Page 70 of Icing Hearts

“Nope,” she chirps.

“New outfit?”

“Tory,” she whines teasingly.

When she finally looks over at me, she pushes them up the bridge of her nose with an index finger. My bottom lip finds its way between my teeth.

“Took you long enough to wear them.”

“You said they looked bad,” she shoots back.

“I lied,” I say quickly. “I love them. Wear them every day,” I plead.

She shakes her head and huffs a laugh. “Not gonna do that.”

I toy with a keychain hanging off her pink backpack. It’s a rubber flower. Totally meaningless, but somehow totally Clara. Her hair is half-up in a pink, pastel claw clip—also in the shape of a flower. She wears a tight, pink dress with spaghetti straps and a white mock-neck underneath. The dress has tiny rosettes stitched all over it. “Then I guess we need to start having sleepovers so I can be with you when you change into them for the evening.” I sigh dramatically.

“In your dreams, Tory.”

“Be nice, Charity. I missed you.”

“Liar.”

“You wound me, Clara.” My tone is playful, but I use her real name to send a message.

She looks over then, sussing out my level of sincerity. Finding me serious, she turns back to her locker, kisses the picture of Taylor Swift, and flings it closed.

I take her books from her arms and carry them to history. A bleary-eyed Mr. M gives us a one-over and comments on how we’re two peas in a pod as I shove our two desks together. Clara wordlessly sits beside me after tucking my shirt tag back into my neckline. This morning, I dug through my bureau until I found a shirt with a tag. When she isn’t looking, I flip it back out.

The next two weeks are a blur. Between hockey, tutoring, and training I barely have time to sleep. Friends. That’s what I told her I wanted, and she agreed. She must take after her father’s poor betting habits because that was not a deal she should have taken. At least not if she wanted to remain aloof to my advances. I fell for her a long time ago. But in the weeks leading up to the hockey tournament, I can tell she’s opening her heart to me as well. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

As an athlete, I’m no stranger to practice. Preparing what I’ll say to Clara during this tournament is no different. I practice in my head during class, out loud in my room at night. I have the speech planned out perfectly. Now, I just need to get the guts to deliver it and pray she’ll forgive me for keeping the secret as long as I have.

Chapter 41

Victory

Clara sits next to me on the flight to Florida. Vince’s parents got him an upgrade to business class for a Christmas present and he talked about it nonstop on the ride to the airport. Fine with me.

Since my mom oversaw booking the flights for the team, I made sure she sat Clara and I beside each other. So we’re currently buddy reading the orangeACOTARbook. And by buddy reading, I mean Clara is reading it and I’m looking over her shoulder. She finished theShatter Meseries last week, and we spent an entire tutoring session discussing it.

Now, she’s back to the popular fantasy romance series. When I saw that the book she was crying over in the vestibule was a library loan, I bought her the box set for Christmas. I gave it to her before we left on break so she wouldn’t have to lug them all onto the plane today. We both read the blue book during the last few days off school, texting updates back and forth. She got mad because I was blowing through it a little too fast.

Rumor has it, this book is the spiciest of the entire series, but we’re over a hundred pages in and nothing has happened yet. The sum of money I’d pay to watch her squirm while reading a spicy scene is unspeakable. These are the thoughts that distract me from what I know I’ll have to do during this trip: tell her the truth about my father’s involvement in her mom’s death.

It’s not fair of my father to put me in this situation. Sometimes I wish it was her dad who died. I liked Clara’s mom. She carried candy in her purse and always knew what was going on in school. And she was everything to Clara. It’s wildly unfair to Clara for her mother to be ripped away unnecessarily. These are the weights that rest on my shoulders day in and day out.

But it’s real. And it’s happening. I’ve been working up the nerve for a year, I guess. When I found out last year, I knew I’d have to tell her someday. Sometimes, I wonder if it would have been better to have told her as soon as I found out. But we didn’t even have a friendship last year. How do you say that to someone you barely even know? Hey, my dad had your mom killed. Don’t worry, though, it was meant to be your dad because he has a gambling problem and tried to go after my criminal father. There, there. It’s okay. Insert awkward shoulder pat and an immediate trip to the authorities.

No. I’m doing this the right way. I’ve laid the groundwork. She trusts me. At least, I think she does. Best case scenario, she forgives me for keeping the secret and the truth helps her heal. Maybe she’ll even disown her father since it was all his fault to begin with.

Worst-case scenario number one: she freaks out and tries to go to the authorities. Then, I’ll have to do anything I can to keep her safe.

Worst-case scenario number two: she never speaks to me again. Honestly, that’s the worst of the worst.

I’m vaguely away of her flipping pages beside me and have let my thoughts distract me from reading. Rightfully so. But then she lets out a little gasp and I zero in on the words. She slams the book shut.

“Uh-uh. Open up, Charity.”

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