking around, even though it’s still relatively early. Everyone is packing and preparing for early morning flights. I should be doing the same, but my feet take me in a different direction, almost like there is a string attached to me, pulling toward something.

Toward someone.

I stop when I see him, sitting on that bench where we first met. The one I wasn’t sleeping on.

I stand there in the chill of the night and just watch him. His hands are stuffed into his pockets, the bottom half of his face covered by the tall collar of his jacket. The wind blows his hair, messing it up more than it already was before. Even from here, I can tell something is bothering him. And I think I know what it is, because it’s the same thing that’s bothering me. So I walk over to him, hoping to sit next to the vulnerable Étienne. The one I have only had glimpses of.

I just want to know I’m not making this up, that it’s not all in my head, and that he feels it too.

If I can get that, I think I’ll sleep okay tonight.

Knowing he’s hurting as much as me, it shouldn’t give me peace. But at least I’ll know I’m not alone. That, even though we’ll be thousands of miles apart, we’ll still have something.

The pain for each other.

I walk over to him, stopping just beside him.

“Are you sleeping?” I ask.

His eyes pop open, and a slow smile forms on his lips. I can’t see them behind the collar of the jacket, but I can see it in his eyes.

“No,” he says.

“You’re lying,” I say with a grin. “Why are you sleeping on a bench?”

“Maybe they ran out of rooms.”

“For Étienne Laurent? I think not.”

His smile grows, the corners popping out from behind his jacket.

“You know who I am.”

“Fortunately,” I say, taking the seat beside him.

He tilts his head to the side slightly.

“I don’t recall the conversation going like that.”

“I changed it up.”

“Why?” he asks.

I take a deep breath and bring my attention out to the Village square, and all that we will be leaving behind. I wonder what will come of this place after we all leave.

“Because I think, at least for tonight, we shouldn’t hide our truths behind humorous lies.”

He says nothing to that, but I feel his hand grabbing mine. It’s small and warm, and all I need from him right now. I don’t need his words. I just need this. Acceptance. Understanding. Acknowledgment.