Page 124 of Practice Makes Perfect
Somewhere in the distance, the crowd roars—a sound that now feels like it’s coming from another dimension. A dimension where thirty seconds ago I was still happy, planning a future that’s evaporating in front of me.
“I need some time.” His voice is flatter than I’ve ever heard it. “To figure some stuff out.”
My brain scrambles to make sense of what’s happening. Yesterday morning we woke up in each other’s arms. Yesterday morning he told me he loved me. This morning we texted about what movie to watch later. And now… this?
“What stuff?” My voice trembles on the question. “Why can’t you figure it out with me?”
He shakes his head, and something in his expression hardens. “I just can’t, okay? This isn’t… I’m not… I need space.”
Each disjointed phrase is a nail in the coffin of whatever we were building together, a field of flowers and a sky of sunshine reduced to ash and darkness. My chest tightens painfully.
“Space.” I echo the word back to him. “But last night you said?—”
“I know what I said,” he cuts me off, crossing his arms. “Things change.”
“In twenty-four hours?” Heat floods my face—anger and humiliation mixing into a toxic blend. “Things don’t change that fast. People don’t change that fast.”
A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Well, I did.”
I stare at him, searching for a sign that this is temporary—a bad mood, a momentary freak-out about meeting my family, a case of gameday jitters gone bad. But all I see is ice in the eyes that were warm on mine just yesterday.
“Is it something I did?” My voice cracks on the question, betraying the desperation I’m trying to hide. “Because if I?—”
“It’s not you,” he says, in the most stereotypical breakup line of all time. “I just… I need to focus on hockey right now. And school. And sorting out my shit.”
“That’s bullshit.” The words escape before I can stop them. “You can focus on school or hockey and still have a girlfriend. Declan and Lea make it work.”
His face hardens. “I’m not Declan.”
“No shit,” I snap, hurt making me reckless. “He wouldn’t dump his girlfriend in the middle of a hockey game with no warning.”
Linc flinches, and for a second I think maybe I’ve gotten through to him. Maybe this is just a momentary lapse in sanity that we’ll laugh about later. In that case, it will still hurt, but we can move on.
“I need to get back,” he says instead, nodding toward the rink.
“So that’s it?” My voice rises. “You just drop this bomb and walk away?”
He takes a step backward. “I guess so. Sorry.”
And then, before I can say another word, he turns and walks away, his broad shoulders set in a rigid line that saysdon’t follow memore clearly than words ever could.
I stand frozen in the hallway, my chest constricting so tightly I can barely breathe. The sounds of the game continue in the distance—whistles, cheers, the dull thud of bodies checking against the boards.
Life going on as normal while mine implodes.
This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.
But it is. The empty hallway and the cold knot in my stomach are proof enough of that. Just minutes ago I was excited to watch him for the rest of the game and then hang with him after.
I was texting Louis about what dessert to make for our family dinner next weekend. I was picturing Linc laughing with my grandmother and fitting seamlessly. I was thinking about a future together.
And now…
A hot tear slides down my cheek. I swipe it away furiously, refusing to break down in a public hallway where anyone couldwalk by. My legs feel like they might give out, so I lean against the wall, trying to make sense of it.
But there is no sense to be made. One minute I had a boyfriend who loved me, and the next I had… nothing.
The cruelest part is that I felt proud of myself—proud that I’d finally been brave enough to open up, to trust someone. I’d overcome my fear, my self-doubt, my certainty that I wasn’t worth loving.
