“Why not, Jemma? We’ve been together since we were fourteen.” He clutches my waist, his fingers digging into my hip. “You love me. I love you. I don’t see how there’s a problem. Everything was perfect with us. What happened?”
“Something inside me snapped when you asked me to marry you. I felt like I hadn’t experienced life without you. I’d never even left Lancaster, except for the few vacations I’d gone on with my family.”
“So,” he challenges. “I don’t need to travel the world or go to some fancy school to know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
“It’s not that easy for me, Cor.” I place my hand on his shoulder, staring into his eyes, the nerves finally subsiding. “I don’t know what I want yet. I’m not ready to settle down and have a family. We’re too young. Maybe in five years from now—”
“Five years,” he interrupts. “C’mon, Jemmy, we don’t need another five years to begin our future.” Corey moves his hand to my cheek and strokes it with his calloused thumb, sparking an intense prick of electricity that skates all my skin. “I knew I wanted to marry you when we were kids, when I made you a ring from pieces of hay I tied together. You were my best friend… you are my best friend. You’re my entire world.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” I admit. “We’ve been everything to each other for so long we don’t even know what it’s like to be on our own. Now that I’ve had the chance to explore new things, I don’t want to give it all up. Not yet.”
“Do you expect me to wait forever?” His tone darkens along with his features.
I shake my head. “No. If we’re meant to be together, it will happen one way or another.”
He stares at me in disbelief. “You honestly believe that?”
I nod. “I do. If I’m your Juliet, then the stars will align and one day we will be together again.”
“Romeo and Juliet died,” he points out. “That’s not a great frame of reference.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “You know what I mean.”
Corey peels his hand from my face and leans back against the stall opposite me, unable to meet my gaze. His eyes fall to the hay-strewn ground, as he shoves his hands into his jean pockets and sighs.
“I’m sorry, Corey. I know I’m a horrible person for putting you through this.”
He looks up at me, a hint of a smile on his lips. “You’re the best person I know, Jemma. There’s not a bad bone in your body.”
“Then, why do I feel like shit?”
“Because breakups are hard.”
“For what it’s worth, I still care about you, Corey. We might not be together, but some things will never fade. You will always be my friend. I hope you still want to be mine.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I’d rather have you as my friend than nothing at all.”
Even so, I still feel as though I’m cheating him out of having a normal life. I know him well enough to know he won’t move on from me for a long time. And I wish with every ounce of my being I could take away his pain, the way I wish someone could take away how I feel about Tucker and Trent. More like I wish someone could make me forget. Because no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to get them out of my head.
Twenty-One
Trent
My brother is a fucking dick. I sit on the bench next to him, staring at the side of his face. The sight of him right now pisses me off to no end. Except it’s like wanting to punch myself for being an asshole. We shared everything, did everything together, and now I’m desperate for space. But it’s hard to create some distance when we’re forced to play hockey together, on the same damn line.
Coach Bryant calls for a line change, and Tucker, Killian, and I are hopping over the wall with our sticks in hand. We skate down the ice, past our teammates as they take our places on the bench. I have so much anger and aggression built up from the last few weeks—after everything that went down with Jemma—that I want to take it out on the opposing team.
The Black Friday game has always been my favorite. When people are out wasting their money on Christmas deals, I get to spend my day working toward achieving another win for our team. Even though we have a few months, the Regionals are so close I can taste them. And the Frozen Four isn’t too far behind. We all want it. We all need it.
I visualize my ultimate goal as I check a defenseman into the boards, fighting him for possession of the puck. He’s not as good of a puck handler as me, attempting to push it through my legs, instead of taking the toe of his stick blade to move the puck away from me. That’s what I would have done if the situation were reversed, which is why I can anticipate his next move—the sloppiness in his game a weakness I can read.