Page 46 of The Breakaway

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s a big word, Thompson.”

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. “Not big enough.”

Again it felt like I’d hit the peak on a swing and was plummeting back toward the ground. I pulled my coat on one arm at a time. "We should probably go," I said, breaking the spell. "It's getting late."

Rob nodded, but he didn't take a step forward. For a long moment, we just stood there in silence, our eyes locked on each other. And in that moment, something shifted. After everything Rob had told me that night, this was the minute—the second—that I would never be able to see him the same way again.

I forced my legs to move, walking toward the exit. Rob followed, his steps slow. I flicked off the light, my hand hesitating on the door knob.I could stop. I could turn. I could?—

I twisted and forced myself out into the hall, sucking in a lungful of air. We walked back down the hall and through the atrium. I frowned when Rob turned off in the opposite direction of the front doors.

“Be right back.”

I waited a moment, then followed and peered down the hall. Washrooms. He’d gone to use the washroom.

My ribs suddenly felt a size too small. I worried my lower lip until he reappeared. “You don’t have to do that,” I said when he got closer.

Rob shrugged. “Not a big deal.”

I put out a hand and stopped him. My fingers slid over his coat and snagged on his wrist. I quickly pulled back, my skin tingling. “You can use my washroom. Put your toothbrush in there. I’ll be fine.”

Rob circled his fingers over his wrist where I’d touched him. “I don’t want to—” He stopped. “I’m not going to make you feel that way again.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Rob was already walking toward the tunnel. I hurried to catch up and matched his stride. He unlocked the door, and we walked through the long hall to the GRB, then climbed the stairs and exited into the night.

When we passed the bookstore, Rob asked. "So, what's your big plan?" His hands were shoved deep into his pockets. At least he wasn’t only wearing a T-shirt this time. "With the violin, I mean. You're obviously talented as hell. Are you going to go pro or something?"

I let out a short laugh. "This isn’t hockey."

“Whatever you call pro then.”

I shrugged, feeling a sudden wave of uncertainty wash over me. "I guess I've never really thought about it. Music has always been a part of my life, but I never considered it as a career."

He chuckled, but didn’t respond.

I looked over. “What?”

He shrugged. “Nothing.” I shot him a look, and his grin widened. “That’s just interesting.”

“Interesting how?”

Rob picked up his pace and looked both ways down the road, then waited until I pulled up even with him to cross the street. “I just remember someone telling me I was a coward.”

I scoffed. “This is different.”

“Mm. So different.”

I smacked his arm, instantly regretting the contact with the way my heart jolted. I folded my arms across my chest. “It’s crazy competitive.” He turned, his face lit up like a Christmas tree, and I realized my mistake. “No, I didn’t?—”

“Ah, the exact same words.” He mimed a chef’s kiss.

“Shut up.”

“Hell, no. That was too perfect.”

I groaned. “It’s late. That wasn’t fair.”

“Sharla, are you afraid to go after your dreams?”

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