Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I hate that I notice. I hate even more that it stirs something in me, this gnawing need to explain myself, to make him understand why I can’t let him or anyone else get closer. But how do you explain a secret so old and so buried that it feels like part of your DNA?
I fumble with my gloves, trying to distract myself. “You’ll have fun, though. Foster and Mazzy probably throw an amazing party, right?”
“It will be awesome,” he says, his voice steady, but it doesn’t carry the same warmth as before. He shakes his head lightly, brushing it off. “It’s no big deal. I just thought it might be nice. You know, ring in the new year with some good company.”
His words land softly but carry weight, and I know he’s not talking about just anyone. The idea of ringing in the new year with North sends a thrill through me, but it’s the same thrill that warns me I’m getting too close to the edge of something I can’t control.
I want to tell him. I want to say, I can’t do this because I don’t trust myself not to get hurt. Because once, a long time ago, someone made me believe I was worth something, and then they shattered it into a million pieces for everyone to see. But the words don’t come.
Instead, I force a smile and say, “Maybe next time.”
North tilts his head, studying me for a beat too long, like he’s trying to read between the lines. Then he nods, his expression neutral but kind. “Yeah, maybe next time.”
He tosses the snowball into the yard, dusts off his hands, and turns his attention back to the snowman. “You think it needs anything else?” he asks, his tone light again.
I let out a breath, grateful for the shift. “Have a corncob pipe, by any chance?”
He laughs, and the tension eases, but I can’t shake the ache of the moment. The unspoken truth hangs between us, and I know it will ultimately be our demise.
Just like it’s ruined every other relationship I’ve ever tried to have.
CHAPTER 9
North
Walking through Washington’s main terminal is a rare occurrence for us, something that only happens when the private airport terminal isn’t an option. It’s a different energy altogether, a mix of routine travel buzz and the unexpected sight of Titans jerseys scattered among the crowd. Even as the visiting team the fans show up, a small but loyal group clutching signs, snapping photos and cheering as we pass.
It’s not overwhelming, like the homecoming crowds at Pittsburgh, but there’s a quiet thrill in seeing those familiar colors and faces in a sea of strangers. Kids wave their jerseys in hopes of an autograph, and some fans shout words of encouragement or good-natured ribbing about tomorrow’s game.
I take my time, stopping to sign a few items and pose for selfies. It’s moments like these that remind me why I love this game, the connection it builds between us and people who’ve never laced up skates. Their excitement feels genuine, and it pulls me out of the insular world of locker rooms and ice rinks, even if just for a few minutes.
This is our second stop on this short two-game road trip. Last night, we crushed the Atlanta Sting in what felt like a practice scrimmage more than a competitive match. The win has everyone in high spirits, and although today is all about travel and a light skate practice, I can’t shake the lingering high of victory.
Tomorrow, we face the Breakers, but my mind is already skipping ahead to the flight home. I’m counting down the hours until I’m back in Pittsburgh.
Specifically, back to Farren.
Well, not to Farren, but rather within proximity of her which might present an opportunity to spend time with her.
It’s unsettling how much I want to see her considering how hard she works to maintain some distance and I push the feeling aside, focusing instead on the present.
Penn walks ahead of Rafferty and me, a ghost moving through the crowd, his pace brisk and his focus pinned to the ground. He’s been more withdrawn than usual since the incident at Stevie’s bar the other night, although King apparently tried to talk to him about it.
He got nothing in return.
“North! Over here!” a woman calls out, waving a Titans scarf in the air. I smile, veering toward her to snap a quick selfie.
Rafferty does the same a few steps behind me, stopping to sign a young boy’s jersey. His grin stretches ear to ear, and it’s easy to see how much he thrives on this energy. The kid looks like Christmas came early, and Raff’s genuine warmth only adds to the moment.
And it’s crazy how much he and Farren look alike.
Stop… thinking… about… her.
“North, man, let’s move,” Rafferty says from right behind me, snapping me out of my thoughts. I wave at another group of fans, offering them a quick smile before picking up the pace.