Page 130 of Time to Shine

A horn sounded from outside.

“Shit,” Landon said, pulling away. “Gotta go.”

Casey looked at the floor, sniffed loudly, then said, “I’ll help you with your bags.”

When all the bags were in the trunk, and Landon was about to get in the car, Casey put a hand on his arm and said, “Call me when you get there? Or text me at least?”

Landon nodded, though he knew he’d have to kick that habit pretty quickly if he was going to survive the heartbreak that he knew was about to slam into him like a train.

Casey must have seen something in Landon’s eyes—a preemptive apology, maybe—because his tentative smile fell away.

“Living with you, and everything we’ve done since I came here...it’s been the best time of my whole life,” Landon offered. It seemed like too much to admit, while also being a massive understatement.

Casey looked both sad and touched. Then, without any of the hesitancy that had been in Landon’s voice, he said, “You’re my favorite person, Stacks.”

Landon shook his head in disbelief. “You love people.”

Casey stared at him, all wide blue-green eyes that glistened with unshed tears, and kiss-bruised lips that seemed to barely be holding back an important declaration. Something Landon absolutely couldn’t hear right now.

“Goodbye, Casey. Thanks. For everything.”

He got in the car.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Casey decided pretty quickly that having a broken heart fucking chomped.

It might have been easier, he thought as he exhaled a vape cloud into his living room, if Landon had dumped him cleanly. Maybe Casey could accept that and move on. Maybe he could even find a way to hate Landon for it.

A week had passed since Landon left, and Casey didn’t hate him at all, and he definitely hadn’t moved on. Barely a minute had gone by without Casey wanting to drive to Saskatoon, except he didn’t know what he would say when he got there. He didn’t have any new information, or any solutions. All he had was an unending ache in his chest, and a certainty that he and Landon were perfect for each other.

Casey should have fought for them. He should have convinced Landon to give them a real chance, even if it would be hard.

“Maybe,” he said to his living room, “I should have told him I love him.”

Landon had basically been ghosting him, only sending the occasional short reply to Casey’s texts. Casey had called him once, and Landon had answered, but had ended the call after a minute, saying someone was waiting for him. Casey suspected Landon’s behavior was more about self-protection than anything, but maybe not. Maybe Landon really had realized, once he’d put some distance between them, that he didn’t even like Casey all that much.

Casey stood and paced his living room, angry that the sun had set and that his house was so big and empty. Angry that he’d be sleeping alone again tonight. He was angry at himself for being weak, at Landon for putting himself last and, most irrationally, at Gilbert Morin for healing so fast.

A loud crash from the kitchen startled him, and then he was angry at his ice maker too.

“You know what?” he said to the fridge, and the house, and the dark. “I’m not afraid of you. I’m done. Nothing even fucking matters anymore.” He stomped over to the living room window that was now a black rectangle with his own reflection in the middle. He stared out of it, defiant with his hands balled into fists at his sides. “Fuck you, window. All that’s outside of you is my yard. It’s not scary.”

But the tightness in his chest, his quickening heart rate, and the way he suddenly felt like he couldn’t move, said otherwise. With a gasp, he managed to take a step back and then he turned and ran to his kitchen. He planted both hands on the counter, head down, and let out a long, ragged breath.

“Very cool, Hicks,” Casey said.

It had been a shit week, no question. Even being named to the All-Star team again hadn’t cheered him up because Casey couldn’t enjoy anything lately. He felt like he’d never be happy again. Even more out of character, Casey didn’t want to talk to anyone about Landon. He’d been drifting through life like an exhausted, grumpy zombie, miserable and alone.

Needless to say, he hadn’t been playing the best hockey of his career.

God. How did people do this? How did they get their hearts stomped and then just...keep going? How was he supposed to pretend that waking up alone—if he even managed to get to sleep at all—felt like a gut punch every morning? How was he supposed to forget about the way Landon had laughed against Casey’s lips, or the sweet way his breath would hitch when Casey would brush his fingers over Landon’s bare skin? Casey had friends who’d gotten their hearts broken, and he’d always offered as much comfort and support as he could, but he’d had no idea how painful this was. Again, he wondered if it would have been easier if Landon had just dumped him. Landon’s “I wish we could but we can’t” farewell was far more devastating.

Hours later, Casey was wide awake. His brain was unhelpfully presenting him a greatest hits reel of his and Landon’s brief, world-changing time together.

“Fuck, Stacks,” Casey said to no one. “Why won’t you try?”

It wasn’t the distance that was killing Casey; it was the uncertainty. Uncertainty that was rapidly dissolving into a gut-wrenching certainty that things between them were well and truly over. That the thing they’d shared had been brief, and would now only be a memory. If Landon had been open to a long-distance relationship, they could be having phone sex right now, or at least texting and sending each other cute photos.

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