Playing Hurt - By Holly Schindler Page 0,84

the far wall. I yelp and race into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.

Never live timidly, my mind screams out. Face this, Chelse. But I can’t; not yet; I don’t know how. Did I really mean all those awful things I’d just said?

I put one hand on the marble counter and cover my mouth with the other. When a knock comes to the suite door, I hear Gabe answer, saying, “I dropped a bottle. I’ll clean it up. Sorry to have disturbed the other guests.”

I listen as he picks up all the broken pieces. And maybe, I tell myself a little desperately, there are a few other broken pieces we can start to gather—together. I’m not a hundred percent sure, in that moment, exactly what I want from Gabe—I only know that I don’t want to completely trash the last two years. And that I don’t want him to hate me.

After splashing cool water on my tear-soaked face, I open the bathroom door.

But when I step into the room, Gabe’s already changed back into his jeans. He’s shoving his tie into his overnight case. A cold electric shock travels through my body. “Gabe—where are you going?”

He doesn’t answer, so I put my hand on his arm. He shakes it away. “You can’t have it both ways, Chelse.”

“But, Gabe, I—”

“Get the hell away from me, you selfish bitch,” he says. He zips his case and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Clint

back in the game

I step inside Baudette Sporting Goods—and for the first time in two years, I let myself glance past the fishing gear that’s just inside the entrance. I let myself look toward the shoes in the back. Cleats and basketball shoes and …

“Hey, man,” Todd says. “How’d it go the other night? With Kenzie?”

Pulling my eyes from the shoe display is a little like trying to wrench myself out of a dream. I mumble “Hmm?” as Greg pops up out of nowhere, a new fly rod in his hand.

“Sorry. Got the last one,” he tells me.

“Last one,” I repeat, feeling completely disoriented.

“Rod. On sale. That’s why you came, isn’t it? When I saw you walk in, I assumed—”

I shake my head. “No—not today.”

“So?” Todd presses, adjusting his ball cap by tugging on the bill. “How’d it go? With Kenzie?”

I shake my head. “I think—I’ve just—known her too long. Takes a little of the mystery out of it, right?”

Greg squints at me. “Known her too long,” he repeats, because he knows it’s bull. But I don’t exactly want to spill everything in the middle of a sporting goods store, of all places. Or even really spill it to the guys, period.

How am I supposed to talk about it without looking like a complete moron? Now that I think about it, the night with Kenzie proved what I’d suspected all along—that the void Rosie left in my life wasn’t ever going to get filled by just anybody. I needed Chelsea. Just wish I didn’t have to embarrass Kenzie in the process.

If I say anything like that, they’ll both swear I’ve lost it.

I push past the guys toward the shoe display.

“So, you’re not interested? In Kenzie? Right?” Todd asks as he follows me.

I’m only half-listening as I scour the shelves for a size twelve. It doesn’t seem possible, but the box is already standing out a little from all the rest, like the ghost of the old me’s already tugged it out, left it waiting for me.

My heart’s practically on fire as I open the box and take out the hockey skate. Just touching it, I can already hear the slice of the blades on a rink.

When I look up, Greg and Todd are staring at me with wide-eyed, shocked faces.

“Are you serious?” Greg asks, nodding once at the skates.

“I kind of promised somebody,” I say, and turn toward the checkout counter.

Chelsea

advance step

One down!” Brandon announces as he bounds through White Sugar holding the keys to the Explorer.

“We haven’t made the delivery yet,” Mom reminds him. “The deal is, you show me you can deliver twenty multi-tiered cakes in one piece—no skidding, no speeding, no careening—and we’ll start to talk about buying you a car.”

“Piece of cake, Ma,” Brandon insists. “Pun intended.” He grins at me and rolls his eyes.

I smile back at him, just like I’ve been smiling ever since he lied through his overbite (something about Gabe’s ’Stang getting stalled on the highway to Springfield) in order to get his hands on the keys to