Page 149 of Don't Let Me Go (Don't Let Me 2)

With a dry laugh, I fight the urge to roll my eyes even though he can’t see me.

Blake: Obviously, since you texted. I’m thinking about you too, though. I don’t like how we left things.

Theo: Neither do I, but I’m not going anywhere, Blake.

I fight the urge to both laugh and cry as I reread his message over and over again. What the hell am I supposed to say? Because it feels like he’s running. Like he’s avoiding me. Like we’re riding out the last stretch of our relationship by steering clear of each other when all I really want is for him to hold me, to talk to me, and tell me I’m loved.

I stare at my phone screen, but the words blur together as my conversation with Ash rises to the surface. The one about how I’m running from my relationship with Theo even when it feels a hell of a lot like Theo’s doing the same, despite his text. I blink away the glaze in my eyes, bringing the message back into focus and hit reply.

Blake: Neither am I, Teddy. I’m not going anywhere.

I hit send despite the fissure it causes in my heart. Because that’s the problem, isn’t it? I’m not the one going anywhere. Theo is. And he hasn’t even bothered to tell me where or asked if I’m willing to tag along.

Theo: Good. Be patient with me for a little longer, okay?

I’d laugh if I wasn’t so close to crying. Heading back to the couch, I collapse onto it and tuck my feet beneath my butt, trying to dig up the courage to respond, especially when I have no idea what to say. After a few minutes, only one word shines back at me on the screen, and I hit send before I can talk myself out of it.

Blake: Trying.

Theo: We’re gonna get through this. You and me, Baby Thorne. It’s always been you and me.

I set my phone face down on the coffee table and turn on Happy Gilmore.

Apparently, I’m a glutton for punishment.

Then again, I’m in love with Theodore Taylor, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.

49

BLAKELY

The place is thumping with people. Like seriously. You’d think it was a championship game or something. Not that I’m complaining. The exposure is great for LAU’s hockey program and the players in general.

Colt supplied matching LAU T-shirts for the kids. The bright red makes it easier to spot the group in the crowd. I do another head count, confirming we have all of them and breathe a sigh of relief.

A few ushers are set up near the tunnel leading to our seats, and they help us find them, making sure everyone is situated where they’re supposed to be. Ash and Mia are on the far side of the row, and Kate, my mom, and I take up the side closest to the area where the team sits.

When the Hawks skate onto the ice, the crowd starts clapping, and so do the kids. True to Ash’s word, Kate spent the last hour painting their faces, and even my lifeless heart couldn’t help but fall in love with how adorable they all look. She even managed to paint a black hawk silhouette with a red background on my face along with Theo’s jersey number on my cheek. I look ridiculous, but I love it nonetheless.

“He was really sweet for putting all of this together,” Mom comments, leaning closer to me so I can hear her over the deafening chants of the people around us.

I nod. “Yup. Colt’s a sweetheart.”

With a look full of confusion, Mom asks, “Colt?”

“Hey, the game’s about to start,” Kate interrupts and places her fingers into her mouth, blowing a loud whistle that makes my ears ring.

“Yowza, Kate,” I return, shying away from her.

She simply grins and turns back to the game, so I do the same, grateful for a glimpse of the Kate I’ve gotten to know since moving in.

A few minutes later, the referee drops the puck at the center of the rink between the Hawks and their opponents, the Warriors. Then, they’re off.

I can’t focus on the game. I’m too distracted by my thoughts. The what-ifs and what-should’ve-beens roll around in my head like a carousel of unfinished business. I used to love coming to hockey games. I used to love cheering for Colt and his friends. I used to love the slight chill in the air. The clang of the cowbells in the crowd. The familiar ring of the red alarm whenever a goal is made. Even the hot dogs from the stands were a familiar tradition. One I’ve loved for as long as I can remember.

But will I still love it? If hockey turns out to be the catalyst ending my relationship with Theo?

It isn’t over, I remind myself, but it doesn’t erase the rush of anxiety at the thought of losing him.

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