Page 102 of Check the Halls
He raises a brow like I’ve asked if water is wet. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know, I just thought?—”
He’s already walking away like nothing happened. Like he’s wiped the last few minutes from his mind. I catch up, still unsure of the right thing to say.
“I hope your girlfriend didn’t order a pizza with vegetables on it,” he mutters.
“Sam. Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?” He smirks. “I just don’t like vegetables on pizza.”
“That’s not what I?—”
“Or pineapple, for that matter.”
“Sam—”
He stops and finally looks at me, really looks at me. “I’m fine,” he says, voice quieter now. “He left a long time ago. I just wasn’t expecting to see him. I’m fine. Can we not talk about it? Please?”
I nod. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
“If you ever change your mind…you’ll tell me? Or someone?”
He shrugs, a halfhearted gesture that lands somewhere between agreement and avoidance. “Sure. Whatever.”
We eat our pizza at a booth tucked in the back of the food court, next to a garish holiday display featuring animatronic elves with frozen grins. If I hadn’t seen what just happened, I wouldn’t have suspected a thing. Sam’s joking with Maddy about Christmas break, rolling his eyes at her cheesy holiday sweater, even stealing a slice off her tray when she’s not looking.
He’s putting on a good show. And I let him.
Later, when we drop him off at home, he gives us both a wave from the porch before disappearing inside.
But I can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at his father. He was trying so hard not to care, but couldn’t quite pull it off.
CHAPTER 35
MADDY
Then
Ibrace myself as I meet Ben’s gaze. He’s practically buzzing with excitement, lit up from the inside out, completely unaware that I’m about to break him. Breakus.
“I talked to my agent today,” he says, oblivious to the war inside me. “Everything’s set. I head to Philly for training camp in a few weeks, and wait ‘til you see the apartment they found for us—Madness, it’s unreal.”
“Ben—”
“You should just come now,” he barrels on, grinning. “There’s probably still room on my flight. Hell, I’ll buy you a seat if I have to.”
“I’m not going.”
He rolls his eyes, playful. “Alright, alright—next month, then. I still don’t get why?—”
“I’m not going,” I repeat, louder. Sharper.
The words land like a gut punch. His smile falters, confusion flickering in his eyes. “What?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m not moving to Philadelphia.”
