Page 73 of A World Without You
Neither Colin nor myself acknowledge his departure. Colin reaches me in three quick glides on the ice, but when he goes to stop, he slides into me instead, pushing me up against the wall with ahmmph. For a moment—maybe two—he pins me against the wall. His hands grip the wall on either side of me, and his body stays pressed against mine, his gaze falling briefly to my mouth.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. “Stopping is hard.”
I smile at him. He’s so close and familiar, but when my eyes fall to the scar on his neck, I remember how many years of him don’t belong to me.
“What happened to your neck?” I ask.
His gaze snaps up to mine and he presses an involuntary hand to his neck. “Skiing accident.”
I nod. “Sorry that happened.” My words are small, but they hold more weight. He knows it.
He stares back at me. “I think...” he stops. Enough seconds pass to make me wonder if he’s even going to continue, but then he says, “I think we should talk.”
I swallow the fear that just climbed up my throat. “Now?”
“Tomorrow? Coffee?”
I almost say I don’t want to wait until tomorrow, but I nod.
“I’ll email you details,” he says. Email may be impersonal, but it does not deter my relief or excitement that he wants to talk.
I breathe out through a smile, unable to find words and scared that any I say will change his mind. After he skates off the ice, I realize the walker I was using is missing. Or rather, it’s on the other side of the rink in the possession of a little girl with blonde curls.
“The little thief,” I say and attempt to skate away from the wall. I fail miserably and grab hold of the wall again for dear life.
“March,” I tell myself and slowly, inch by inch, I make it to the opening. I see Bennett saying goodbye to a few coworkers and make a b-line for him. I run—no, march—well, wobble toward him and cling to his jacket when I reach him.
“Take those off before you break an ankle,” he demands, holding me still with his hands on my waist.
“What? No, I’m fine,” I say, pushing my hair out of my face and adjusting my beanie. “Bennett! Guess what!”
“What!” he pretends to be just as excited.
“He agreed to meet with me.”
“Really?” I can’t tell if he’s skeptical or excited for me—this is one of Bennett’s unreadable moments. His perma-scowl doesn’t move, even as his eyes search my face.
“Yes!” I shout, clapping my hands together.
“Yay...” he says with mock enthusiasm and punching his fists up in the air in celebration.
I throw my arms around him and my body slams into his with ahmmphand a breath that is almost a laugh. I squeeze him tight, my cheek pressed against his chest.
“Thank you, thank you,” I murmur into the fabric of his coat.
He pulls back and tilts my chin so I’m looking at him. “Remember: the first step is forgiveness.”
I twist my lips. “I thought it was kissing him until hebegs me to love him,” I respond, repeating Bennett’s sultry spiel from this morning.
His nostrils flare in response. “I mean, you can kiss him if he forgives you.”
I let out a laugh before plopping on the bench to remove my skates. My elation quickly calcifies into dread. Colin doesn’t have to forgive me and I know he has no reason to. He could move on with his life without my apology or ever reconciling anything with me.
But without his forgiveness, I know I’ll live with this regret.
Bennett’s right. Forgiveness is the first step.
