Chapter Forty-One
Lindsay
Whitney dragged her feet enough as she approached my desk that I knew something was up.
“The last time you came to me with that look on your face, you told me you couldn’t give me the article I wanted.” Maybe if she’d delivered a scathing piece on the unfair bias the college showed athletes, no hockey player would’ve dared to cross my path and I never would’ve slipped into that world again.
“This is different,” Whitney said. “I’m not so sure you want this article, even though you asked me to write it. It’s the piece on the Hockey East Tournament’s championship game, and a certain player was responsible for a lot of big plays, so he’s heavily featured.”
She hugged her open laptop to her, like whatever was inside it could ruin me—and honestly, it probably could ruin my makeup—so I tried to put on a brave face.
“I’m perfectly capable of being objective. I won’t cut out everything good you say about the team or that certain player because of my personal connection and how it’s been severed.”
“Severed?” Whitney arched an eyebrow. “You’re being really technical about this whole thing, and I know you’re a strong kick-ass chick, but it’s okay to be hurt, or even pissed. I heard enough of what happened via Megan to know he was an ass. That’s really not like him, and I’m sure he didn’t mean—”
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine,” I said. I was making progress and all, but I couldn’t rehash Ryder and my ending. I needed to keep on working, keep my mind busy. “In fact, I just got an email about a position in Woodland Park, New Jersey, with the Record, and I’m heading up there next weekend for an interview. I’m super happy.”
Whitney frowned. “So you’re just going to leave and never look back? You’re not even going to try to fix things with Ryder?”
“What’s the point? I’m moving, and he’ll be here judging puck bunnies, but probably not harshly enough to keep him from hooking up with several. We can both move on and have our own versions of happily ever after.” A sharp pain lanced my heart. Yep, I was so freaking happy that I wanted to burst into tears.
Whitney’s frown only deepened and her knuckles went white from gripping her laptop. “I’m just going to ask Will to format it—I’ve already read through it several times, and I promise it’s clean.”
“I’m the editor, Whit. I have to edit it. Like I said, I’m fine.”
Reluctantly she set down her laptop, clicked a few keys, and then gave me a skeptical glance before saying, “I hit send.” Instead of going back to her desk she sat on the edge of mine. “Look, Lyla and I have this thing we do when we need a break from life. We eat ice cream, and when the situation calls for it, we mix up margaritas as well. Come over tonight. I’ll call Megan and we’ll have a killer girls’ night and just forget about everything for a while.”
As much as I appreciated it—and as much as I liked those girls—how could I be around them without thinking of their boyfriends and how Ryder used to be mine but wasn’t anymore? Tears would be inevitable, and I’d rather eat worms than let anyone see me cry—it was bad enough that Whitney witnessed them a few months ago. “Thanks, but I’m slammed.”
“Okay, but if you change your mind…I’m just saying no one knows how you feel right now better than Lyla, Megan, and I do. We’ve been through it.”
Yeah, but you all got your happy endings and there’s no way I’ll have one. I was moving to New York City for my internship, and if things worked out, I’d land the newspaper job in New Jersey. The commute between the two would be about forty-five minutes, so I’d work at both for a while if that was what it took. I needed to prove to myself that I wasn’t like my mom. I was following my dreams and making my own way, not relying on a guy to take care of me and make me happy.
Of course, it’s not exactly my dream. But it might still get me there eventually.
I clicked the mouse to pull up my email. “If I change my mind, I’ll let you know. But like I said, I’m just so busy.”
Whitney came around the desk and hugged me. I stiffened, not entirely comfortable with the situation. But the longer she hugged me, the more I couldn’t help but sink into her embrace. She hugged me so tightly, and then I was hugging her back and blinking back tears, a giant lump in my throat.
“Before the end of semester, we have to get together,” Whitney said. “Like it or not, you’re my friend, and I’m not ready to let you go without at least an intimate sendoff party.”
So this is what having friends feels like. What belonging feels like.
I’d gone so many years without genuine friendships, and it hit me how awesome it was, and how hard it was going to be to let go, and a tear accidentally slipped down my cheek.
Mere minutes ago, I’d sort of wished she’d written the original article I’d wanted her to, but now the thought of losing her friendship—of never getting to know Lyla and especially Megan—sent a pang through me. Despite everything, losing any time with my newfound female friends would’ve been too high a cost, so I decided I’d let go of that article that could’ve been for good.
“Thank you,” I said, and I did a horrible job hiding the squeak in my voice, but when Whitney pulled back, her eyes were watering up, too. Which only made it harder to keep from full-on crying.
I wanted to believe that someday I’d find more friends, but they didn’t come easy for me, and in this moment, I wasn’t sure I’d ever quite find the same acceptance I’d experienced this past month again.