There was a strange defiance about the gesture, like he wanted to rub my face in his snot or something. Weirdo.
I blinked at him, and mumbled, “I know she comes here every day. I was wondering why she didn’t come today.”
The guy shrugged. “No way of knowing.”
“She doesn’t have a cell phone, so I don’t have her number. Does she have one on file?”
“She does,” was the helpful response, before he blew it, “but I can’t give it to you.”
“That’s fine,” I said quickly. “But I wondered if you could call it and just make sure she’s okay?”
Another sniff followed by another blow of his nose—this guy was gross. “No. That’s against the rules.”
My mouth tightened, but I dipped my chin. With no other recourse than to accept that I wouldn’t know if Theodosia was sick until she returned to the center to swim in the morning, I made my way to my bike.
The prospect of waiting a full twenty-four hours to find out if she was okay gnawed at my insides.
And three days later, my insides were barely there because everything had rotted away with terror.
I’d trained harder in her absence on less food than I ever had before, but I was at the center religiously, and each time, something inside me died a little more when she failed to show up.
Was she avoiding me?
The jerks who worked here wouldn’t tell me shit.
I’d grabbed a couple of hundred from the bank account my parents had set up so I could buy school stuff, and even though I’d have to account for it later, it was worth it—I had a phone. I just needed to get it to Theodosia so this would never happen again.
Because I refused to believe she was ghosting me.
I just couldn’t handle that.
After five solid days of no contact, the level of despair I was feeling bordered on insane. It also angered me. I wasn’t sure what the hell was going on with me, but I felt manic. Depressed. Enraged and outraged.
Whatever this was, it wasn’t healthy, and my anger was aimed at Theodosia for putting me through this, but that didn’t stop me from going to the center for another two days straight.
I promised myself, after a week of no contact, that would be it. I’d stop going, stop waiting on her. I’d had three ‘lates’ marked on my record for pushing it to the last minute before getting to registration, and though Mom had nailed me to a cross over it, I didn’t care.
Nothing mattered.
Nothing except for this ache inside me. A bone deep chill that I couldn’t seem to get over unless I was in the water. That seemed to bring me up to temp, but unless I was wearing a shit ton of sweaters and tees, I was always fucking cold at the moment. And with it being spring, and nice and mild, I looked weird as hell wearing sweaters that would have warmed me up mid-winter.
I’d given up, I had to admit. Knowing she’d ghosted me fucking killed me, so when I saw her eight days after that last time, I stormed over to her, full of anger and hurt and fucking joy that she was there.
But the anger and hurt waned the second I saw her.
She’d been ill.
Christ, she still looked it.
Confused, I hesitated by the doors. Our ‘routine’ was to meet in the pool, not out by the atrium.
Why wasn’t she in the water?
Had she come here only to tell me to get the hell out of her life?
I hovered, uncertain if I could deal with that, then she saw me, and I almost dropped to my knees as our eyes connected.
The heat that filled me was enough to make the days of cold disintegrate into memory. She shuddered like she felt it too, and the involuntary action kickstarted me into moving.
Stalking over to her, I dropped to my knees at her side.
“Where the hell were you?” I ground out, but she heard the hurt, sensed the concern, and her hands reached over to cup my cheeks.
“I-I was sick.”
My eyes widened, but I took her in, confirming what I’d judged earlier—she looked pale and wan. I had to stop myself from sinking into her hold, because God, it felt good.
“Are you better?” I rasped.
She shrugged weakly. Tiredly. And her hands flopped from my cheeks like she was too exhausted to keep them up. “Not really. But I knew you had to be worrying.” Her mouth