Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

MADISON

“I think you’re ready.” I shuffle the loose papers Ryan and I used to study from and place them inside the notebook. We’re spending this late afternoon tucked inside a private study room at the library. It’s not an ideal time to study, but it’s the only time we could get together before tomorrow’s major test.

“Thanks to you.” Worry mixed with appreciation coats his eyes. He reaches across the table and intertwines our fingers. “I don’t know what I would’ve done had you not helped.”

“You’re a smart guy, Ryan. You would’ve figured it out.”

His mouth lifts to a smirk. “I figured out how to give you orgasms.”

“Oh my God. Be serious,” I say through a laugh. But I’m half joking. Ryan needs this relief. He’s put a lot of pressure on himself.

“I’m always serious when it comes to you.” His thumb rubs the back of my hand while those gray eyes darken like a stormy overcast.

My body sizzles from that look alone. But I tamp down my desire because he just seems, I don’t know, off . It’s as if something other than this test weighs on him.

“Are you okay?”

His thumb stills at my question. Apprehension replaces the flirty vibe we had moments ago. I hold my breath, awaiting his answer.

“Why?”

I pause. That isn’t a yes or no. It’s a deflection. But I don’t press. This isn’t the time or place, not with this test looming over us.

“I just care, that’s all.”

His gaze drops to where our fingers join, brows furrowed. His thumb begins to draw circles again. “They say scouts are coming to the next game.”

“Really?”

He nods but doesn’t seem as happy as I would’ve thought.

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Yeah, but…” Ryan’s gaze meets mine as his grip tightens around my hand. His face is drawn, worry lines etched deeper into his forehead. “It doesn’t do me any good if I don’t plan on going pro.”

“But you still love hockey?” I’m skating on thin ice, trying not to push too hard.

“I do.” He looks down at our entwined hands again. “But I can’t let myself be blinded by the glitz and glamour of it all. The scouts, the offers … they’re alluring. But they come with high risks.”

The offers. I wasn’t talking to Ryan when the Maine Pine Skaters offered Blake and Ryan a verbal agreement. I always wondered why Ryan passed on the deal but never had the inclination to ask.

“Why did you turn down the Pine’s offer?”

“It’s best if I stay close to Dad.” His voice is low and thick with emotion. “A verbal agreement doesn’t guarantee playtime. After his fall, he was left with an injury that never healed right and a pile of debt. I can’t afford to live with a Junior’s salary, not with the price of healthcare.”

“If you had a choice, if money wasn’t an option, what would you choose?”

Another pang of silence follows before his gaze lands on mine. “Hockey.”

My heart snaps in half. There’s so much sorrow to unpack in that look and statement. I give Ryan’s hand a reassuring squeeze. He’s torn between responsibility and passion. I never realized until now just how much we have in common. We’re both stuck between what we want and what we’re supposed to do, trapped by expectations and duty.

“But you chose physical therapy because of your dad?”

“Yes. I want to help people like him. It’s a good job. Stable pay.”

This all makes sense, but it’s not his dream. He’s meant to be on the ice. He’s good. Really good. I wouldn’t be surprised if the scout approached him after the game.

“I wish there was a way you could do both.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Maybe you can find some type of balance,” I suggest, not knowing if it’s even possible.

“Maybe.” He blows out a breath and tilts his head. “Why don’t you go to the game?”

I hesitate. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“It’s just a game. A lot of students attend. Nobody will know you’re there for me.” He waggles his eyebrows and looks so damn cute I almost cave.

Almost.

“Let’s get through this test tomorrow and worry about the game later.”

He withdraws his hand as disappointment flashes through his eyes. I want to take back the words and say I’ll go, but we can’t risk being seen together. My father will destroy him.

“Promise me you’ll try.”

Licking my lips, I nod. He really does want me there. “I promise to try.”

Running his hand over his scruff, he says, “We’ve talked about my goals, but what about yours?”

“Mine?”

“It seems like you’re not pursuing your dreams either. Do you even want to be a dentist?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and loaded, and catches me off guard. I give a noncommittal shrug.

“Dentistry is … practical.” My answer echoes his reasoning, and the smirk crossing his face lets me know he realizes it.

“Practical isn’t always fulfilling,” he says quietly. “What do you really want? Because I remember this girl with aspirations of being an artist. She drew this masterpiece of a hot hockey player holding the Stanley Cup.”

He remembers.

Heat rises in my cheeks. I can’t believe Ryan remembers that.

“I want to create.” My confession comes out softly. “I want to paint and draw and … just make things, you know?”

His eyes soften as his lips form a small smile. “That sounds more like you.”

I shake my head. “It’s not practical.”

“Who cares about practicality?” Ryan leans back and crosses his arms. “You should be able to do what makes you happy.”

“It’s not that simple.” Though I wish it were. “You know my parents.”

“I know they’re overbearing. And I know you harbor a lot of guilt thanks to your dad.”

Tears prick my eyes. “There isn’t a day when I’m not reminded of what I did.”

“You didn’t do anything. You were a newborn baby.”

Ryan used this same argument back in high school. He would tell me over and over that it wasn’t my fault, that I had no control over what happened inside Mom’s womb. But knowing something and feeling it are two different things.

“My father makes me feel worthless—lesser because I’m a female.” His constant reminder that he lost the chance of having a son hangs over me like a guillotine blade. I’ve spent my entire life trying to make up for something out of my control to avoid getting cut down.

“And that’s not okay. You’re not worthless.” Ryan grabs my hand again and looks me straight on. He’s never looked so serious. “You need to quit trying to please that man.”

I blink back the moisture threatening to spill. “I know.”

“Do you? Because you shouldn’t have to prove your worth to anyone, Maddy, especially not your father.”

Tears blur my vision as our gazes lock. Those eyes hold a fierce determination as if he’s silently promising to fight any battle for me. A lump forms in my throat. His words might be genuine, but they don’t erase the years of feeling inadequate, of feeling like I was never enough. It’s hard to believe him when I’ve been conditioned to think otherwise my whole life.

“I hear you, but?—”

“No buts,” he interrupts firmly. “You’re strong, Maddy. Stronger than you know. And you’re talented, so damn talented.”

My heart flutters at his words but also aches. Ryan sees me—the real me—and it’s both a comfort and a curse. Comfort because it feels nice to be seen, and a curse because it makes it harder for me to keep from falling deeper. What we have may be fun, and I like him more than I’m willing to admit, but there isn’t a future with Ryan Sorenson. That’s my unfortunate reality.

Despite everything, I give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I did do something for myself. I entered an art contest with a local gallery.”

“Really? That’s great.”

“The cash prize is small, but the reward is having my work displayed in the gallery as a solo show.” Excitement bubbles inside despite knowing nothing will come of it. “It’s a long shot, but if I win … it could be the start of something.”

“That’s amazing, Maddy! Do you have the artwork already made?”

“I’ve created some sketches, but I’m still trying to come up with a theme. I need that centralized piece that pops. The idea hasn’t quite come to me yet.”

“No doubt it will. I have faith in you.” His lips curve into that heart-stopping grin of his, and I genuinely believe him. It’s hard not to when he looks at me with that bright, hopeful expression.

But then reality crashes back upon me, causing me to frown.

“What’s that look for?”

“My dad found out about me entering, and…”

“And what?” he prompts.

“Told me not to pursue it. Dad wants me to focus on school. He also reminded me of the slip in my GPA last semester.”

“Your grades are excellent.” The alarm in Ryan’s voice makes me smile, albeit sadly.

I shrug. “I know. But Dad wants perfection. I stayed at Becky’s house the night of her party because we’d had a huge argument. They never take my art seriously.”

Ryan works his jaw as silence stretches between us. After a few beats, he says, “It seems we both sacrificed our goals.”

My chest constricts. He’s exactly right. We both yearn for things out of our reach. We’ve both sidelined dreams for the sake of practicality and obligations. It’s comforting to know someone understands this internal struggle but also heartbreaking. We both deserve better; we deserve to chase our dreams without guilt or obligations holding us back.

My phone interrupts before I can respond. I flash the screen to Ryan—Dad.

Ryan withdraws his hand from mine as I answer.

“Hello.”

“I don’t care what you’re doing. Get to my office now!”