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“Hey now, I got you a few times. But once your legs got longer than mine, it was tough to beat you. I still held my own though.”

It feels good to joke around with her about the past like this. It’s been a long time since we’ve been able to be completely normal around each other. We need to talk about what happened between us in high school because she doesn’t know the full or true story. Despite the way I acted indifferently as a result of our breakup, I never really believed it was over between us. And I’m tired of waiting to claim what’s mine.

Turning the corner toward my house, I slow my pace. I glance down at her and see she’s still staring at our entwined hands.

“What are you thinkin’ ’bout, Char?”

“I … don’t really know. I guess I’m wondering what’s going on here. Beck, we haven’t really been on the best terms the last couple of years. This seems kind of out of the blue, or … I don’t know … I guess it’s a little confusing. My mind feels like it’s all over the place. But when you kissed me, it felt like nothing had changed at all.”

There is hesitancy in her voice, and I don’t like it. What happened was real. And she’s not wrong; it felt like everything was back in place.

I stop walking and turn to look at her. Grabbing her other hand in mine, I search her face, seeking confirmation in her words.

“Charlie, every time I’m near you, I want to kiss you. I want to touch you. Just because we haven’t been together in a long time doesn’t mean you aren’t still mine.”

I bend my head down toward her and kiss her forehead. When I pull back, her eyes are fixed on mine with tears threatening to spill over. I bring my hand up to her face and trace my thumb just under her eye, where one tear has fallen.

Not wanting to seem too eager, I gently tug her toward the house. When we reach the door, I pull out the keys from my pocket and unlock the door. As we walk in, Charlie pulls her hand out of mine and walks toward the living room.

“Not so fast.” With my hand on her hip, I guide her toward the kitchen and settle her against the kitchen counter.

I take a ziplock bag out of a nearby drawer and fill it with ice. When I’m done sealing the bag, I walk back to Charlie and stop in front of her.

Gently, I lift her arm and place the ice pack on her elbow.

She winces at the icy-cold feel. I hold it firm against her skin.

“Nothing cures a wound better than ice,” I state.

“Is that a metaphor or something?”

I laugh. “I guess it could be. You’ve been icing me for years. But, nah, this is what my physical therapist recommends for injuries. You ever do a cold plunge? Now, that really gets the immune system going.”

She smiles, and it warms my chest. “I think I’ll stick to the ice pack.”

We stay like this—me holding the bag to her arm and her letting me tend to her—for a few minutes before I remove the bag from her arm.

“Better?” I ask.

She nods lightly and moves her arm to test the range of motion. “Better.”

I step away and toss the bag of ice in the trash.

Charlie runs her hand along her cheek, takes a breath, and moves toward the refrigerator. “I’m gonna get a water. Do you want anything? Are you going to bed now, or do you want to watch a movie or something?” Her words are spoken quickly, like she’s nervous.

“Yeah,” I state evenly, “I’ll take a water. Why don’t we watch something in my room? I’m exhausted, and my ribs are hurting a little from the game today.”

I’m watching her to gauge her reaction to my suggestion. Her back is toward me now, so I can’t see her face, but she stills for a beat as she’s reaching into the fridge for the waters. Pulling two bottles from the fridge, she shuts the door with her hip.

Turning to face me, she walks over and hands me my bottle. We stand there for a minute, just staring at each other. I take a sip of my water. She takes hers as well. I watch her eyes as she opens and closes the cap of her bottle … three times.

She needs time to process how she feels. She needs control.

Lucky for her, she owns me and this moment.

Charlie reaches out her free hand and grabs mine, breaking the silence. “Well, we’d better get you to bed then.”

She walks us out of the kitchen and through the house with my hand still in hers.