Unsteady

by Peyton Corinne

There’s a picture of a very sad-looking beagle spread flat on the floor with a party hat on his head. Across it in sparkly letters, the name of the playlist is bright. “Sadie’s Songs for Reece’s Sad Demon Brain,” I read aloud, before adding, “You spelled Rhys wrong.”

She stops there, but the unspoken words are just as loud. The look in her eyes says I wanted to help, and this is all I have and I see you. “Thank you,” I offer, but it feels too insufficient.

That there is a girl, at least on my end, even if she’ll hold me at arm’s length forever? That’s fine; I’ll stay an arm’s distance away as long as it means she’s still near me, chasing out the shadows crowding my empty body. I know it isn’t healthy. I just don’t care.

I wonder if I could convince her to She’s the Man herself onto the men’s hockey team so I never have to be on the ice without her.

And without thinking, I drop a kiss to her forehead and pick up my gear bag, turning to leave the room before I can consider how ridiculous that move might have been.

“For the record,” I say, looking out along the lake, across all the life around us. “I am offering.” She’s silent. Smiling and shaking her head, she avoids every ounce of the eye contact I’m directing toward her. But I can’t bring myself to regret it.

Having not seen him in a week, the urge to ask him if he’s okay, if he’s had another panic attack or if he’s ready for his first real practice back—still marked in blue Sharpie on my own calendar—is overwhelming.

“I don’t know the song.” “You don’t know ‘Getaway Car’?” Ro joins in, smooshing in next to Sadie. It presses Sadie’s cheek to mine for a second, the corner of her lips hitting my skin like a goddamn fire poker.

Just the thought of her settles me immediately, the image burned into my mind of her hovering over me in the locker room like a queen atop a throne. Does she know I’d kneel for her forever if it meant she’d look at me like that?

“I think I’m in love with her.” I hear Rhys tell Bennett, but his voice doesn’t lower even a notch. “And she won’t let me in.”

“And tell your little friend up there to watch her fucking back. I don’t need unbruised knuckles to skate.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to have to do to prove to you and Oliver that I’m not leaving—and honestly, I don’t care what it is, I’ll do it.”

“You don’t need to say anything right now, okay? I can love you enough for the both of us.”

“Only a million,” I want to say. Rhys Koteskiy could never be confined to just one song—he’s a symphony, a never-ending playlist that I want to repeat forever. “I’ll think of one,” I say, curling against his skin. He’s burned into me, I think, like a brand. I’ll never recover from him.

And I see it then: the reason Rhys loves me the way he does. The reason he cares for the boys and wants to keep us close. It’s because he’s seen this his whole life. Has been surrounded by love.

It always feels like the first time with Rhys, and I wonder if, years from now, when we have kids and a yard and a dog, I’ll still feel this way.

“I will spend every day forever reminding you how amazing and special you are. How lucky I am to have someone so brave and smart and talented and beautiful love me. I see the way you love your brothers. I know how special your kind of love is.”

I love Rhys Koteskiy. And I’m learning that I do deserve him. I’m never letting go of his hand again.

Rhys Koteskiy is pure gold. I know it. And soon the entire world will too. So I soak up these moments, just the two of us between the dark-blue sheets of his bed. Under the fading light of day, safe and warm in the comfort of his arms, falling asleep to the sound of his steady, strong heartbeat.