Page 13 of Love and Other Penalties
“You won’t fail.”
“But what if?—?”
He silences me with a kiss that’s different from the others. This one is deeper, more urgent, like he’s trying to transfer some of his certainty into me through the connection of our lips.
He breaks the kiss as roughly as he started it, and he doesn’t go far. “What if what?” he whispers against my mouth.
“What if I’m not good enough?” Even with a healthy ankle—what if I’m just not good enough to do what my mother wants me to do?
I search his face, and he wears that same fierce determination I’ve seen on his face while he works on his technique, when he tried to set up a time to pick me up for our first date, when he’s on the ice, trying to win the game for his team.
“You are absolutely good enough, for anything and anyone.”
The simple certainty in his voice nearly undoes me. I’ve never had someone believe in me so completely, so unconditionally. My mother’s love comes with conditions and expectations. My father’s is gentle but distant. But Finn looks at me like I’m already a champion, twisted ankle and all.
“We should get you home,” he says finally, pressing another soft kiss to my forehead. “You need ice and elevation and rest.”
He helps me down from the table, supporting most of my weight as we make our way slowly toward the exit. My ankle throbs with each step, but it’s manageable. I’ll be able to skate tomorrow, maybe even this afternoon if I’m careful.
The thought of having to tell my mom I can’t make it to our session later has my stomach tightening until I feel like throwing up.
“I’m really sorry, Ivy,” Dax says as he darts ahead of us to open the door.
“It’s okay,” I say. “It’s not your fault.”
“Who else is here?” he asks, and I look up to see a dark red sedan parked next to Finn’s truck.
I suck in a breath, and my body goes still.
“Ivy?” Finn asks.
“That’s my mother’s car,” I whisper, my voice unable to be louder than that.
seven
. . .
“Doyou want me to come in with you?” Finn asks as he pulls up behind the sedan now parked in my driveway.
“No.” The word comes out sharper than I intend. “This is something I have to handle alone.”
Finn’s eyes search mine. “Kitten?—”
“Please.” I reach for the door handle. “Just…give me some time.”
He hurries around to help me out of the truck, his hands gentle on my arms as I test my weight on the injured ankle. It holds, though it sends a spike of pain up my leg.
“I’ll call you later,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. “Ice, pain killer, rest. Promise me.”
“I promise.” I watch his truck disappear down the street before limping up my front walk. The door isn’t locked—of course it isn’t. My mother has never believed in boundaries.
She stands in my living room like she owns it, still wearing her black coat. Her eyes rake over me, taking in my disheveled appearance and the way I’m favoring my left foot.
“Sit,” she commands, pointing to my couch.
I lower myself onto the cushions, propping my ankle on the coffee table. The silence stretches between us like a taut wire.
“How long?” Her voice comes out frozen and barbed.
