Rewind It Back (Windy City, #5)

by Liz Tomforde

From the player intros on the jumbo screen to the jerseys surrounding me. It’s a different number than he used to wear, but I knew he changed it when he got drafted into the league.

Rio DeLuca. Number thirty-eight glares down at his opponent as the crowd bangs their fists against the barrier, shaking the glass to celebrate the big hit.

My heart flutters like it used to before I remember everything that happened. Because I may have loved Rio DeLuca once, but I don’t anymore.

“I pick a song when something cool or important happens so I can remember it. Then when I want to relive a moment, I rewind it back and start the song from the beginning.”

She used to steal all my thoughts. She used to occupy my entire existence. I almost forgot what that felt like. I’ve spent six years subconsciously comparing every date to her. Comparing their laugh to hers. Their kindness to hers. Their confidence to hers. Their taste in music to hers.

That thing I’ve been looking for since I moved to Chicago? That connection? That one person some search their entire lives to find? I had already found her when I was twelve years old. At least, I thought I had. I know what I’m looking for because I had it once, and now the only girl I’ve ever loved is moving into the house next to mine. Again.

“The guy you were with tonight.” I slowly shift back to face her. “Who was he?” The set in her jaw is evident even from here. “Not your job to worry about.” Nodding, I turn back to my house, hands casually tucked in my pockets as I continue to walk. With my back to her, I make sure my words are loud enough for her to hear them. “Lose him.”

Okay, if I could scream without causing our families to stare at me, I totally would. I love when he calls me Hal. It’s like a secret only he and I have.

“Well, maybe that was the first time you were told, but I know for a fact it wasn’t the first time someone liked you.”

There was a time when my absolute favorite thing in the world was to simply be with her. If I would allow myself to admit it, I missed Hallie Hart.

“You used to be my best friend, and yeah, we haven’t seen each other since then, but I’d rather hold on to the memory of the sweet neighbor boy I loved than replace it with this version of you.”

I spot a duffel bag on the floor in the corner of the room with his jersey number on it. “For example, I’m curious why you changed that.” I nod in the bag’s direction. “Your number.”

“Yeah, well you’re not his, so tell him to keep his hands to himself too.” Her eyes drop to my mouth. “I’m not yours either.” We’ll see.

“You sure look good in my shirt for not being mine.” “Get fucked, DeLuca.” I smile as I open the door. “Would love to. You just let me know when and where, Hart.” She

Her eyes are all sparkly as she looks up at me, and I take it in. There’s nothing I crave more than these moments when she has her attention on me.

Hallie Hart is all I see.

“Well, I was ten years old when I got to choose my number for the first time, and I didn’t know what to choose, so I picked my favorite day. I thought I was so cool picking my birthday. Eighty-three. August third. It’s stuck ever since. Can’t imagine having a different number now.”

“No one else draws their hearts like this, so every time I see one, I know it’s you. That’s why I like them so much.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re stubborn, Hallie Hart?” “I prefer the term ‘determined.’”

“You’re going to give me high blood pressure, woman. How long are going to make me dwell on that question before you finally give me the answer?”

“Rio—” “Shh,” he hushes me, eyes glued to the TV. “There’s a movie on.” “You drive me insane, you know that?” “Hmm,” he hums. “That makes two of us, love.”

Rio wraps himself around me in a hug that’s firm and comforting and desperate. His arms are crossed around the back of my neck, his face is buried into my hair.

It’s the first time we’ve hugged since seeing each other again, and with my nose buried in his chest, I can’t help but take a dragging inhale. He smells like him. The old him. Because this man is still that same boy I once loved.

Rio takes a deep, centering breath. “I missed you, Hallie,” he whispers into my hair.

“You single, Hal?” I finally give him the long-awaited answer, nodding to tell him yes. “Good.” He takes a slow predatorial step towards me, tone sharp and leaving no room for question. “Because we aren’t fucking friends.”

“Rio, playing for Boston is your childhood dream.” I shake my head. “You’re my childhood dream.”