Page 30 of Falling

“What about my side of the deal?” I ask.

“You’ll come to the gym with me, and we’ll figure out a good food plan for you to follow. I’ll do my own research on hockey training in the meantime and see if we can get you back on the ice,” she says, grinning. She’s clearly very enthusiastic about working out, and I couldn’t think of anything worse right now.

“Sounds good to me,” I say. “It’s Sophia Aoki’s birthday party this weekend, so we could go to that as our first public outing.” The second I say the word “party,” she groans. “What? Don’t tell me you’re against parties.”

“I’m notagainstthem, I just don’t like them. I hate the feeling of being drunk, and I hate being around strangers who are,” she admits, shuddering. She leans into me and whispers, “Barcelona.”

“What the fuck happened in Barcelona?” I ask. She shrugs. “You keep giving me these tidbits of information, Wren, and it’s not that useful when I’m trying to get to know you. Please tell me what happened in Barcelona.”

She laughs. “It was the last time I got drunk, and I haven’t been to a party since.”

“You were at one the day I met you.”

“That’s because my friends forced me to go and it’s their idea of a good time,” she argues, and I don’t push her on it. “I’m fine with going along, but just don’t expect me to drink and have a blast of a time.”

“A blast of a time?” I echo. She nods. “Is that what you think I’m having when I go to a party?”

“I mean, yeah, don’t you? You go, have a few beers, take off your shirt, and run around with your friends. Some girl will find that pathetically attractive, you’ll sleep with her, go home, and then do the same thing every weekend.”

A laugh rumbles out of me. “Wow, you’ve really got me all figured out, huh?” She shrugs again, but I can tell that the idea of going to a party is worrying her. She must think she’s got this whole I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude down pat, but I can see right through her. She’s been on edge since she got here, and I’d do just about anything to help her feel less alone. To help ease any worries she has. “If I ask you something, will you promise to answer me?”

Her eyebrows crease as she traces a pattern on her knee. “It depends what it is.”

“Is everything okay?” I ask gently, not trying to pry but to get her attention.

Her eyes lift to mine, and I catch the hurt in them. It’s only now, with how close we’re sitting, that I notice that one of her eyes is more blue than green. Is she just going to get more beautiful every time I see her?

“What?”

“You said you're going through something with your mom, and today is the first time I’ve seen you out of control,” I explain. “You’re always in control. You’re always organized and put together. Even on the ice, your movements are sharp and perfect. I want to know that you’re okay. If I can help you in any way beyond this, I just want you to know that you can ask me.”

I watch her features transform and her lip quiver. “Fuck, Miles,” she says, tilting her head back. My heart races, and I reachout to comfort her because she’s clearly about to cry. I squeeze her knee reassuringly, but she crosses her legs, pulling her knees to her chest and hugging them. “No. Don’t. I just— If you touch me, I’m going to start crying, and I hate crying.”

I nod in understanding. “Will you talk to me at least?”

I hate the idea of her thinking that she’s alone or that she can’t talk to me. We can joke around, and she can make fun of me all she wants, but she’s got to know that I actually care about her. I value her. I care about her opinion and what she wants.

“You’ve met my mom. You know how she is,” she starts, resting her chin on her knees. “She’s basically been my coach since I was four. She’s always had my back when my other coaches would push me too far, but I think it just gave her an excuse to handle the situation. She had a bad accident when she was in her early twenties and there’s no way she could dance or skate again. So when my sister and I came along, we wanted to follow in her footsteps. Austin does ballet, and she’s one of the best in the world. Figure skating always stuck with me. It always just felt likemything, even if my mom tries to overpower it. There’s just this constant struggle between who is in control ofmylife, and sometimes, it doesn’t feel like it’s going to be me.”

My heart breaks for her, and she continues talking, the words rushing out of her. “I don’t think I’m being used by my mom because she loves me, and she cares about me enough to know what my limits are, and she wouldn’t do that to me. But sometimes, instead of her holding my hand, it feels like she’s got her hand on my neck. She’ll say things, leave little comments about how she wishes I was still her little girl where I’d spin forher,dance forher,and do everything forher.But my perceptions of my childhood and the ones she’s tried to paint for me are two very different things.”

My hands itch to hold her. “Jesus Christ, Wren. I’m sorry.”

She shrugs, a smile twitching on her lips as she meets my gaze. “I don’t know why I’ve let her get under my skin this week. I think it just makes me do better. It pushes me to keep going, you know?” She sighs, shaking her head with a wry laugh. “Maybe I should unpack in therapy.”

I swallow. “You should.”

“Are you telling me to go to therapy, Davis?”

“I go to therapy. It’s not that big of a deal, and it could help,” I suggest.

“But that’s different,” she says. “You lost your best friend, Miles. I just have stupid mommy issues, and I often think of emancipation.”

“And you don’t think that deserves a therapist's attention?”

She shakes her head firmly. “Not if it takes away spaces from other people who really need it. I’d hate to be the reason someone else doesn’t get the help they need because of the problems I’ve pretty much brought on myself.”

“What about you?”

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