He makes an anguished sound.
“At least not right now.” I grip my foam coffee cup in both hands, desperately needing the warmth it’s radiating. “I’ve never been alone, Dean. Ever. It’s always been one relationship after the other with me. I’m not sure I even know how to be alone, and I think this might be a good time to figure it out. You said so yourself—you’re still dealing with your loss. You still have other people you need to make amends with. So while you’re dealing with your stuff, I can deal with mine.”
His jaw tightens. I expect him to argue. I wait for him to argue. Because this is Dean Heyward-Di Laurentis, the man who always gets what he wants. The man who pushes and pushes until he does. But he surprises me. “How long?” he asks gruffly.
I bite my lip. “I don’t know. A few weeks? A month? I don’t have a timeline. I just know I need to be on my own right now. No boyfriend. Just me.”
He looks sad. “Okay.”
I can see the questions in his eyes. Is this just a break or are we really over? Did I ruin this for us? Do you still love me? But he doesn’t voice them. He nods and murmurs, “Take as much time as you need, baby.”
*
Dean
I expected Allie to say one of two things—I’m done with you, Dean or I forgive you, Dean. I expected a breakup or a tearful reunion, not this gut-wrenching state of limbo.
It’s fine, though. Just a minor setback, right? If she needs to be alone right now, then I’ll leave her alone. But I was encouraged by the fact that she let me kiss her before we parted ways at the Coffee Hut. And when I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, she leaned into my touch and rubbed her cheek against my fingers.
She still loves me. I hold that comforting certainty close to my heart over the next few days. I need the reminder that someone still loves me as I go on an apology spree that leaves me drained. I’m armed with a Kill Bill list of people—well, people to apologize to, not murder with samurai swords. I wrote the names down on an actual piece of paper, because I couldn’t keep track of all of them in my head.
The first few names are easy to check off the list.
Hannah is still pissed at me for hurting her best friend, but I win her forgiveness by spending an entire hour reciting everything I love about Allie and everything I’m going to do if—no, when, damn it—when she’s ready to see me again. Hannah is mollified.
WELLSY ?
Next, I apologize to my teammates for letting them down. Technically, I didn’t get kicked off the team—I’m suspended until next season. But I’m graduating in the spring, so there is no next season.
The guys are surprisingly cool with the screw-up that took me out of hockey commission. Honestly, I think they’ve given up on the season. Garrett assures me the guys are still bringing it hard on the ice, but I think everyone is ready to wash their hands of this disastrous year and start fresh in the fall. Hunter, especially. He’s the one I apologize to the most, promising I’ll make it up to him for bailing on our private sessions.
THE TEAM ?
But that’s not my only team, and my heart is heavy as I drive to the arena in Hastings. Again, I’m taken by surprise, because it takes very little effort to make amends with Coach Ellis. Before I can deliver the long speech I prepared, he claps me on the shoulder and says, “Save it for the boys. Good to have you back.”
COACH ELLIS ?
The boys? Also easy to win over. This time I manage to get halfway through my prepared speech, which includes a promise to take them all out for pizza. When I try to keep going after that, Robbie interrupts me by shouting, “Dude, you had us at pizza!”
THE HURRICANES ?
I stay to help out with practice. My heart is no longer heavy. It’s soaring, because Allie was right—I love this. Skating with the kids, giving them tips about how to position their bodies, when to take their shot. After the final whistle blows, I help Ellis put away the equipment and we spend ten minutes discussing options I never even realized were available to me.
My anxiety resurfaces when I climb the bleachers.
Dakota has her pink notebook in her lap, pencil poised on a blank page. She tenses when I sit beside her. She doesn’t say hello, and I clearly see the hurt flickering in her huge blue eyes.
“So what did the evil Mrs. Klein assign for us today?” I ask gruffly.
She ignores me.
“If you’re supposed to write a paragraph about your hero, I’m sure I don’t qualify. But if it’s a description of the person you hate the most? I bet you can write ten pages on me, easy.”