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Lane reaches out, slowly, as though I might bite the fingers from his hand. I might. But when his cold skin grazes my cheek, cupping my face, I don’t shy away.

“I panicked,” he says. “I knew I wouldn’t make it. I hoped I could fake it through freshman year, but in my gut, I knew swimming was over for me. Our plan was built on seeing each other at trials and competitions between holidays and I didn’t want to make you choose between your dream and me.”

“You were my dream, Lane.” My eyes fill with tears, and I shake my head from his grasp. “But you turned out to be a nightmare.”

Lane’s mouth opens, but then his face bunches into a frown and he groans, tilting his head to the gray, muted sky. “That’s exactly what I mean, Joy. Swimming is everything to you. It always has been. I’d already started to drift from that dream, and I didn’t want to drag you with me. If you turned around and resented me for it later down the line, I wouldn’t have been able to stand it.”

“That doesn’t even make sense!” I shout in exasperation. “You didn’t want to hurt me, so you hurt me more than anyone ever has. Explain that fucking logic to me, Lane, because I still don’t understand.”

“I was eighteen, Joy!” he shouts back. “I was a fucking kid. I thought I was doing the right thing. Walking away from you—from us—hurt like hell, and I’ve regretted it every damn day since.”

A tear escapes my eye and I swipe at it with gloved fingers, rage still coursing through my veins. “If you regretted it, why didn’t you answer my texts? Why didn’t youspeak to me? If you’d explained . . . If you’d just told me—”

“I couldn’t,” he says, the words clipped and final. “Just a week after I stopped returning your texts, I knew I’d made the biggest mistake of my life. I wanted to talk to you. To beg for forgiveness. It took two months to build up the courage. But then you sent that message, and I knew. I knew I’d lost you.”

My breath is a steady plume of condensation between us as I pant angry breaths. I know exactly which text he’s talking about, even all these years later.

When you realize what you’ve lost, remember one thing: you’re dead to me.

Looking into Lane’s blue eyes, they shimmer with tears, and something inside me breaks. We were kids. He’s right. I was a heartbroken seventeen-year-old. Lane was my first kiss. My first heartbreak. My first everything. And as much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. Swimming was my world. I didn’t discover my love of music until the end of senior year when I was helping out with prom.

“Believe me when I say I’m sorry, Joy,” he says softly. “The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you.”

I stare at him, my head aching with unspoken questions. “Why now?”

“I’m a coward,” he says, stepping closer. “I thought we’d established that?”

A soft laugh leaves my lips despite my efforts to keep it in. The corner of his mouth tugs and for a brief second, I see the boy I fell in love with. It hurts more than I expect.

Lane steps closer, cupping my face once more with his freezing fingers. When I don’t move away, he touches his forehead to mine. “Do you think you can ever forgive me?”

As much as I want to say no and run far and fast in the opposite direction, I know it would be a lie. I’ve held his betrayal in my heart for so long that it’s going to be hard to let it go. But I want to.

“I don’t know.” His fingers tense against my skin. “But I’ll try.”

Lane’s exhale of breath is warm against my skin and the scent of cinnamon has my throat clogging with emotion. He tips my chin, his dark blue eyes scanning every inch of my face as though looking for something. For a moment, I wonder whether he’s going to kiss me. If he does, I’m not sure whether I’d push him away.

“Everything all right over here?”

Lane drops his hand, taking a step back as Aldo approaches, his kit bag slung over his shoulder. “Yeah. Just talking.”

Aldo looks at me, his eyes narrowing. “You okay, Joy?”

“Yeah.” I give the most convincing smile I can muster. “I’m fine.”

After an awkward pause, Aldo shifts his bag on his shoulder and glances across campus. “Want to grab a coffee with me?”

Relief floods through me, both at the thought of cuddling up on a sofa with Aldo and of the excuse to walk away from Lane. I’m exhausted. Physically from a grueling practice and emotionally from my hemorrhaging heart.

“Sure. That sounds great.” I step to Aldo’s side and give Lane a small smile. “See you later, Coach.”

He smiles, but it’s small and sad. “Later, Joy.”

As I turn to walk back across campus toward Grinds, I can’t help but think it sounds like a promise.

JOY

The worst part about the holidays is the emotional adjustment. At Franklin West, I’m a woman—an adult—with my life ahead of me, my choices my own. The second I step foot through the door of our Salt Lake City home, I’m fourteen again, immediately stripped of my independence.

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