Page 23

23

ARYA

“You were right.” I sniffle a little, staring down into my cocktail. It’s lime and pineapple juices with a hint of ginger. And vodka. A lot of vodka.

Taj rubs my shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“I told him what happened. And he couldn’t handle it. You were right. How could we have a relationship if he couldn’t deal with it?”

He sighs. “I actually didn’t think that’s how it would turn out. He seems like a decent guy.”

“Other than the stalking.”

“Come on,” he gently chides me. “You know he wasn’t stalking you the same way Lucas was.”

“I know. I was nervous at first, but... I wanted to be brave and it didn’t take me long to realize he’s a good guy.” I sigh. “And I’m working on not beating myself up over taking the chance. I thought I was ready for it. Turns out I was... but he wasn’t.” I sip my drink. This is going down like water on a hot summer day after a 10K run. “They won last night, though. Yay.”

“You don’t sound very happy.” He picks up his beer.

“I am happy. For him. They needed to win to stay in the playoffs, so that’s good. He didn’t play very well, though. Not that I know much about hockey, but he seemed... invisible. He didn’t seem to be on the ice much, and when he was, he didn’t do anything.”

“Shit.”

“I know. I was worried about talking to him during the playoffs in case it distracted him. I don’t want to be the reason they lose.”

“Uh... they won.”

“Right.”

“Also, that’s giving yourself a lot of credit—the whole team losing because of you?” He lifts an eyebrow.

I snort-laugh. “Oh my God. You’re totally right. I’m being a drama queen. Thanks for keeping me real.” Then I sigh again. “I just want him to do well and be happy.”

“He was probably happy they won.”

“Yeah.” I nod, yet somehow I know he wouldn’t be satisfied with his performance last night.

“You haven’t heard from him since?”

“He called me earlier. Twice. I was in class, but he left voice mails. He says he wants to apologize.”

“For... ?”

“I don’t know.”

“Call him.”

“I just said I don’t want to be a distraction. He’s in Vancouver. At least it’s not a do-or-die situation for them, but it is for Vancouver, so I’m sure they’ll be fighting hard.”

“Don’t leave him hanging.”

Slowly, I move my head up and down. “You’re right. I’ll text him. I need to think about what to say.”

We hang out at the Golden Fish for a while, and I drink way too many Mexican Mules and try to smile when Indigo and Arlo and Ziggy join us. Inside I’m cold and weary, with an uncomfortable heaviness in my chest.

When we get home, I make myself some tranquility tea, and holding my mug, I sit cross-legged on my bed, my phone in front of me.

I still don’t know exactly what to say. As usual, though, just being honest is the best thing, painful as it is.

I finish my tea, then tap in my message and read it about ten times. Then I send it.