Page 53 of Offensive Plays

She smirks. "Now whose the superstitious one."

"It's out of respect," I clarify.

"Uh-huh," she strolls along the bench and looks at the names and numbers on each stall. She pauses on her brother's. Number eighty-two, O'Connor.

"I never missed a game of his growing up. And you know Frank, he wasn’t our real dad, just the rich uncle who preferred things over family. He'd send us with a driver or chaperone," she touches the nameplate and I can't help but watch her.

"Zane always said I was his lucky charm. That if I missed a game, he'd always play his worst. So I never missed a game. And I went to every practice. Taught the other families the chants that we'd use at the games. I was his biggest cheerleader. Hockey was just as much my sport as it was his." She drops her hand and turns to face me.

"Is it still?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. We have bigger things to live for now, I guess. Him especially."

I step up to her, "So do you."

Her eyes meet mine. "If I'm being totally honest. I don't think I do.”

"You don't think you have bigger things to live for?"

"I know that I can... I just have no idea what it is. I've been Zane's sister. Kesley's best friend. Liam's aunt. But I don't know what it means to just be… me.”

"Maybe it's time you find out," I say taking her hand.

"Maybe," she says solemnly.

She sits down on the bench in front of her brother's stall, still holding onto my hand. I kneel down in front of her and hold her honey colored gaze. In those eyes are sadness and beauty beyond anything I've ever seen.

"What is it that you want, Libby?"

She looks down. "I want my life to mean something."

I want to wrap her in my arms. To tell her that it already does. That to me, she's everything. But I can't.

I nod. "Me too."

She looks up at me again and there's a faint smile. Her eyes bounce from both of my eyes to my lips and back up.

I feel it too. The crackle in the air that I always feel when I'm around her. But this time, without our friends around to cushion it, it's in full force.

I want nothing more than to make Libby mine. But not at the cost of her figuring out herself and who she is. I'd be wrong to give her yet another title—Michael's girl.

She needs something that is all hers. But that doesn't mean I can't be here to help her figure it out.

I stand up and she watches me. "Skate with me, Libby."

On the ice, Libby is one of the most graceful skaters I've ever known. She's effortless. And I see it in an instant.

"You'd make an incredible figure skater," I say as she glides past me on one leg.

She snorts. "Yeah, right. Like I'd be interested in choreographed dance routines."

She does a spin that makes me really wonder why she's never considered it.

"I'm serious." I say skating up next to her.

"Yeah, well. So am I. I love skating sure, but it's just a hobby. I learned it to pass the time."

"Fair. So what got you into modeling then? Was that always your passion?"