Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“True,” she whispers.
I stare at the ceiling, trying not to consider one player in particular. “Hey, Darcy?”
“Hmm?”
“What if it was Chase? He’s still mad at me, even if he won’t admit it.”
“No!” she yelps. “He didn’t do this. He bought you dinner! That’s the opposite of this.”
“Yeah. But maybe Bess told him to.”
“No. Nope! I can’t believe I’m defending Chase Merritt right now, because he’s hotter than is really fair, he’s kind of smug, and he never turns in his per diem forms on time. But he’s not petty. He’s not sneaky, either. If he doesn’t like something, he just tells you to your face.”
“Hmm. True.” Plus, it’s so hard to imagine the Chase I used to know leaving nasty notes for anyone. Pettiness was beneath him.
“Besides,” she says slowly. “He doesn’t hate you at all. You should have heard him earlier, telling the guys that you made him go to the chiropractor. The look on his face…”
My heart does a spin. “How did he look? Amused?”
“No, he looked proud. Like he wanted to brag about you.”
“I doubt it.”
“I don’t,” Darcy insists. “He still thinks you’re cool, Zoe. And he doesn’t have time for games. He could have gotten you fired already. He had the chance.”
I mull this over, torn between hope and disbelief. As sleep starts to claim me, I push thoughts of Chase aside.
Or I try to, anyway. But somewhere in this hotel, Chase is lying in an identical bed, on these same silky sheets. All these years, he made no effort to contact me. But I can’t help wondering if he thought of me anyway sometimes. At night, in bed, when his eyes grew heavy—did he ever think back to the one night we spent together?
I’ve thought about it a lot. Far more often than is healthy.
You’re not supposed to live your life looking in the rearview mirror. That’s something my mother always said when she was trying to motivate me to work harder on the next jump or the next competition. There’s no point in crying over the past.
Or is there? When I was eighteen, I had no idea how fleeting those perfect moments with Chase would be. Loving him had felt like unlocking the door to a new and wonderful existence. I thought it was the start to something beautiful.
But it was over before it began, and I don’t think anyone has ever loved me quite so well since.
Chapter 23
Nine and a Half Years Ago
It’s a week after the showcase, and Massachusetts has transformed itself into a sticky circle of hell. The dorms aren’t air-conditioned, and everyone is cranky from lack of sleep. The ice rink is everyone’s favorite refuge, but there’s only so much ice time in a day.
Wear something skimpy, Chase texts to Zoe after dinner, while he’s waiting on the roof.
Is it bad up there? she asks. Or is this a gratuitous request?
Can’t it be both?
Maybe? My mother always says boys only want one thing.
This boy wants ice cream and it’s going to melt if you don’t get your cute ass up here.
Ice cream???? Why didn’t you lead with that? On my way!
True to her word, the door pops open not two minutes later. She’s wearing short-shorts and a tiny tank top, which he appreciates.
When Zoe sees what Chase has done, she gasps. And by the time she’s crossed the roof to where he’s sitting—with his feet in a generous kiddie pool filled with cool water—she practically has hearts in her eyes. “Oh my God! You genius.” She plops down in the opposite chair and unties her shoes.
“How come you don’t have flip-flops like everyone else in the world?” he asks.
“Because my mother thinks they’re dangerous. Skaters get injured enough without breaking a leg running for the bus.”
Chase often has to bite his tongue after hearing little stories like this. Zoe’s mom dictates her diet, her shoes, her life.
“How did you fill this pool?” she asks, dropping her feet into the cold water. “It’s… ahhh.” She collapses against the back of the chair in a wanton way that makes his pulse quicken.
“There’s a spigot. I filled it up most of the way and dragged it over here. Then I topped it up using the cooler as a bucket.” He opens the cooler and hands her a spoon.
She squeals in delight. “I love ice cream. Nobody ever buys me ice cream.”
“Well, someone should,” he says, pulling a single-serving Ben & Jerry’s carton for each of them out of the cooler. “Cherry Garcia or Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough? I like both.”
She makes him choose, and he gives her the cherry, because he thinks it’s the one she really wants. They eat it slowly, and the way Zoe licks the spoon makes him a little crazy.
When the ice cream is long gone, they sit facing each other, feet in the pool between them. They’re playing Battleship on pen and paper. Chase is losing badly, and he couldn’t care less. “C7,” he says.