Suddenly, I did the first thing that came to me to do.
The sound of Ryan’s voice—raw, torn, furious—echoed in my head when my legs finally moved. I didn’t even realize I was running until the cold air of the rink’s hallway slapped me across the face. It was then I realized I was running like a coward.
My sneakers squeaked against the rubber flooring, every step a frantic beat of ‘get out, get out, get out’.
My lungs burned, but it wasn’t from exertion. It was from the way his eyes had looked at me—betrayed, desperate, like I’d reached in and ripped something vital out of him.
And maybe I had.
But what was I supposed to do?
Pretend that picture Caleb shoved in my face hadn’t shredded the ground beneath me? Pretend my heart hadn’t folded into something ugly the second I saw Ryan’s
