Page 44 of Our Hearts to Break

He leans over and puts his hand on my heart. “I will always be in here. That’s what counts.”

“You have to graduate with me, Riv. One more semester, and you’ll be a college graduate. Don’t let your dad take that from you because he gave up his freshman year.”

“I can finish the last semester remotely. My dad already spoke to the dean.”

“Oh. So, you’re considering leaving after this semester?”

He failed to mention this when we spoke about his meetings. River talked about his excitement and how much playing in the NHL meant, but he never confessed to leaving me after this semester.

A knot forms in my stomach, digging into my side like a knife. The pain intensifies, a deep ache that settles into my bones.

I glance out the window.

“Nate,” he groans. “Please don’t do this to me.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Fuck, would you stop it?”

I sink into the seat and roll my head toward him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew you would react this way. At some point in our lives, we won’t get to spend every waking moment together. You need to come to terms with this.”

“I hate how I’m wired,” I whisper, putting my face in my hands, frustrated by my neediness. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”

“You’re getting better, Nate. I know you can’t see it, but I can. Talking to Dr. Swanson and writing in your journal has helped you a lot. But it’s a slow recovery. No one forgets trauma. You can only learn how to live with it. Otherwise, it will eat you alive.” He slides his hand onto my knee and grabs my hand. “Those thoughts will always be there. Just remember that I love you. Okay? I fucking love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Even after everything, I still have doubts. I have felt unlovable for most of my life. That kind of pain and reprogramming doesn’t fade after a few months of therapy. It might take years for me to believe him.

Unsure how to respond, I squeeze his hand, biting back the tears threatening to spill, and say, “Okay.”

ChapterSixteen

RIVER

Okay,the word rolls around in my head on the drive home. A word that means nothing and everything all at once. I shared my feelings with Nate and told him what he needed to hear, and he saidokay.

Well, fuck.

Since I mentioned possibly quitting school to join the NHL, Nate has kept his head down, writing in his journal. His hand flies across the pages, the scent of ink permeating the space between us.

I focus on driving, a nice distraction from my wandering thoughts. The beautiful scenery doesn’t hurt.

Scarsdale, New York—where I lived until boarding school—is less than a two-hour drive from campus. I haven’t lived in this house for more than a few weeks since I was twelve. But it’s where I learned to play hockey. Where I first decided to go pro.

When my dad was on the road with his team, I stayed behind with my mom. My job, even as a boy, was to take care of her. My dad put me in charge and said I was the man of the house while he was gone. I took my role seriously, sitting by her feet while she read romance novels or helping her make dinner.

The thing I hate most about the rift between my dad and me is losing my mom. We haven’t been as close in the past few years. She used to call me every week at boarding school and send care packages. That ended my freshman year of college when Dad said she had to stop babying me.

I miss her.

If anyone would accept that I’m gay, it’s my mom. She has always understood me. Always made me feel special.

“I’m thinking about telling my mom,” I say to Nate, breaking the awkward silence in the car.

He looks up from the journal and smiles. “Yeah? I think you should.”

“I just hope she doesn’t tell my dad.”

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