I’m falling in love with you, Con. His voice had been so sincere, but I still couldn’t let myself trust it. Love came with conditions. Requirements. Obligations. And love could be yanked away without warning. Love hurt.
A lot like my next breath, actually, sharp and painful, a struggle to get enough air in. Hell. Not again. Did I even have my—
Wait. Of course I did. Ever since I’d needed it outside Denver, Alden had made sure I had my inhaler every morning before we’d left the hotel. Fishing it out, I headed to a quieter corner to use it. Was that love? Wanting to take care of someone? Like the way he’d figured out that I only could stomach coffee super sweet and made it that way for me or the way he let me use him as a pillow whenever I wanted?
But I did that for him too. Made sure he didn’t have to eat weird flavor combos. Let him have more of the hot water. Wanted him to win. Would I have smiled for him?
Oh hell. The only thing worse than Alden loving me might be me loving him. And I maybe did. If I was honest, it had started to happen before we even kissed. It was the way he’d bailed out Jasper. The way he’d listened, really listened to me talk about my family and everything that had gone down with them. The way he’d shown me what was inside him, too, his vulnerabilities and fears. That was why I’d wanted him to win.
I’m falling in love with you, Con. And I wanted you to win.
If he felt what I felt then… I had to sit down. Right on the carpet, and I could almost hear him getting fussy about it. God, how was he so in my head already? In my head, in my heart. In fact, slumped here like this, I could admit that even while his words terrified me, it had been my own impulse to say them back that had truly sent me running. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t let myself feel like that. Except I did, no way to outrace these unwanted but oh-so-real emotions.
Down the hall from me, two bored-looking dads were on their phones while a group of kids were playing casual Odyssey. Slapped together, unsleeved decks, mishmash of different sets, and from the sound of it, varying interpretations of the official rules. Their giggles had me flashing back to when I’d first discovered the game—when I’d learned that cracking packs was magical, a surprise every time, every game a fresh opportunity to learn something new or try something out.
I remembered when every game had been fun. Not this all-consuming desire to show that I was a success at something, that I wasn’t a total loser, this need to stick it to my dad, show him that the game wasn’t worthless after all. That I wasn’t worthless.
But I hadn’t felt worthless in Alden’s arms, hadn’t felt worthless on the trip, and when I’d played here at the tournament, it had been fun again.
Keep playing your game, that opponent yesterday had said. And that was what I’d done the whole tournament, including the match with Alden. Just played my game, the way I liked to play. And I’d won. I’d won. For the first time, I let myself hold that fact, believe it.
Alden had given me that game back, taken away the dark, clawing need inside me and replaced it with so much happiness, reminded me why I’d started playing in the first place. And I’d freaked out and treated him like crap.
Intending to text him, I pulled out my phone and took it off silent. There was already a message from him. My chest ached like it had last night when he’d crawled in bed with me. I knew making the first move didn’t come easily to him, and it meant something to me that he’d tried.
Con, be safe. Come back and play your game.
Play my game. I’d treated him horribly, and he was worried about my game. But maybe that was the answer, too—I had to trust that my game would be enough. That I would be enough.
While I tried to figure out a reply, I thumbed through my other messages—good luck wishes from friends and even some acquaintances I hadn’t heard from in months. The ones who hadn’t been there when everything had blown up but who were happy to hang around when there was something to celebrate. Alden had seen me at my worst, and improbably, illogically, he still wanted me. My breath hitched. Not another asthma attack, but more like my lungs weren’t up to the job of holding all this emotion inside.
There were tips from Jasper and Professor Tuttle. You’re both winners, the professor had written. Huh. Maybe it was that simple. Maybe that was why we would have both been happy for the other to win. Because we had both already won.