Spinning

Believe in him.

Of course. I have to believe in him.

They have a game tonight, at home. He left for practice an hour ago, leaving me to my thoughts in the living room. I haven't really moved, nor truly thought about anything at all.

I feel numb.

What exactly should I be doing? Writing out a list of the reasons why I should stay? That might help. Or perhaps I should just wait and talk to Patrick again, to see what's really going on. Maybe I should call Sarah.

The thought of it actually makes my stomach ache. The girl was never more than another face in a room to me and now, she's seen my boyfriend, the man I love so deeply, completely nude and at his weakest and most vunerable points. She's had him.

No. No, she hasn't. She hasn't seen him at his weakest. She hasn't had him at his most vulnerable moment. She hasn't felt him cry against her shoulder when his Grandfather died. She didn't hold him when he was collapsing from the weight of the world on his shoulders. She wasn't there when he was so unsteady and broken from reality. She didn't protect him when he needed protection. She didn't love him like I did.

And he didn't save her either, did he? He didn't carry her away when everything was crashing down. He didn't kiss her, pull the blanket around her shoulders, make her pancakes at three in the morning when she was sick. He didn't start crying when she picked her up at the airport all those nights, and all those early mornings. He didn't.

He didn't love her.

"He doesn't love her."

I stand up quickly, my heart already racing. If he doesn't, if he truly doesn't, then what do I have to lose anymore? I've still got him.

Barley moments later, the door unlocks and I quickly lift my eyes to meet his.

"Hey."

I run over to him, putting my arms round his shoulders and closing my eyes, "hey," I breathe out, frowning and pressing my lips to his neck, "I love you, Patrick."

He just keeps his arms around me, repeating those three words back before holding my face in his hands and looking me softly in the eyes, "lay with me."

I nod and he puts an arm around my waist, leading me to the bedroom where I curl up into his chest, close my eyes and find immense comfort in those arms.

And I just can't let him go.

"You'll be here after?"

I nod.

"Are you--" he's moved his hand to my cheek but I stop him at the sight of Jonathan behind us, "---what?"

"Nothing, it's just..."

He stiffins and then upon noticing where my gaze is focused, looks over his shoulder where Jonathan has already disappered around the corner, "are you okay, Carly?"

I nod again, gripping his hand and then allowing myself to press my lips to his, "don't worry about me."

"I worry about you."

I can't handle the way he's looking at me, "well, don't. At least not right now. Now, go on and I'll see you afterwards."

"Carly..."

"What?"

He sighs and kisses my forehead, hugging me tightly and then holding my shoulders, "I'm serious about what I said."

"You said a lot of things," I reply, rolling my eyes and trying to loosen from his grip.
"Yeah, but I'm serious about what I say. I'm not going to hurt you again, or lie to you again, or do any of what I did to hurt you ever again. I swear."

"This isn't the time, Patrick. Not here. You need to focus on the game, alright? Not on me."
He furrows his brow, holding my face in his hands and then pressing his lips to mine, "I can't focus knowing that you're not okay."

"I'm okay."

He puts his thumb on my lip and then kisses my forehead, "no you're not. You're...hurt."

A gasp leaves my chest and I force myelf to keep myself calm, "I'm fine, Patrick. Please, not here."

"I know, I know. I just want you to understand that things are going to be different. God fucking dammit I swear to you, things will be different."

I can't find my voice.

"I love you, Carly Anna Hughes. I do. I love you more than anyone else and I want to make sure you know that, and trust that, every second of your life."

"Not here, Patrick. Please. You're going to make me--"

He kisses me then, running his fingers over my sides and pulling me to him, "don't cry," he says softly against my lips, "we'll talk at home but as of right now, know that I love you.

Know that."

"I know," I whisper weakly.

"I love you so much."

We win that night. Patrick scored with an assist from Jonathan. Their chemistry together, on ice, seems unaffected despite what happened.

I ruined things between them. At least, it feels that way. I haven't talked to Jon since leaving his house this morning. He hasn't called after.

Maybe he gave up on me.

I shake my head, watching number nineteen skate over that now smooth ice surface and raise his arms to salute the crowd as second star. They love him. They adore him. And I?
Well, I have completely betrayed him.

"So, we'll see you next game?"

I nod, forcing myself to smile at Breanne, standing next to me in the emptying box suite, "of course."

She hugs me suddenly, staring at me with eyes that seem to be filled with concern, "if you ever need to talk to someone or just take a minute to figure things out, you can always call on me. Alright?"

"Thanks, Bre."

She smiles and hugs me again, "anytime."

I head downstairs to the dressing rooms where I wait outside, trying to avoid Jon. But with the luck I have, he's the first one out of the room.

For a brief moment, he stops. His eyes settle on mine and for a moment and I can see the hesitation in those eyes. A second later, though, as abruptly as he'd stopped he strides away from me with a glare across his face and a look of digust on his lips.

It feels like I've been hit in the stomach. The way he looked at me! It was like I was dirt.
No, less than dirt! He looked at me like I was worthless, and disgusting and pitiful. There was hate in those eyes.

"Jonathan!"

I run after him, stupidly. The heavy doors have already slammed shut, closing out the cold winter winds, but I open them anyway and rush out to where he's already walking swiftly through the snow.

"JON!"

He stops. A black silhoutette in the middle of a white parking lot.

"Can you just talk to me for a minute?"

He turns with a look of fury on his face, "not to you," he spits out, turning his back to me and walking towards his car again.

"Really?" I laugh without humor, striding forwards just fast enough to cut off his step and stop in front of him, "really? What exactly did I do so terrible to you!?"

He looks angrier than I've ever seen him before, "Are you stupid, Carly? Are you fucking stupid?"

I tighten my lips and let out a huff of air, "no, I'm not. I'm just confused why you're so pissed off at me."

At this, he nearly growls, pushing past me and getting into his car, "Fuck off, Carly. Just leave me alone."

The door shuts and his words feel like a punch to the stomach. If he's actually mad that I'm with Patrick again, then I don't know what to do. I need Patrick. I need him. And since I can't have them both, I have to make my decision, and I have.

But why can't Jon and I still just be friends? Why can't that be enough for him? Why can't he just love me, without being in love with me?"

Jon's eyes meet mine through the foggy window and for a moment, I really think he's going to open the door and wrap his arms around me to tell me that everything's going to be okay.

That everything is going to go back to normal.

But he just lowers his eyes, slowly shakes his head and backs the vehicle out of the parking lot and down through the snowy Chicago streets.

"Hey, baby."

I force a smile onto my face as Patrick comes out of the dressing room with pink cheeks and tired eyes, "Hi, sweetie. How are you?"

He wraps his arms around me, picking me up in the process and breathing me in, "I'm good. You alright?"

"I'm..." I pause, making myself swallow the lump in my throat, "I'm fine. Can we go?"

He nods gently, kissing my lips and leading me out to the car where the snow seems to be falling heavier.

"So," he says softly when we've entered the car, turning the key in his ignition and pressing on the heat, "are you going to tell me what's wrong or should I guess?"

I wait until he's on the main road before replying, "I'll let you guess."

He frowns, turning to me and then taking my hand tightly in his, "it's not me, is it?"

I furrow my brow and lift his hand to my lips, shaking my head, "no, it's not you."

"Then it's Jon."

I lift my eyes and find him staring at me, "How'd you know?"

Patrick sighs heavily, turning his attention back to the road where the red light has now turned green, "it's obvious, Carly. You're upset, he's upset. He's pissed at me. Can't look me in the eyes."

"Because of me."

"No, not just because of you," he slams his hand against the steering wheel and then chews back his lip, "it's what I've done to you. He hates me right now, Car. He hates me. And I don't think anything will change that."

I'm taken aback by his reaction but soothingly, I place a hand on his tense shoulders and he relaxes, breathing out and shaking his head, "he thinks you'll leave me, Car. He thinks you're going to go back to him. He loves you. Did you know that?" Pat's eyes leave the road.

"He doesn't. He thinks he does, but he doesn't."

"Really, Carly? You don't think he feels that way towards you?"

"Well, no! He can't feel that way about me."

"Why can't he?"

I open my mouth to reply but realize there's nothing to argue.

"Exactly. He can. And...he does."

I fold my arms across my chest and shake my head, "how can you even know that, Patrick? Did he actually say that to you?"

"Yeah. And he said the same thing to you, didn't he?"

I can hear the words from Jonathan's voice even now. I love you, Carly.. I can see his
face as I close my eyes and tilt my head towards the window. So, Jon told Patrick he was in love with his girlfriend. He admitted what shouldn't have been admitted.

"You aren't mad?"

Patrick snaps his eyes onto mine and scowls, "of course I'm mad. My best friend is in love with you and you love him back.

"Patrick..."

"Don't. I know that you do."

"Yeah, I do. I love him very, very much. But like a brother, or a best friend. We've talked about this, Pat," I shake my head, brushing his hair behind his ear, "the way I love you is so, so different than how I feel for Jonathan. It's not even comparable."

He's quiet, keeping his eyes straight ahead as we pull into the underground parking lot. The silence continues until he's entered his stall, turning off the car and gripping the keys in his hand, unmoving.

"Don't be mad at me," I whisper.

"I'm not."

"You're acting mad."

"I'm just worried."

"About?"

He pauses, suddenly leaning over and cupping my face in his hand, "I should make you guess."

"Don't," I whisper, placing my hand over his and feeling a pang in my stomach, "just...tell me what's bothering you.

He frowns and then kisses my lips, "it's simple," he says softly, pausing and focusing harder onto me, "I'm terrified of losing you."

Immediately, I shake my head and pull him to me, running my fingers almost harshly over his back, "you'll never lose me."

"I've lost you before."

"When?" I gasp out, letting go of him and holding his face in front of mine.

"When we fight, when you left to Toronto without any explanation. And when...when you met Jon."

I'm quiet. My eyes search his frantically, trying to figure out what he must be thinking. No, he never lost me. Not for a moment.

"I love you, Patrick," my voice sounds small, breakable.

"I know you do. That isn't the point."

I frown, clutching him tight to me again, "you never lost me. You never will."

His breathes is tight and unsteady. Emotion has leaked into his voice.

"I swear, Pat. After everything that happened, I still love you. I'm not even sure I could let you go if I wanted to. You're a part of my life. A huge, impactful and amazing part of my life. I love you so much."

With that, I press my cool lips to his warm, pale pink ones. Admitted outloud how interwoven I am to him takes a strangely heavy load off of me. I knew that he was important, yes, but how important is he?

Very, very important.

He's been a rock for me. He's been there when no one else was. I love him like I've never loved someone before and that is truly something I believe, as hard as it may be to understand.

I've leaned back from his arms, my fingers laced behind his neck and my head bowed onto his. He's just said he loved me, too. In fact, he's telling me things I've never wanted to hear. Like how I've been his stone, and his foundation and his everything.

I've been his love.

Always.

Yet everything is still out of place. The way we're still so fragile, or the friendship between Jon and myself and Patrick. It's going to take time, and effort. But we'll fix things. We have to.

Because it's not as simple as it once was.