Page 126 of Blindside Me
“I was angry.” His throat bobs as he swallows. “Not at you. At myself.”
I nod slowly, not trusting my voice just yet. I remember the mangled leather, the bent blades, and the vivid physical evidence of the storm raging inside him. As is the note on the back of my sketch: The only one to see me.
“I found my drawing, too,” I add quietly. “And the note.”
His eyes find mine. “Where? I thought I lost it.”
“They were inside the skates.”
His mouth slackens. “It must’ve somehow fallen when I cleaned my locker.”
“I saw the note.”
His eyes grow wary. “I didn’t mean for you to see that.”
“But I did.” I hold his gaze. “And I still think it’s true.”
The crease between his eyebrows smooths. One slow breath leaves him, chest rising and falling like he finally let himself exhale.
“I thought I had to be perfect.” His gaze falls back on the ice. “For my dad. For the team. For you.” He shakes his head. “But trying to be perfect just made meworse.”
“You don’t have to be perfect,” I say, my voice softer. “You just have to be you. That’s enough.”
His shoulder rises under my cheek on a held breath. Then it drops. A slight nod I feel more than see.
“I missed this,” I admit, my throat tight. “But I’m scared I’ll mess it up. People leave, Drew. I’m not … easy.”
He turns, his eyes intense, no mask left. “You’re it for me,” he says, voice low and steady, cutting through the rink’s chill. “Even if I don’t say it out loud every day—you’re it.” His hand finds mine, fingers lacing tight, and the words land like a vow.
My breath catches, heart pounding, and I lean closer, the static between us sparking. “You sure about that, Klaas? I’m a lot.”
He pulls me in, his lips brushing my ear, voice rough. “I’m sure, but I still need time.”
“Then I’ll give it.”
We sit in silence for a moment, the enormity of what we’re trying to rebuild settling between us. Neither pushes for more. There’s no rushed reconciliation, no desperate kisses, no sweeping declarations. Just an understanding that we’re trying to return our trust.
“Want to go around one more time?” Drew asks finally, nodding toward the ice.
My smile is small but genuine. “As long as we leave the hockey sticks behind. I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one night.”
“I won’t fault you for not having the hockey genes.” He winks while standing and offers his hand. I take it without hesitation this time and intertwine our fingers as if it’s the most natural thing to do.
We step back onto the ice, no longer pretending the handholding is about keeping me balanced. We skate slowly, side by side, not speaking because we don’t need to.
The empty rink feels like our own world, separate from the pressure and expectations that awaits outside. No coaches, no teammates, no whispered rumors or sidelong glances. Just us, moving together in the quiet.
There’s something almost magical about this moment, so different from the dramatic reunion I imagined. It’s quieter and more real.
We complete the circle, and when I glance at Drew, it hits me that he hasn’t asked for another chance. There are no grand promises or begging for forgiveness. Instead, he created this space. This neutral ground where we could just be together.
He came back to the ice. But this time, he brought me with him.
We glide to a stop near the exit, our momentum naturally returning to where we started. Drew’s hand remains firmly in mine, his warm grip solid. Not possessive, not desperate. Just present.
“I’m not fixed,” he says as we step off the ice. “Not even close.”
I squeeze his hand. “I’m not asking you to be.”
