Page 213 of The Fall
“It’s stupid,” I say, turning to stare out the window at the city I once called home. The skyline stretches out to the west, buildings I used to recognize, streets I used to walk. The beach is out there, too. And the hospital where I lost Blair.
Three years ago, I thought this place would be my future, but now it’s only another stop on the schedule, except it carries all these memories I don’t want.
Blair moves behind me, his footsteps quiet on the carpet. “You don’t have to be okay,” he says. “Not with me.”
I melt back into his hold. “Ihatedit here. I hated the rink, the city, the way everyone looked at me like I was a waste of a roster spot.”
“They’re fucking idiots. They wasted you. You were just getting started.”
“Didn’t feel like it then.”
“I know.” His lips brush my temple. “But you’re not the same player who left,” he says. “You’re not even the same person.” He pulls me toward the bed. I go willingly, letting him guide me down until we’re both sitting. “Talk to me.”
“Every time I think about stepping onto that ice, all I remember is how fucking awful I was here. I threw two years of my career away.”
Blair shifts closer. “You didn’t throw anything away. You learned here. You grew here, even when it hurt.”
“I couldn’t handle it.”
“You were a kid,” Blair says, squeezing my hand. “Nobody’s ready for that pressure.”
“They’re going to boo me tonight.”
“Let them.” Blair kisses my fingers. “It’ll be sweeter when you shut them up on the scoresheet.”
He kisses me, slow at first, and then deeper when I hook an arm around his neck. The hotel room fades, and for a moment, I’m not thinking about Vancouver or the game or anything except Blair’s mouth on mine. I lean into him fully, letting go of everything except the cadence of his breath and the soft scrape of stubble against my cheek.
When we break apart, I rest my forehead against his.
“You’re going to play your game tonight,” Blair breathes. “Not theirs.”
If I could bottle his confidence, I’d drink it all.
“You know who you are on the ice, Torey.”
“But what if?—”
Blair cuts me off with a kiss. “No what-ifs.”
He makes it sound so simple.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers.
My phone’s ringtone slices through my dreams, and I fumble for it, Blair’s arm heavy across my waist.
The caller ID makes me freeze. It’s Dad.
I haven’t heard his voice in months. We’ve been texting more since New Year’s, but everything between us is still careful. He sends me photos from Singapore, and I… I haven’t said much. A phone call feels dangerous, loaded with landmines.
Blair’s eyes are open, watching me.
I answer on the fourth ring. “Hey, Dad.”
“Torey? Did I wake you?” His voice is softer than I remember, carrying the echoes of an international call.
“No, I was getting up.” I ease out of Blair’s arms and sit up. “Everything okay?”
“Yes, I...” In the background, I hear traffic, the distant hum of a city. “I wanted to check in. I know you’re back in Vancouver today.”
