Page 111 of Icing Hearts

“Do it scared.”

On the surface, Tory and I couldn’t be more different. But deep below, in the depths of our souls, we are alike. Both of us keep secrets buried if we think they’ll hurt more when shared. We’ve both let fear hold us back.

And it’s time to let go.

Chapter 67

Clara

Prom is supposed to be one of the best experiences in high school. Honestly, despite everything that has happened, tonight is pretty special. Jack. My one, true friend. Who has stuck by me and striven to get past my walls is my date .

My dress is an exquisite confection of tulle and silk. Petal pink with a corset top and long, draping ribbon straps that tie at my shoulders into floppy bows. The floor-length skirt fans out from my waist and floats when I twirl.

Last week, I started practicing my hairstyle. Seven tries later, it looked the way it did in my mind. Then, I did it again, every single day. Today, the double waterfall braid doesn’t have a single strand out of place. Jack and I went and picked flowers last night that I wove into a crown with streaming silk ribbons. I look like a fairytale come to life. And I certainly feel like one.

Jack picked me up in a classic car that he borrowed from his uncle. Cherry-red and sparkling brighter than dreams. He pulled up like a knight in shining armor. A welcome one. We met up with the lunch table girls and a few hockey players for group photos beforehand. I didn’t invite my dad. He doesn’t deserve it. That sucked—seeing everyone else with at least one parent. Jack’s mom doted over me. She must have sensed I needed it.

Jack has been so gentle with me this year. Allowed me to work through my struggles while remaining a steady supporter . Now that he knows everything, a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Telling someone I trusted unconditionally was the first step toward healing for me. Everyone’s journey is different. But keeping the truth locked inside ate away at me. It poisoned me from the inside out, and I’ll never forget how the people who love me kept me from doing irreparable damage to my life.

My view on Tory began changing even before that day at the park with Jack when we watched the flower petals fall into the pond. Every petal felt like a spilled secret that I’d been holding onto. When I let them go, it left space for me to dwell on Tory further—on that fear surrounding a future with him. Made me imagine how keeping the secret of how my mom died must have eaten away at him. Soured deep in his belly, kicking and screaming every time he saw me. Every time I flirted with him, he fought against that truth, trying to claw its way out. Until he felt the time was right, and he worked up the nerve to do it.

I’ve been journaling. Dozens of pages filled in a small, bound notebook. Raging and reasoning through Tory’s silence for the past year. Time and time again, I come to the same conclusions.

One: I’m still angry.

Two: Likely, I would have done things the same way—built a relationship with someone before breaking their heart.

And three: I’m so hopelessly in love with him that it may consume me if I don’t tell him.

Tonight was supposed to be the night. I thought he’d be here. The rest of the hockey team is here. But no Tory. There’s only two more weeks left of school, and he’s absent more than he’s present. We took more pictures with distant friends and classmates upon arrival, and dinner just ended. A few couples have made their way to the dance floor while dessert is being served, and I let my eyes linger on them.

Vince brought his ex-girlfriend to prom, although it appears she’s dropped the ex from the label. He never, ever looked at me the way he looks at her—the way she looks at him. I’m not mad at him. He tried to move on from her. I truly believe that. He and I did the same thing. We took a step in a direction to step away from the person we’re really in love with, in hopes that it would work. He tried to get over someone who left him, and I tried to get over someone I never had anything with. But there are just some people you can’t get past, and I think we both realize that now.

I toy with my clutch, opening and closing the magnetic clasp while Jack talks to Clover on his other side. He should have asked her to prom.

“Hey, Jack, I’m gonna—”

A voice full of velvet and violence, with a hint of cinnamon sounds from just above my head. “Dance with me, Charity?”

My stomach turns over on itself, and I freeze, savoring the moment before our eyes meet. Chills break out along my spine when I hear that voice.

He’s here.

A hand appears beside me. A beautiful, strong, steady hand. He’s reaching out, and I wonder if it will be the last time. There are only so many times a person can reach out before they give up. Part of me thinks this very well may be the last time. Another, deeper, much more visceral part of me knows that he’ll never stop reaching out. That he’s as much a part of me as I am him. Our stories intersected in such a way that our DNA became interwoven and an attempt to tear us apart will break us.

Powerlessness is a feeling I hate with a passion. But I’ve always been powerless when it comes to Victory. I suspect he’d say the same if I asked.

So I turn fully in my seat, take a deep breath and take the outstretched hand of the most beautiful boy. It’s not the first time. And I’m certain it won’t be the last.

Now I need to tell him.

The song is slow. One of my all-time favorites: “Love Story”. He must have chosen this song intentionally so our cheeks could find their way to each other with a valid excuse. I’m glad he did.

This is how we’ve always connected. In conflict and friendship. Love and hate. Our bodies say what our mouths have always failed to utter. Words we were too terrified to speak. Until now.

It’s over too fast. Tory ends the song with a spin and dips me with preternatural grace. I watch his bottom lip tremble as he touches my knuckles in a petal-soft kiss.

“Thank you.” The words are clipped, and I suspect it’s taking every ounce of his control to not say more. His lips tighten into a thin line as he bows his head and turns to walk away. Another slow song begins as Tory’s right hand rises to his face. Though his back is to me, I know he’s swiftly wiping tears from his eyes.

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