“Sore loser.” I loop my arm around her shoulders and pull her close as we walk. I’m sweaty, she’s sweaty, but neither of us seems to care as we work to catch our breath. “It’s okay. I have longer legs.”
Her elbow digs into my side. “Don’t patronize me.”
“It’s true.” I laugh. “If you were my height, you’d probably win.”
“Next time you sleep over at my place,” she says, “I’m going to test how long you can hold your breath with a pillow over your face.”
My head tips back as I laugh and laugh. “Next time, huh?”
“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes, still smiling. “How come we never go to your place? Is it something embarrassing?” Her expression stills. “You don’t actually have a sex doll, right?”
I snort. “No, Hartley, I don’t.” I think of my apartment—so cold and empty and soulless compared to Hartley’s cluttered, lively shoebox. “My place sucks.”
“Worse than mine?”
“Come on.” I tighten my arm around her neck, jostling her. “No place is worse than yours, baby.”
Her elbow lodges in my ribs again, and I laugh. She didn’t tell me not to call her baby, though.
“You remind me of my mom sometimes,” I tell her later as we walk home, coffees in hand, my arm back around her shoulder. She must be tired from our run because she isn’t pushing me off.
Under my arm, she stills, but she turns to me with a curious expression. My focus goes to where her hand touches my side, arm wrapped around my waist, and it’s just like that day in the forest when I was a kid, when my mom threw her arm around me and told me she loved me.
When was the last time we talked? Last Christmas, I think. She sent me an email and I didn’t respond because I didn’t know what to say.
God, I fucking miss her.
“She loves doing stuff like this. Running, hiking, yoga even.” I look down at Hazel and wiggle my eyebrows. She’s watching me closely. “She’d be all over your woo-woo worthy shit, Hartley.”
I wonder what my mom would think of me playing pickup games. I wonder if she ever watches my games on TV.
“Do you see her often?” Hazel asks.
I shake my head. “Not really.”
“Why not?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, unsure of what to say. “She left us.” Hazel’s gaze flares with fury and compassion, so I quickly add, “I mean, she asked me if I wanted to go with her.”
My throat’s tight as I fight to stay here with Hazel and not go back there to that house, listening as the door closes behind her.
“And I said no. She didn’t like how hard my dad pushed me at hockey. Said he was obsessed and making me obsessed.” I clear my throat. “And I wanted to make him proud, so I told her I didn’t want to go with her. They tried to do split custody but it was hard with my hockey schedule.” My chest tightens. “And I didn’t make things easy,” I admit. “When I was with her, I’d ignore her or go play hockey until it was time for bed, and eventually I told her I didn’t want to live with her anymore.”
Nausea rolls through me, working its way up my throat. I was so hurt that she didn’t want me and my dad that I made things so much worse.
“Things are kind of different between us now.”
That’s my fault, and I hate myself for it.
“How old were you?”
“Twelve.”
She’s quiet for a second. “You were just a kid.”
The gentle emotion in her voice pierces a hole in my heart, so I force a laugh and give her a wry, self-deprecating smile so everything doesn’t come spilling out. “Hartley, I’m okay.”
Am I okay? Sometimes it feels like everything’s falling apart.
“I’m one of the best athletes in the world,” I continue. “I’m rich as fuck, and I’m very, very good-looking.” I wink down at her, but she doesn’t smile.
“Do you ever think about what it would be like if you’d gone with her?”
“I try not to.”
She frowns.
“I don’t want to have regrets.” So I try not to think about that moment when maybe I should have gone with her.
She doesn’t say anything, just sips her coffee as I walk her back to her place.
“Why’d you do this?” I ask as we turn onto her street. “Take me on a run.”
“Because we’re friends now.” Her eyes meet mine, so bright and blue in the daylight, and she hesitates like she’s choosing her words with care. “And because you’re good and kind,” she says, looking up at me with the most open and sincere expression I’ve ever seen on her pretty face.