Page 62 of Check the Halls
As we walk down the hallway, I’m struck by how centered and safe I feel, even in the midst of one of the biggest upheavals in my life. I find my almost-dead phone in my coat pocket and see I have two texts from Derek and six calls from Kathleen. I plan to ignore both of them.
Give yourself the time and space to figure out what you want.
When was the last time someone asked me that?
Ihonestlycan’t remember.
As we step into the elevator, Ben grins as he presses the button. “Hey–remember last night? When you drunk dialed me?”
I roll my eyes. “Vaguely.”
He continues as he inches closer to me, nudging my arm with his, “And then I took you back here and you threw yourself at me?”
“Okay…”
“And I was a total gentleman, valiantly fending off your horny advances.”
“I’m going to call a cab.”
“Aww, baby.” He wraps his arms around me as he pulls me against him in a hug. “Don’t be mad at me for not putting out.”
Laughter bursts out of me before I can stop it and I bury my face in his chest.
“I missed you,” I manage between giggles.
Ben tightens his grip around me and presses his lips against the top of my head.
“Missed you too, Madness.”
CHAPTER 21
BEN
THEN
“Hi, Ben,” the three girls sing in unison as they pass our table—for the third time in twenty minutes.
I give them a nod. I don’t know their names. Don’t care. They hang around after games, lingering near the locker rooms, pretending they’re not waiting to be noticed. A couple of the guys elbow me, teasing in high voices, laughing. They love giving me shit for the attention, like it’s some big joke.
I glance at Maddy beside me. Her eyes track the girls as they whisper by the bar, their heads tipped toward each other, laughing.
And I hate it. I hate that she doesn’t feel at ease here. She’s my favourite person, the person I want at my side for everything, and I know she doesn’t want to be here.
I lean in close, voice pitched low over the thump of bass. “Hey. You okay?”
She lifts her head, gives me one of those soft smiles that doesn’t even try to convince me. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Fine. That’s the same crap I say when I pretend it doesn’t bug me that she skips my games. Like I don’t notice her empty seat when I look up in the stands. I get it—her course load is heavy, and she hates crowds. She hates the way girls look at me even more.
Not that any of that matters to me. They could all disappear, and I wouldn’t care. The only person I want is sitting right here, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else.
“Babe,” I murmur, trying to hook her attention back to me. “We don’t have to stay. If you’re not into it, we can head out.”
Her eyes flash to mine, wide and a little wounded. “You don’t want me here?”
“Of course I do,” I say, a little too fast. “I just don’t want you forcing yourself if you’re miserable.”
She drops her gaze, fingers tracing lazy circles on her glass. “I want to be here for you,” she says, and the words sound too much like an obligation.
