Page 68 of Where We Belong
Her nose twitches before she stabs me with her words.
“I’ve been an inconvenience my entire life.”
“Lexie, that’s not—”
“I know it probably wasn’t your intention, but it just reminded me that I’d rather have no one than be a second thought again, you know?” She rubs her nose with the back of her hand. “And it’s not on you to change those expectations. I’m sorry if I put that on you. You don’t owe me anything.” She gives me the saddest fucking smile. “I just don’t think I’ll risk it again.”
“Lex,” I say with a sigh, but I can’t follow it with anything because what the fuck am I supposed to answer to that? I made her feel like shit—the one thing I’d promised myself never to do to her. She deserves the world, the entire fucking universe, and no one was good enough to make her feel that way. Not even me.
“It’s okay, really,” she says. “Whatever happened, maybe it was for the best.” I blink, stunned. How can that be for the best? “You’re forgiven. Let’s just move on from this, okay? Friends?”
I feel like someone is squeezing my throat in their fist, crushing the cartilage until I can barely speak or breathe. Still, I force a smile and say, “Sure. Friends.”
“Good.” She points behind her and says, “Okay, well, I better get ready for my shift so…” With a wave, she turns and leaves, not even giving me the time to say anything before the door closes behind her. When I hear the sound of the lock turning in the door, it feels like the final blow. She doesn’t trust me anymore.
The hardest thing to get, and the easiest one to lose.
Chapter 25
Lexie
IknowthemomentFinn has entered the building even before seeing him.
It’s like something in the air changes. Electrons shifting, every cell in my body tuning in to him. I’m on the balance beam, practicing my new routine—even harder than the previous one—and while I’d like to say his presence doesn’t change a thing, it does. I land poorly after my aerial, almost falling off the beam but catching my balance at the very last second. However, that mishap is enough to get him running my way, the thuds of his boots loud against the mats. Shelli would kill him if she knew he’d walked in with outdoor shoes.
“Jesus, you scared me,” he says, sounding out of breath.
I didn’t expect the sound of his voice to have that effect on me, but after six days of not speaking, it’s like the first ray of sunshine in spring and an icy rain storm at once. My back is still to him, so I have the time to steel my face and prepare before I slowly turn around and continue my routine as if nothing happened.
“Sorry,” I say in a tight voice as I get into position for my double spin, gaze fixed on a point on the opposite wall. “I’m not at my best today,” I lie. Things were going great before he came, but I’m not about to admit that his mere presence threw me off-kilter. I’m not that desperate.
He remains silent as I finish my routine, landing my double pike perfectly. I exhale, then turn to him as I wipe my chalk-covered hands on my thighs.
“Hi,” I say. The moment I take him in, I feel underdressed. Sure, he’s seen me in old leotards and shorts dozens of times, but today, he looks sinful in a tight black T-shirt and jeans, his jaw covered in just the right amount of stubble. I hate the way my stomach flips over at the sight of him. Hate how I feel like stepping closer just to know whether he wore that cologne I love. Hate how I haven’t been able to stop myself from thinking about him even after the worst possible almost-date in history.
I hate it all.
“Looking good,” he says, and for a second, I think he might be talking about me. That is, until I notice how he’s nodding in the direction of the balance beam to my right.
“Oh, yeah. Thank you.”
Finn’s stare feels empty as it stays on me. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
It’s at that moment I realize he doesn’t have the cleaning cart he usually uses around here. As if he’s forgotten he needed an excuse to be hanging out around here at 1:00 a.m.
“Been pretty busy. Competition season, you know.” I add a smile, but he doesn’t return it.
“You didn’t come for laundry day,” he says as if we have a routine of laundry. We had a few weeks of it, sure, but I didn’t think he’d notice that I missed one week.
“Martina let me do it at the main house.”
His cheeks cave in, as if he’s biting them from the inside. A long silence ensues, and just as I’m about to return to my training, he says, “Lexie, I hate this.”
I jolt at the sound of my name, which I haven’t heard from him in a week. The way he says it is so different from the way it sounded all throughout my childhood. My mother made it sound like a reprimand. My brother made it sound like an insult. My coach made it sound like a sigh.
Finn makes it sound like the easiest thing in the world.
“Hate what?” I say, although I know what’s coming.
