A small smile crosses my face. “Your team is calling. You need to go.”
He presses it in my hands, his grasp warm. “I’ll be back soon.”
I unfold the paper.
I’m not a poet,
That’s the first thing you should know.
But sometimes it’s only in the lines of words That I can hear myself think.
The first time I saw you, You were a lamb
With dreams in your eyes.
You reminded me of the me I wanted to be, Innocent and sweet.
I wanted to taste that part of you, did you know that?
But I also wanted you because I’m a selfish prick.
I took your kisses,
Without care or conscience.
I’m sorry.
I can’t change the person I was Before.
But now . . .
My favorite moments of us are Your Converse on my floor, Your hoodies on my bed, The butterflies over your bed, The way you fit in my arms.
When I see your eyes now, I see a wolf.
Strong.
Fierce.
Beautiful.
Worthy.
And you know it because you tossed me aside.
I’m a dumb fuck.
I got lost.
I lost my journey.
I lost the path to hockey.
I lost you.
And happiness.
I can blame it on my parents.
On Kurt.
On guilt and blame and responsibility.
On the pressure cooker in my head.
But I was scared too.
Of trying to be someone good enough for you.
Of accepting that you cared.
Since I was a kid,
People have only loved me conditionally.
If I’m smart.
Or rich.
Or funny.
Or a star.
It’s ironic
That people assume I’m carefree, That I’m the easy one, When I’m the one with the hole inside.
I’m not sure I’ve ever been loved By a girl that didn’t want a piece Of my celebrity.
I’m learning to love my mom again.
I’m learning to love myself, In bits and pieces.
I’m not perfect.
Never will be.
But I care about you.
I fucking love you.
My breath hitches as emotion claws at my chest. Reading his poem was like falling into the sun. I’m surrounded by warmth and light and beauty.
I’m sitting in a chair gathering my thoughts when he exits the locker room in jeans and a black knit sweater. His eyes are glued to my face.
I stand up. “Eric . . .”
He stops in front of me, tossing his duffle to the ground. “Wait. Before you say anything, let me get this all out. I don’t blame you for breaking it off. I deserved it. You helped me.”
I lick my lips. “I did?”
“I hit rock bottom, Julia. I fucking missed you. It’s no excuse, but my head hasn’t been in the right place all year. Everything from the past came to a head the night of the party. My whole life imploded. I tried to be like Kurt, to make them happy, but I’m just me.”
Tears well in my eyes and I will them away. “You’re pretty awesome.”
He laces his hand with mine. “I’m not going to law school. I’m going to play hockey, most likely with the Washington Capitals. Can you believe it?”
Boone already told me about the Capitals, but I don’t say so. I want Eric to feel the experience of telling me. “Congratulations. It’s wonderful news. I’m so happy for you.”
Moments drift by as we gaze at each other, then he exhales and drops my hand. “Right. I have this for you.”
He opens his duffle and pulls out a ring box.
I open it and inhale sharply as I touch my mother’s ring. “When did you get this?”
“As soon as it went up for sale at the pawn shop. I was going to give it to you after the party, then after everything that happened, it didn’t feel right. It’s rightfully yours, so we shouldn’t even call this a present. I’m just returning something you lost. Regardless of how you feel about me, take it, keep it.”
My hands clench around the box. “I can’t say no to that. Thank you.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”
34
Julia
We get inside his truck. He cranks the vehicle and turns on the heat to let the cab warm up. It may have been warm these past few days, but the nights are still cold.
I feel him staring at me as the engine idles. I fidget in my seat. “Congrats on the win. You played great.”
He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “I could barely focus when I showered. I kept thinking about you reading my poem.”
“I love it,” I murmur.
Then we say nothing. For what seems like five whole minutes.