Page 155 of Jaded

A new feeling churns in my gut alongside the dark and doubt. More anxiety, but a different kind.

Something iswrong.

Without thought, I stoop, snatch Nat’s pack of cigarettes off the cement. And I walk, through that bone-chilling cold, across the parking lot.

It’s started to snow in earnest, and darkness seeps in along the edges of the world, and it’s really not like Nat to completely disappear without even a text.

Something’s wrong.

But . . . what?

I look down at the cigarettes in my hand. Something’s wrong, but what can I do about it? Whatever it is, Nat’s chosen not to tell me, to shut me out of his life—

No. Stop making it all about you, Olli.

Maybe he’s simply caught up in whatever’s going on, hasn’t had a chance to text. Or maybe he doesn’t want to make me have to choose—between him and this night. Between his life and my dream.

We both know this is where I belong. At this rink. Proving them all wrong. Proving that this is where I’m meant to be, that I have what it takes to make it all the way . . .

So why do I feel like crap?

Why does Nat not being here feel so wrong?

If this is what I’m meant to do, why do I have to choose the dream over someone who’s filled my flattened heart to three dimensions? Why does living a dream mean shutting everyone else out? Refusing to date, never making friends, never letting anyone get close.

Do I really want this dream if I can’t balance it with love—if it means being alone forever?

Dreams are so selfish,aren’t they?

He saved me that dark night, and now here I am, trying to justify not even finding out if he needs my help.

My teeth grit together. No. Dreams be damned. Right now, my dream is making sure Nat’s all right. Saving him, if need be, the way he saved me.

So I pull out my phone once again, open my texts. But this time, it’s not Nat I’m messaging.

Your dad needs me. Tell me where to be.

Chapter 40

Nat

I’msocaughtupin the motions of everything that comes next, I’m barely aware of the passage of time. Between me and Syd, we bundle Avery out of bed. Down the hall—step by excruciating step. Through the door. Into the car.

He grits his teeth and tears stream down his cheeks as I lower him into the passenger seat. But he doesn’t protest. Doesn’t fight me anymore.

Syd climbs into the back, leans forward between the seats to wrap her hand around Avery’s. I stare through the windshield as I drive. Snow’s starting to escape the white clutch of the cloud-stuffed sky in pale flurries, and I pray it’ll hold off a bit longer.

We reach urgent care, and it’s another struggle to help him back out of the car. But despite the pain scrawled over his face in plain letters, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t cry out or protest or collapse back into the seat.

Syd and I carry him into the building. Up to the front desk.

“Do you have insurance, Avery?” I ask, my stomach suddenly queasy with worry. But surely he does. Mary would take care of that, right?

“He does,” Syd holds out a hand, a little white card in her fingers. A plain black wallet sits in her other.

Shit, she remembered to grab hiswallet. When did she get so grown up, so smart and matureand . . . capable?

“Thanks.” I hand the card over to the receptionist, but my gaze stays on Sydney. “Good save, Syd.”

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