Chapter Nineteen Claire

Chapter Nineteen

Claire

“You got the boot off.” Austin pauses in my doorway, stare immediately going to my right foot.

“Yep.” I lift it off the floor. It feels light without the weight of the plastic and metal.

“Congrats.” He sets his backpack on the floor. “You’re all healed now?”

I nod, not trusting my voice. All healed is relative. They’ve done all they can, but the years of wear and injury will never be able to support the hours and hours of practice needed to continue my skating career. But I’m still glad to be cleared for normal activities.

“Have you checked off all your ‘I can’t wait to get off this boot ands’?”

“My what?”

“I remember when I broke my arm, I couldn’t wait to get off the cast and wash my arm or toss a ball two-handed over my head or sleep with that arm over my face. All the things you don’t realize you enjoy so much until you can’t do them.”

“I thought you hurt your foot?”

“I did that too. But the arm was worse. Fell off the monkey bars.” He shoots me a boyish grin.

“I’m excited to wear two shoes,” I say, because the other answers are too depressing. The only thing I want to do, I can’t. That’s less depressing than not having a bunch of other things on the list. My life was all skating, and now what?

“Fair enough.” He grins as he looks at my feet again. “So what’s this idea you had for art?”

Thankful for something else to focus on, I latch on to the subject change. I pull out all my pieces for the show. I still need to put a few finishing touches on two of them, but they’re done enough to get an overall feel. Austin pulls out his portfolio, and I add his completed sketches to the mix.

He is so gifted. Each piece is stunning and interesting on its own, but together you really get a feel for his talent.

“This was my favorite,” I say, resting my fingers on the edge of one sketch.

“I redid it, like, three times before Lacey gave her approval.” He smiles and gives his head a little shake.

He did a great job capturing her. It’s a side angle, in her cheerleading outfit. He really captured the joy and excitement that Lacey brings to all things.

The other drawings are of the cafeteria and hallway. Both drawings focus less on specific people and more on the overall feel of what it’s like to be inside Frost Lake High. But in the hallway drawing, there are two girls side by side opening their lockers, and I can’t help but notice they look a little like me and Lacey.

He focused on the inside of the school, and I did paintings of places outside. The front of the school, the breezeway between buildings, the cluttered gym closet, and one of our beloved Knights mascot.

“These are really good,” he says, looking over my work like it’s the first time. He’s watched me paint most of them.

“Thanks.” With them all laid out in front of us, I admire them but get the same nagging sense that they lack cohesion.

“I love all the pieces, but when I lay them out next to one another…”

“They don’t quite work together.” He nods thoughtfully as he continues to stare. He moves them around on the floor like he’s trying to see if the order matters. “Shit. Yeah, I think you’re right. Maybe once we have them all matted, that’ll help.”

“Maybe,” I agree. “But what if we did something together? Your sketch work with my painting.”

We toss out ideas, some focusing more on the sketches with pops of color, others with a more detailed painting approach. Neither feels quite right. They’re all too different from the other pieces.

“Something will come to us,” Austin says when we’re both frustrated and out of ideas.

“Yeah.”

He starts to pack up.

“Plans tonight?”

“My dad is in town. We’re going out to dinner.”

“Oh, nice.”

“What about you?” he asks. “How are you going to celebrate your ability to wear two shoes?”

“Oh…” I laugh lightly. “I don’t know. I’ll probably order takeout or something. My mom and sister are at rehearsals until late.”

His movements slow as he zips up his backpack and lifts it to his shoulder. “Do you want to come with us?”

“No. I’m not crashing your family outing.”

“Why not?” He shrugs. “My parents won’t care.”

“Thank you, but I’m fine.”

“How about tomorrow then?”

“Yeah, let’s meet up to come up with some more ideas.”

“Not that. Let me take you out to celebrate.”

I can’t explain the weird sensation in my stomach. Butterflies do flips and twirl around, stealing my breath and making me nervous.

“It’s really okay. I don’t feel much like celebrating.” I can tell my answer gives him pause, so I add, “People break their leg and tear all their ankle ligaments all the time. It’s no big deal.”

“Fine, then let’s meet up to talk art ideas tomorrow night over food. It’s not celebrating if we’re talking about school.”

“Fine.” Another short laugh escapes.

Austin’s mouth curves into a smile. He walks to the doorway and then pauses. “See you tomorrow.”

* * *

“This is the best milkshake I’ve ever had,” Austin says, eyes closed as he leans back in the booth across from me. His Oreo milkshake is gone, along with the burger and fries he ordered to go with it.

“That’s only because you haven’t had this one.” I point to the strawberry one in front of me. I got brain freeze and had to stop halfway through.

His brows lift in disbelief. “There’s no way strawberry is better than Oreo.”

I push my glass toward him, and he leans forward, rubbing his stomach like he couldn’t possibly eat any more, but then he drinks from my straw, gaze locked on me.

I wait for the verdict.

“That’s really fucking good.” The way his face lights up fills me with smug satisfaction.

“Told you.”

“I didn’t say it was better than Oreo.”

I cock a brow in challenge.

“It’s a tie,” he says, then takes another long drink.

When he tries to pass it back, I wave him off. “You can have the rest. I’m too full.”

“I guess that’s a no to dessert then?” he asks, smirking. He pulls out his wallet.

“I got it,” I say quickly. I picked this place, so it feels only fair.

“No way. I invited you. I’ll pay.”

“At least let me pay for mine.”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because…” I wait for him to fill in the rest of that sentence.

“Because then it wouldn’t be a celebration.”

“I knew it.” Laughter filters out of me. “This was supposed to be a group project hang, not a celebration.”

“Titles aren’t important.” He stands. “Be right back.”

He heads off to the front counter to pay, and I shake my head. It isn’t the worst thing being treated to a celebratory dinner, even if the only thing I did is heal. To which I didn’t really contribute that much. Bones break and heal. The other stuff is trickier.

“Claire?”

I lift my head, shaking the thoughts free and staring straight at two of my old skating friends, Lauren and Zoey. They obviously just came from the rink with their shorts over their leotards and hair pulled back. Seeing them steals the breath from my lungs.

“Oh my gosh.” I get to my feet and move toward them. I hug each of them, and then we continue to stare at one another, happy and surprised expressions on all our faces.

“How are you?” Lauren asks and glances to my foot. “I haven’t heard from you in so long. Gosh, girl, I miss you at the rink.”

She hugs me again, and I feel a pang of guilt and sadness. Both of them were great about texting and checking in when I first got injured. It was me who rarely returned their messages and flaked on meeting up the times they tried. We never hung out that much outside skating before. We never needed to, since we spent so much time there.

I could have made more of an effort. The truth is, I knew seeing them would be hard. They’re still doing the thing I so desperately want to and can’t.

I feel Austin step up behind me. I open my stance and introduce him. They both gape a little, looking between us and getting the completely wrong idea.

“You and Vaughn are really over then?” Zoey asks. “We heard, but I didn’t believe it.”

“Yeah.” I shift uncomfortably. “But he’s doing good.”

He’s doing good? I have no idea why I say it. I don’t even know if that’s true. We barely talk, so all my knowledge comes from Lacey, who isn’t exactly his biggest fan. Austin would know, but it’s weird talking about my ex with him.

“And you?” Lauren asks. “Are you really not coming back?”

I shake my head. “No. The doctor says it would be too risky.”

Lauren’s expression is pained. “That sucks. I’m so sorry. I know it must be killing you not to skate. You were there more than any of us.”

“I’m doing okay,” I say, because while I do wish I were there, their pity makes me want more for myself. There has to be another chapter for me after skating.

“You should come by sometime,” Lauren says. “Just to say hey. I know everyone would be excited to see you.”

“Maybe,” I say. Right now, the thought is too painful. I can’t even look inside my skate bag without feeling an intense pang of loss.

“We better go.” Zoey reaches forward to hug me again. “I’ll text you.”

“Okay.” They move away, and I glance back at Austin. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine. They seem nice.”

“Yeah.”

It looks like he might push to say more, but instead he asks, “Are you ready?”

Outside, we walk down the sidewalk silently toward his Jeep. It’s windy out and overcast. I pull my sleeves down to cover my hands and wish I’d brought a jacket.

“Here.” Austin pulls off his sweatshirt. His dark hair sticks up as he holds out the wad of black material to me.

“I’m all right,” I say.

“Take it,” he says. “That way, I won’t feel bad about making one more stop before I take you home.”

That stop ends up being Wyatt’s soccer practice.

“I promised him I’d stop by and watch him in action,” Austin says as we walk across the field to where kids are taking turns kicking balls toward the net.

My smile loosens as his brother spots us. He waves with his whole body, hand shot up high over his head, waving back and forth, stretching him up on his tiptoes.

Austin and I wave back in unison and then take a seat on a metal bleacher. A few parents are set up nearby with lawn chairs, and smaller kids run around the sidelines.

We watch quietly, only commenting on Wyatt and the other kids for a while. They’re pretty cute. The skill level is all over the place, as is their ability to focus.

Austin waits until I’m too enthralled by their adorable, chaotic cuteness to say, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I ask, everything except this moment temporarily forgotten.

“For forcing you out to celebrate. I wasn’t thinking. You told me you were done with skating, but I didn’t really understand until back there. It was everything for you.”

“You mean you didn’t understand that I can’t do the one thing I want to do more than anything?” I ask softly. “My only ‘I can’t wait to get off this boot and’ is skating.”

He’s quiet again, and I appreciate that he doesn’t try to fill the silence just to make me feel better. Not that it’d work anyway. I hate the saying “it is what it is,” but it feels very appropriate in this instance.

I’m the first to speak again.

“It’s not just that I can’t skate,” I say. “That part does suck, of course, but the other thing is, I don’t have any other hobbies. I don’t have any other ‘I can’t wait to get off this boot ands.’ Aside from skating, my only other interest is hanging out with friends. I didn’t realize before now how busy they all are. Lacey and Andie have cheer every day and lots of other hobbies on top of it, and I’m just sitting around waiting for everyone to be free so they can hang out.”

“Yeah, I get that. I don’t have a whole lot else except soccer.”

“Isn’t it funny how at such a young age, we’re forced to choose between all the things we enjoy for the few things we’re good at? Sports teams are competitive, which I get, but what if you really loved soccer and weren’t any good at it? Do you have to give it up?”

“Most people probably do,” he says.

“Why?”

“I think at some point it stops being fun when you realize the people around you are better at it.”

“But you can’t get better unless you keep doing it.”

He grins. “You’re not wrong.”

“I get what you mean though,” I say. “It’s why I haven’t joined anything new. I’ll be the worst at whatever it is.”

“And that bothers you?”

“It’d definitely bother my mother.” I dip my head into the neck of his sweatshirt. His scent wraps around me, making me as warm as the material. “What about you? Are there other things you would want to do if you couldn’t do soccer?”

He thinks for a moment, and silly as it may be, I’m thankful that he doesn’t give me some bullshit answer to appease me. “I hope so, but I’m not sure if there’s anything else out there that would feel the same.”

“You love it,” I say, knowing exactly how he feels.

One side of his mouth inches up, and those green eyes spark. “I’d play soccer all day, every day. By myself, with toddlers, in the snow, even if there wasn’t a winner or a future in it.”

The last part is hard for me to wrap my head around. My parents, my mom specifically, have always drilled into me that winning is important. Whatever you choose to do, do it all out. Be the best.

“But if I couldn’t, then there are other things I’d try.”

“Like?”

He blushes a little, and it makes me more curious.

“What? Tell me.”

“I think it’d be kind of cool to be a stuntman.”

I’m taken aback by his reply. It’s so not what I expected. I fight a smile, but when his own goofy grin appears, I let mine loose with a laugh.

“A stuntman? Like in the movies?”

“Yeah. Chase scenes, jumping off buildings, all the stuff the actors don’t want to do.”

“Because they don’t want to risk death.”

His grin turns into a lopsided smirk. “I’d be a good stuntman, obviously.”

While I’m still laughing at him, I’m also swooning a little as I imagine him coolly walking away from an exploding vehicle.

“What would you want to try?” He sits with his hands braced on either side of him. His pinkie finger brushes against mine. “What interests you?”

“I don’t know. Everything. Nothing.”

“I see you’ve narrowed it down,” he says dryly.

“If I had it figured out, I wouldn’t be sitting here with you.”

“Ouch.”

“I mean I’d be busy doing whatever amazing thing I’m newly obsessed with.”

“What happened?” he asks, then looks to my foot. “How’d you hurt it?”

“Years of pushing through injuries and practicing too many hours a day.” I shake my head. “I was warming up before a competition. I went up, and when I came down…” I trail off. It was wrong. Everything was wrong.

“I’m sorry.”

I nod, throat clogged with too much emotion to speak.

His gaze locks on me, then drops to my lips. “Let’s do it then. Let’s find you some new hobbies.”

His green eyes spark with hope. He makes it sound so simple, but I’ve thought a lot about other things I could do, and except for binge-watching TV shows, I haven’t done any of them.

Still, I can feel how badly he wants to help, and I guess I get a little swept up in that too.

“How would we do that?” I ask.

My stomach flutters as he grins wide at me.

“Leave it to me.”

Practice is coming to an end. The kids are huddled up, and the coach is trying to give them a few final words, but they’re inching away, barely listening.

Wyatt barrels toward us, ball tucked under his arm. “Did you see me out there? I scored two goals!”

“You were on fire.” Austin holds out a fist for his little brother.

“Did you see it too, Claire?” Wyatt’s hair is windblown, and his cheeks are red.

“I did. You’re sure to be the next Sam Kerr.”

“She’s a girl.” He scrunches up his cute face.

“And incredibly talented. You would be lucky to kick like Sam Kerr.”

He smiles at me but he still seems skeptical.

The three of us eventually head to Austin’s Jeep and then they drive me to my house.

“Tomorrow, same time?” Austin asks as I open the passenger door.

“That depends. What are we doing?”

“You’ll see. It’ll be fun,” he says and winks.