Chapter 32
Giselle
Iblew it on the practice. Going out for the day and confronting Primrose only made things worse, and wasn’t it exactly what I needed right now—the only thing that could make things even sweeter, disappointing Coach Bailey too. Little cherry on top.
She tried to force a smile as we got out of a dismal session together. “Some more time on the ice tomorrow morning, all right? I’ll see you there and we’ll see if some sleep clears things up.”
“Yeah. I’ll be there. Sorry for… uh…”
“Don’t apologize. Just go sleep it off.”
Sleep what off, a breakup? Finding out I couldn’t even call it a breakup because it had never been a real relationship to start with—finding out my last relationship had never been real either? A good night’s sleep cured a lot of things, but I somehow doubted that was one.
But I smiled politely and said I would, and I told her goodnight, and I went back for what wasn’t even a halfway decent night’s sleep—lying there feeling icy cold even wrapped up in blankets, staring up at the ceiling, watching pale light through the curtain occasionally strobe across the room from passing cars. And despite my best efforts, I played back every scene with Primrose, holding each memory up to the horrible new light—trying to figure out what had been her strategy in each one.
I wished I could be angry at her instead of myself. I wished she hadn’t apologized and warned me that the Kents were still prone to try something. I wished she’d have just laughed in my face, told me it was all a lie and that it could only ever be a lie, that nobody would ever really love me, and let me be angry, let me curse her name, let me hate her.
I wished I didn’t miss her.
I woke up to the last thing I needed the next morning, a text from do not reply.
hey giselle! good luck today. i’ll be cheering for you!
I sighed, hard, heavy, sitting in my bed hunched over my phone. I’d told her dramatically not to talk to me again—it was the last thing I’d sent in the chat—but it was hard to hold that conviction when I realized she was the only person who wanted to talk to me.
I’d had a feeling everything with Primrose had been too good to be true. I had to learn to trust my instincts. Real people weren’t like that—it was friendships like Cass’s and relationships like Andrea’s.
No—wait. Andrea wasn’t real, either. Christ, I couldn’t even get that. Guess it was friendships like Cass’s and relationships like… something that didn’t quite measure up to Andrea.
I replied. thanks, going to need it
She replied right away. i’m sure you’re good, and then, you’ve always been able to pull something out in clutch moments.
This wasn’t too bad… just because she was snarky sometimes didn’t mean we couldn’t be friends. I wasn’t perfect, either. I ticked her off all the time. That was what it was like with real people. yeah, maybe, I replied. we’ll see… my head’s not in the game
something happen?
I sighed. guess you were right about primrose
I felt sick sending the message, and worse when she replied. i don’t want to say i told you so…
Then just don’t say it, I figured. But she followed it up before I could get any more annoyed.
sorry to hear that,and then, she call it off?
pretty much
right before your competition, too? pretty dick move
I did not want to tell Cass everything that happened. She’d never let me live it down anyway.
But I guess she didn’t need to know. Just because she was my friend didn’t mean I had to tell her everything about everything.
it is what it is,I sent. coach is having me in for a last-minute session to get my head back in the game. be there at the competition?
She typed, deleted, typed again, a couple of times before she sent, sry got something else at that time so i can’t :/ but lmk how it goes!
Maybe I just wouldn’t even go. I could tell my friends and family that I did and nobody would ever be any the wiser.
Of course, then I’d have to tell Coach I was backing out, and she’d have my head. So I rolled out of bed, and I put myself together, getting dressed and doing my morning warmups before pulling a single espresso shot from the machine and knocking it back on my way out the door. The ice rink was empty right now—not even anyone at the desk yet, so I wasn’t sure what Coach was doing sneaking me in, but I went inside, met up with her, and said some words—hell if I knew what. Got my skates on, did my off-ice warmups, and I stepped out onto the ice, following her directions.
Everything was wrong. The way my blades carved the ice felt off, my balance wasn’t right, I screwed up the leading and ended up wildly off-track for my routine, nearly colliding with the barriers half a dozen times through one performance, and even the music sounded like it was just… missing something today.
Good thing we were practicing in an empty rink. The sweeping vista of absolutely nobody watching was just like I would have in the competition.
I think Coach was more depressed than I was by the time I got off the ice, sitting down on the bleachers next to her as she stared at the floor. We sat side-by-side in silence for a painfully long time before she shifted, clearing her throat.
“Well,” she said, and she put a hand on my back. “Just do what you can out there today, and be proud of yourself for showing up. This isn’t the first or the last time you’ll compete. It’s not all or nothing.”
“Think I should even go?”
“Of course you should. Even in the worst-case scenario, you at least showed up. That’s something you’ll remember ten, twenty years from now, is that you showed up. It’s all you can do.” She squeezed my shoulder. “And don’t count yourself out early. Everyone loves a comeback.”
“Yeah.” Not that I believed a word of it. But what was I going to do, start crying on her?
Distinct possibility. But I’d rather not.
Coach stayed behind as I left—probably cleaning up our mess, turning off the lights—and I stepped out into a cool, overcast day with a wind that flicked my ponytail along my back, and I let out a long sigh as I stepped past the front overhang and looked up into the cold, cloudy sky.
And I jumped when I heard a voice. “You always walk around with your head cranked back up like that?”
I shook off the reverie, looking at where—my stomach turned at the sight of Ava standing to the side of the path, leaning against the wall, a bulky envelope under her arm. FIRE too, I guessed. Part of the same group that had put together a conspiracy just to make me sad for some damn reason.
“What?” She scowled. “Quit staring.”
“You’re one, too, aren’t you?” I said, my voice sounding distant. “FIRE.”
Ava wrinkled her nose. “Primrose spilled all that just because she’s in love with you?”
I could not talk to her right now. It felt like a knife in the stomach. I shoved my hands in my pockets, looking away. “Andrea.”
“Oh yeah. Sunburns did say Zach had sent Andi to ruin things instead once he realized Rosie couldn’t bear to hurt you.” She shrugged. “Yeah, I am.”
“What is it, anyway? Just a social club that wants to screw people over?”
“Bunch of kids the system left behind, who wouldn’t have real opportunities in the world otherwise, banding together to take on the nepotists, the rich kids who have everything handed to them, and make our own advantages.” She laughed. “So yeah, basically a social club that wants to screw people over.”
“What does it even stand for?”
“Duh. Stands for Fuck, I’m Really Awesome.”
I sighed, rubbing my forehead. Ava put a hand up.
“That’s not the point anyway.”
“Wouldn’t that be FIRA?”
“What?” She scrunched up her face. “Oh, yeah. You know, I actually don’t know what it stands for. You’d have to ask Zax, and nobody wants to do that.”
“Ava… what do you want?”
She handed me the envelope, not looking directly at me. “You should have this.”
I wrinkled my nose looking at it. “Is it a bomb? I doubt you’re writing me fan mail.”
She pushed the envelope towards me. “Just fucking take it. It’s worth looking at. I don’t know, at least give you some fucking closure before Primrose gets chased off campus for good.”
“Chased off—what?” It felt like a sudden ringing in my ears, like a cold compress on my skull, and I took the envelope without even realizing. Ava turned away, flipping her hood up and pushing her hands into her pockets.
“Zach’s a fucking asshole, that’s all I’m saying. Good luck with your competition later, I guess.”
“What do you…” I said it to nothing, to no one—my voice came out small, distant, and Ava was already stomping away, her head down. I looked down at the envelope, and slowly, with a tremble in my hands, I slipped out a notebook—a journal, dark red binding. Giselle Lawson Case stretched across the front in Primrose’s handwriting with dark marker, and I swallowed, hard, clutching it tighter in my hands.
Talk about a sick joke. I needed to throw the damn thing away in the closest trashcan, or maybe burn it.
But I… desperately needed to know why Primrose was leaving. And hopelessly—if she was okay.
Besides, it wasn’t like I could sabotage myself more before the competition.
I closed my eyes, holding it close to my chest, breathing in the cold air.
I was a goddamn disaster. But like the disaster I was, I slipped the book back into the envelope, and I took off.
∞∞∞
I knew from the very first page that I was punishing myself, a sick feeling as I saw her handwriting, a biting cold even when I wrapped up in blankets with a cup of tea, sitting on my bed. I really needed to be practicing right now, getting in the right mindset for the competition, anything, but here I was in my apartment alone with this damned book.
Zach’s ordered an education for Matthew—I guess you, if you’re reading this. Help you get an idea how I work when I want to win someone over. I don’t want to bother sitting you down and teaching you a course, so you get the textbook instead. Lucky you.
Target for the case is Giselle Lawson, a woman, because fuck me, I guess. Told Zach I’m not into girls, he said he didn’t give a damn and to do my job. Whatever. You were there. I’ve been on thin ice in FIRE ever since the Chris Torres thing went down, so if this can get me back to safety, I’ll be gay for a day or two, I guess.
Girl’s a competitive figure skater and the daughter of a banking business mogul. Sounds like the usual fare. Got two weeks to get this done, we smash and grab intel from her family and break her heart right before her competition so she blows it. She and the people around her have taken shots at Walsh, at Cruz, at Carlisle. She seems less rich-douche and more goody-two-shoes, but same shit. Still has it coming to her.
Going to spend the first week making her want me. Probably use a fake boyfriend, make her think I’m off-limits so she really has to pine for me. Stage some dramatic breakup and fall into Giselle’s arms, let her support me, get her hopes up, and then I’ll stage some kiss scene or something at the start of next week. Spend week two dating her as much as I can bear, and then pull the plug that Friday.
Not looking forward to this, but whatever. I get it done and I can breathe easy.
I clenched the pages tighter, my breathing heavy, getting dizzier the more I went. The sick humiliation of it—of seeing her chart out exactly how I would react, of seeing how easily I’d played right into her hands—
I needed to stop this. I’d be sick instead of making it to the competition. But I couldn’t help myself. I turned the pages.
Made contact with the target. Psychologically affecting her…like I was a test subject. The way she’d had me on a string. Everything—from the fake vulnerabilities around her passions and interests, to the fake struggle with her fake boyfriend, the setup with her falling down and needing my help to take her back to her complex, to the stupid scrap of paper with her number on it—even meeting Ava. Even setting up Ava to tell me not to date Primrose, just to put the idea in my head. The staged awkwardness when I mentioned I was gay, specifically to string me along, playing with my heart by acting like it was a date after that, strategically coming out with the sexuality-questioning thing she’d invented.
Jesus Christ.
Primrose had me figured out like a dissected body, and every part of me—things I didn’t even know about myself—were laid out with deathly-cold scientific precision, charting the progress along the ideal trajectory, making adjustments to the plans as needed based on how it was lining up with the projections.
But—the tone changed at one point, where the handwriting was different, scratchier.
Don’t really know what just happened. Guess the dramatic breakup with Matthew came sooner than planned.
Just… messed up, I guess. I make mistakes, too, believe it or not.
Zachary was in a mood. Tan messed something up with the Kents, apparently, set him back. Tore Andrea a new one and called me in to tear me in half, too.
Told me not to start liking Giselle or I was dead meat. Like he’s reading my mind now, figuring out I’ve been doubting if we’re doing the right thing. Made sure to remind me just how much it’s not like FIRE to give second chances, and how I make one mistake and I’m out.
And I hate, hate, hate this feeling. Like I’m never able to make up for the past, like I’m constantly trying to be good enough to make amends for it. Hate feeling like a slave to my past.
And like the mature adult I am, I had a breakdown crying my heart out in a public space. And who better to come along and help put me back together than Giselle?
I couldn’t explain the real situation, so I just told her I’d broken up with Matthew instead, but I ended up too… honest. Too real. Talking about how I feel like I’m always trying to make up for my past and that I can never be accepted.
I wish she were an asshole. She’s just so fucking good, and she says so many of the right things, that it’s hard to keep my resolve. Guess this is why Zachary warned me not to actually start liking her.
I’m not doing that again. I’d be gone for good.
Gone for good. Gone for good? Like… kicked out of her place with Ava and chased off campus.
My throat felt tight as I kept going, hands shaking, and I forgot the time as I read with something in my chest every time I turned a page, not sure if it was hope or fear. Maybe they were the same thing.
It felt like my soul splintering when I turned the page to shaky handwriting.
Think I’m fucking the mission up. Felt genuinely proud of her when I heard she’d cut off her annoying friend. Caught myself actually wanting to make her feel better.
Messed me up learning Zachary put her and Andrea together. Keep asking myself if Giselle’s actually all the shit Zach said she is or if he’s after something.
I thought she was an insufferable suck-up, savvy with political maneuvering. But she just… cares. She’s nice. Tells me things that fuck me up because of how much I want to hear them.
Feelings do what they do. None of us have direct control over what we feel. If I’m in denial, I’ll just be more vulnerable.
I admit that I like her. Not romantically, obviously, but you don’t daydream of pulling off an axel and going to Switzerland with somebody you dislike.
But feelings follow action. Once I finish the case and end things, I’ll move on. It’ll hurt for me too, but that’s the price for fucking up.
“Primrose…” I spoke, softly, to an empty room, even though it felt like she was right there in front of me—I ran my finger anxiously down the edge of the page, wondering if I dared to read more or if I needed to run, run, put this all behind me forever.
I turned the page. Her handwriting across the page felt like it pulled my heart out, and—and like everything I ever needed at the same time.
I wanted to kiss her. Don’t know what she’s doing to me. Might have flown too close to the sun with this case.
Zach’s gonna kill me if he knows. Guess I’ll just make sure not to tell him.
My heart was beating so fast I couldn’t breathe right. I wondered—when she’d said she’d been writing about me in her journal—was this what she really meant? The way the whole tone of the journal had changed…
I wanted to kiss her.I read the line over and over, running my finger along it. Wondering if the thing that had been tearing her apart on Thursday had been the same thing tearing me apart today.
The next page made my chest ache, the memories feeling like they came from years ago, thick with nostalgia.
Looks like we’re going out tonight. Right on schedule for the initial plan.
Who the hell am I kidding? I’ve never felt so nervous asking someone on a date. We skated together, did our classwork over coffee together, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her the whole time. Asked her out for dinner and I feel like my chest will explode waiting for her to text me.
I don’t know what to do. I didn’t think I could fall for a girl and definitely not for a nepo baby.
Does it mean something that I put it in that order? Christ, I guess I’ve always been bisexual. Always did think about girls being really beautiful. Wonder if me always having a soft spot for Sooyeon was attraction.
Think Susu likes Giselle, too. Giselle gets on with the whole group, though… wish I could date someone like that, where they fit into my whole group.
I wish I could date Giselle. God, I’ve fucked up. I like her so much. It hurts so damn bad thinking about what we could be and how I wish things could have gone instead…
Sure hope Matthew enjoys the fucking journal. Having fun looking back on it while I’m fucking broken and I have no one to blame but myself?
I felt tears burning in my eyes, an emotional wreck falling apart as I went through the vanishingly few pages left. No more of the charting things out and analyzing the case, just shaky handwriting where I could tell she’d taken extra time writing out my name every time it came up. An entry from after that night when we’d had our first kiss properly, waxing over all the things she never knew she could feel—how she’d thought she could never feel this way but how it turned out she’d just never had a reason to fall for someone before—and talking about how it felt to wake up next to me. Agonizingly beautiful and then, interspersed every line or two, beautifully agonizing when she came back to Friday.
And then one in tense, tight handwriting that felt like it ripped my heart out of my chest.
I got what we need.
Lawsons are pushing for a big, risky expansion. I’d heard it on the video call—all the details. Nuclear warhead kind of information.
I hadn’t even been trying… I’d just wanted to spend time with her.
Swear it’s some kind of sign from the universe. Telling me to stop falling in love with her and get back to work.
I’ve got to tell Zachary. It’s not a moment too soon. Tomorrow is when I pull the plug, so…
I have to do it. I’ll lose everything if I don’t. If FIRE kicks me out, I’m out of university, out of work opportunities, out of friends and connections, out of a place to live, out of luck, out of time. My feelings for her will go away in time. It’s not worth sacrificing everything for.
I have to do it. I hate it so fucking much. I wish we could have met differently, Giselle. I’m so sorry. I care about you so much, and I’ve loved every second we’ve gotten to spend together. I’ll remember you forever. And regret this forever.
The meeting with my father and Carl Webb—when we’d talked about the business expansion. Primrose had been privy to it all. A spy stationed there to collect that exact information.
And she didn’t do it. Because she felt the same way I did.
The picture made perfect sense now—that call, and then Primrose broken down the next day. She’d said Zachary never got the information. She’d tried to do it, tried to do her job—knowing the delicate situation of her life would fall apart if she didn’t—but she couldn’t. She protected me instead.
Ava had said Zachary sent Andrea to end things because he knew Primrose couldn’t. She’d tried—genuinely, despite everything, tried to stand up against the world for me, for us. And even though Zachary still sent Andrea to break my heart, Primrose threw everything away for me anyway.
She hadn’t been able to tell me what she was crying over. How could she have? She was keeping it secret just a little bit longer because she wanted me to be okay, carrying all that weight, throwing herself into the fire so that I could be safe.
And I couldn’t do anything for her.
Dammit.
I turned the page, carefully, shaking, the last page—like saying goodbye all over again.
You’re right, Matthew. I’m not meant for this. I’m a soft, tender thing who loves, and that’s not something to be afraid of.
Giselle deserves to be happy. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me now, but I’m not going to devote this one short life I have to making things worse for someone who only deserves to be happy.
Don’t worry about me, okay? You’ve been good to me over the years. I’ve loved being a part of FIRE. The friendships I’ve made with you and everyone else mean the world.
I’ll be all right. Not my first time disappearing and leaving it all behind. I’ll remember you in whatever my next life looks like.
And I’ll remember Giselle.
If one day this all settles, and for some reason Giselle should ever talk to you again, tell her I’m grateful for her. And that I care for her.
Figure she won’t believe it, though.
Take care.
Slowly, shakily, I shut the book, and I held it into my chest, breathing hard, my eyes hot. I wasn’t sure when I’d started crying, but I held it tightly into my chest.
That damn woman. She couldn’t make me fall for her twice.
Ah, who was I kidding? Of course she could.