The truth is, part of me has always been anxious; it’s just that lately, it’s winning.
The first time I took the ice my freshman year at HU, I got dizzy and clammy and thought I might pass out, but I hung on and shoved it away. I used the energy, wrestled it, and poured it into my game and I won, I fucking defeated the anxiety. I’ve always been able to beat the darkness—until now.
He must see something in my expression. “How are you feeling about Willow this week? Anything different?”
I level my gaze at him. “She’s dead because of me. She’s never going to college or getting married or having kids…” I halt, my gut churning.
“And you still blame yourself?”
My jaw tightens, anger and grief bubbling. “Therapy isn’t going to fix a mistake I made, sir. I killed her.”
“A car accident killed her.” His reply is swift and sure.
“Because I wasn’t there,” I insist.
He puts his elbow on the desk. “You’re not a mind reader and you can’t control people. Even if you had been at that party, she would have left eventually. She would have taken the same curve in the road. You are not an all-knowing deity who can decide someone’s fate just by showing up at a party.”
But…
I wasn’t there. If I had been, maybe she would have waited until the rain stopped, maybe I would have driven her home, maybe we would have resolved all our shit—
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Stop. Stop. Stop.
“Zack?”
I inhale a deep breath and look up at him.
“You deserve hockey. You deserve happiness.”
He’s been saying those words to me since the day we started this.
I look back out the window.
“I want you to repeat those words to yourself when you wake up tomorrow. Then say them again when you go to bed. Say them whenever you feel like you’re spiraling down that hole. Okay?”
I give him a nod, but I’m not sure I agree with him. Magic words won’t fix me.
I watch a couple on the street at a bus stop. They’re young, maybe my age, and there’s a suitcase between them. She leans her head on his shoulder and stares up at him with big eyes. He smiles down at her and kisses her…and I’m wrapped in envy.
I want that, that…that…love.
I could have that.
I could.
But do I deserve it?
17
Sugar
The night of Eric’s party arrives the next week and I’m getting ready, my mind already on Z. I’ve seen him a couple of times since the Tipsy Moose, but it’s been brief. We met in the student center for lunch one day, and he took more pictures of us and posted them to his social media. “This will keep the girls away,” he said with a smile, but I knew they wouldn’t. He’s the kind of guy girls will crawl on the floor to be with. As we were leaving that day, me off to the library and him to hockey, Reece and Veronica showed up and Z visibly stiffened, his entire demeanor changing. There’s a weird energy when they’re around, and it pricks at me, makes me wonder what the backstory is there.
Don’t get your heart broken, Sugar.
Poppy eyes me critically, her lips spreading into a wide grin as she takes in my figure in the dress I picked out to wear. The color is a deep merlot, silky and stunning and clingy, and of course, it came from her closet. She’s two inches shorter than me and a size smaller across the boobs, but because it’s a halter dress that ties around the neck, we had some leeway. She claps, her face filled with glee. “I wish I had your boobs.”
“No, you don’t. Have you seen me try to jog? Scary.”
She tugs her cardigan around her slim shoulders. “I’m flatter than a pancake. I would die to shake those things in some guy’s face and watch him melt…”
“You’re beautiful, Poppy!” And she is with her shiny, dark, almost black hair and blue eyes.
She shrugs. “Meh.”
I grimace as I look at my reflection. “This dress is as subtle as a freight train. It practically screams look at me.”
“No, that’s the shoes,” she says with a grin.
We glance down at the strappy gold two-inch heels. They match the delicate gold necklace with a glittering rectangular quartz pendant around my neck. My toenails are painted a wine color and my fingernails match, all thanks to Taylor. I huff out a laugh as I look