Page 176 of We Can't Be Friends

“I had to give you books to check you could read.”

“You ass.”

“That didn’t sound like a yes.”

“Whatever, boyfriend.”

51

CALLUM

“Where are we going?” Chloe asks. “If you wanted to blindfold me, I would have told you I prefer it to be in the bedroom.”

“Noted.” She asks again, and I put a finger over her mouth. “Be quiet and you’ll find out.”

Chloe huffs.

Over breakfast and a new season ofSurvivor, Chloe told me that she quit skating. The competition following Aaron’s passing, she stormed off the ice three beats into her routine music. Untying her skates, she threw them on the ice, announcing her retirement. Her guilt had convinced her that she didn’t deserve to be out on the ice after what she did to her brother. Chloe hasn’t set foot on ice since.

We pull up outside the rink. I park, then guide her to the door.

She’s been to almost every one of Miller’s home games this season. Not once has she shown any sign of disinterest or hurt, her mask firmly in place.

Miller.How does he feel about Aaron and playing hockey still?

“I don’t know.” She shrugs when I ask. “We don’t talk about Aaron. We barely talked till recently.”

Pulling open the rink doors, the chill inside is cooler than outside. Chicago is warm today, an early taste of spring.

“Are we at the rink?”

I don’t answer her, earning myself another huff and probably an eye roll under the blindfold. Chloe is smart enough to use her senses to deduce where we are.

Sitting her down on the bench in the practice rink Miller instructed me to use, I remove the tie.

“Callum. . .” Her eyes flick from the room to me.

“I want you to skate.”

“No. I already told you I haven’t skated in—”

“Nine years.”

“Then why are we here? Why are you forcing me to do this?”

“I’m not forcing you to do anything, Chloe. You always have a choice in what you want and do.”

“I can’t. . .”

“You can.” I pull the gym bag off my shoulder, unzipping it to reveal two pairs of skates—one from Miller and the other from a box I found in her closet labeled COLLEGE.

“Are those my skates?” Her entire body is wearing her shock.

“Found them. Miller lent me the other.”

“He knows we're here?” Worry creeps up on her. “Does—did you tell him?”

“No.” I tug a hair tie off my wrist, moving to stand behind her. “Pony or braid?” My hand combs through her soft hair.

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