Page 72

I open my mouth, but all I manage is a shaky exhale and a jerk of my head.

“Okay.” He shifts until he’s sitting beside me. “Can I touch you?”

I nod weakly.

He places his hand on my back and slowly runs it up and down. Then, in a low, calm tone, he says, “Breathe with me. Can you do that?”

My face is hot, my eyes full of tears, the pressure in my chest unbearable. “Ye-yeah.”

He inhales slowly, eyes on me, waiting for me to do the same.

I obey, mimicking him over and over.

My heartbeat starts to settle, though my legs still feel like jelly. “Sorry,” I whisper. “I don’t know what that was. I’ve never felt like that before.”

“It was a panic attack,” he says softly. “I get them sometimes too before big competitions.”

A panic attack. The thought weighs heavily on me.

For a moment, we don’t say anything. We just sit and breathe together. When my heart rate has returned to normal, I look at him properly. His dark brown hair is cut short, and so is his beard. His green eyes haven’t changed a bit, the dark lashes surrounding them still making them glimmer like gems.

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” he says, “but if you ever want to talk, I’m here. Moving across the country alone couldn’t have been easy.”

I blink fast, fending off more tears. “Yeah. It’s been hard.” I sniffle. “Do you live here now too? What about Cassie?”

“Yeah. Both of us.” He gives me a small smile, a little dimple popping in his cheek.

“That’s great.” I hiccup, my cheeks burning as he assesses me a little too closely. “Thank you so much for helping me.”

“No thank you necessary.” He tips his head. “What about your boyfriend? How is he handling your move?”

“M-my boyfriend?” I blink, taken aback.

“The hockey player. Michael, I think.”

My heart stutters, but I let out a weak laugh. “We weren’t dating. He was my best friend.”

A smile breaks over his lips, as if he likes my answer.

Warmth spreads over my skin, and I can’t help but smile too.

“Could we exchange numbers?” He playfully nudges me with his shoulder. “Maybe we can hang out. It would be nice to have someone to talk to outside the rink.”

He hands me his phone, and I type in my number. When he hits the Call button, I quickly silence my phone and save his number too. While the device is unlocked, I click on the Favorites tab, intending to call Uncle Tom to let him know I’m ready to leave.

Instead of tapping my uncle’s name, I hover over the first contact in the list.

Michael.

Before my brain can catch up with my fingers, I press the Call button.

Instantly, I want to click the red End button. Panic rises like a tidal wave inside me, only to vanish when, instead of ringing, the call fails. Frowning, I try his number again. The call fails again.

No ringing. Not even once.

Confused, I open our text thread in the messenger, and then my heart falls to the floor.

No, no, no. He wouldn’t do that.