Page 49 of Face Me Off

My heart snaps in half. There’s so much sorrow to unpack in that look and statement. I give Ryan’s hand a reassuring squeeze. He’s torn between responsibility and passion. I never realized until now just how much we have in common. We’re both stuck between what we want and what we’re supposed to do, trapped by expectations and duty.

“But you chose physical therapy because of your dad?”

“Yes. I want to help people like him. It’s a good job. Stable pay.”

This all makes sense, but it’s not his dream. He’s meant to be on the ice. He’s good. Really good. I wouldn’t be surprised if the scout approached him after the game.

“I wish there was a way you could do both.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Maybe you can find some type of balance,” I suggest, not knowing if it’s even possible.

“Maybe.” He blows out a breath and tilts his head. “Why don’t you go to the game?”

I hesitate. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“It’s just a game. A lot of students attend. Nobody will know you’re there for me.” He waggles his eyebrows and looks so damn cute I almost cave.

Almost.

“Let’s get through this test tomorrow and worry about the game later.”

He withdraws his hand as disappointment flashes through his eyes. I want to take back the words and say I’ll go, but we can’t risk being seen together. My father will destroy him.

“Promise me you’ll try.”

Licking my lips, I nod. He really does want me there. “I promise to try.”

Running his hand over his scruff, he says, “We’ve talked about my goals, but what about yours?”

“Mine?”

“It seems like you’re not pursuing your dreams either. Do you even want to be a dentist?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and loaded, and catches me off guard. I give a noncommittal shrug.

“Dentistry is … practical.” My answer echoes his reasoning, and the smirk crossing his face lets me know he realizes it.

“Practical isn’t always fulfilling,” he says quietly. “What do you really want? Because I remember this girl with aspirations of being an artist. She drew this masterpiece of a hot hockey player holding the Stanley Cup.”

He remembers.

Heat rises in my cheeks. I can’t believe Ryan remembers that.

“I want to create.” My confession comes out softly. “I want to paint and draw and … just make things, you know?”

His eyes soften as his lips form a small smile. “That sounds more like you.”

I shake my head. “It’s not practical.”

“Who cares about practicality?” Ryan leans back and crosses his arms. “You should be able to do what makes you happy.”

“It’s not that simple.” Though I wish it were. “You know my parents.”

“I know they’re overbearing. And I know you harbor a lot of guilt thanks to your dad.”

Tears prick my eyes. “There isn’t a day when I’m not reminded of what I did.”

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