Page 77 of Revolve
I can’t help that nudge of disappointment that he’s not here because he wants to be. “You’ve confirmed I am, in fact, resting, so you can go.”
Dylan’s nose hovers mere inches from mine, so close I can almost feel the warmth of his breath on my skin.
“Resting doesn’t mean you have to lock yourself in your room.”
“Since my life revolves around skating, I don’t exactly have any plans outside of it.”
“Then it’s a good thing you have me.” He stands and extends his hand for me to take, just like he does on the ice. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“Let me worry about that.”
I put my hand in his, not wanting to focus on the mess my brain is constantly spinning. And in the quickest almost imperceptible move he flips it, looks at my palm—at the faded smiley face—then back to hold it in a firm grip. One that doesn’t loosen, not even when he asks if I’m ready to sprint to his car in the pouring rain. We bolt across the rain-soaked pavement. My hair is wet even after he tries to hover a hand over my head. I almost slip, but he’s quick to steady me. I don’t recognize the laugh that spills from my lips.
As soon as we’re in the car, I carefully gather my hair, mindful not to let the droplets touch his leather seats. He, however, has no such concern. With a carefree grin, Dylan shakes his head, sending water splattering across the bright display and onto me.
Is it bad that I want to lick the water droplets off his face?
“It was supposed to be clear skies tonight,” Dylan says. There’s a crease on his forehead as he looks at the darkening sky.
“It’s only supposed to rain for a few more minutes. Why? Do you have somewhere to be?”
He looks at me then, the crease disappearing. “Yeah.”
Oh.
A jolt of disappointment torpedoes into my stomach, and I hope it doesn’t show on my face. In the short time I’ve been outside the stuffy dorm, I’ve relaxed. Rather than obsess over my routine and relive flashbacks of a certain competition, I’m occupied with each smirk Dylan gives, and counting how many shades of brown his eyes are. A part of me wishes it would stay gloomy all day, so he’ll have to cancel.
The radio is tuned to the hockey game, Toronto versus Los Angeles. For some reason, I thought after we started skating, hockey kind of blurred away for him. He never talks about it, never mentions it. But right now, I realize how much of it is still inside of him, how much he must miss his sport.
“Do you miss it?” I blurt.
He tenses, but then he shrugs, eyes still on the road. “It was a part of me for so long, I don’t think I ever thought I’d lose it. It’s like a limb. You take it for granted, and one day maybe it aches, gets injured, or you lose it altogether, and you realize how much you relied on its function. But I guess that’s how most things go. You only appreciate them when they’re gone.”
I’m taken aback by the sudden insight into his head. “I get that.”
He glances at me. “Yeah, I guess you do.”
Still lost in my thoughts, I jump when he drops his phone in my lap. “Here, play whatever you want. It’s unlocked.”
I pinch it between my fingers. I can only imagine the kinds of things this gadget has seen.
“It doesn’t have a disease, Sierra.”
“You sure?” I don’t have to look at him to see his glare. “I mean, you could have pictures and other … things on here.”
“Just play the music,” he orders.
Well, there goes my innocence. What was left of it since the other night anyway. When I scroll through his favorites, I’m met with an endless stream of country music—playlists upon playlists, mostlyshared by his friends. But then, one catches my eye, standing out from the rest. A playlist titledFirefly.
“Find something?” he asks when he merges onto the highway.
I’m still scrolling through the songs, my suspicion growing with each one I recognize. It’s eerily similar to the music I skate to—disjointed yet perfectly suited to my moods. Somehow, every one of those tracks is here.
“Do you ever make your own playlists?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
He glances at me, then back to the road too quickly. “If I’m inspired enough.”
