SPRING BREAK AT Dalton isn’t really spring or break.
It’s in this awkward stage during the first week of March when the frost still covers the ground, and we only get a week off from classes. For the last few years, I’ve spent the break at Amara’s house. Partly because I didn’t want to fly back home to even colder weather, and mostly because I didn’t want to see my dad. However, this year my parents are in Boston, which means my mother has bombarded me with a dozen calls on how excited she is that I promised to have dinner with her.
Never promise your mother anything while you’re in a rush.
My excuse to spend my time in Texas with Amara’s family is a flimsy lie now that she’s not going home for break. She and that big brain of hers got invited to a tech conference in San Francisco, and although she invited me to go with her, I don’t want to invade her experience. I’m leaning toward spending a pretty penny on a nice hotel accompanied by a suitcase of books.
But right now, I push aside those thoughts when I hear the guys downstairs, and the flutter of nerves erupts in my stomach. Aiden doesn’t know I’m here. My hands are so clammy, I’ve washed them with his peach- scented hand soap three times. The last text I received from him was a picture of his group of mini mites winning their scrimmage this morning. Aiden was carrying one of the kids on his shoulders as she proudly held up her medal. It was so ridiculously cute, I made it his contact picture.
The door opens, and I almost dive to the ground and make a home with the monster under his bed. He hasn’t even seen me yet, and I already regret this. I should have just gone to the library.
Before I can contemplate, he steps inside. He looks like the stereotypical hockey player, in his gray sweatpants, overgrown hair peeking out of the baseball cap, and the abs adorned like Christmas tree ornaments under his tight long sleeve.
He makes a sound of surprise seeing me sitting on his bed. His eyes ping around my face, down my outfit, and again to my face. He’s stunned, and I feel like an idiot.
He runs a hand through his hair. His biceps momentarily distract me from the nervous friction in my stomach. My heartbeat gallops, and I try to control the rapid rise and fall of my chest, but Aiden sees it. He must also notice my indecent top, judging by the way his Adam’s apple bobs.
After I told him about my dad, I expected things to get weird. That’s usually how it goes when people find out your dad’s an NHL legend. But Aiden never brought it up again. He didn’t ask for an autograph or to put in a good word for him, though he doesn’t exactly need it. It’s like I opened a jammed door, and now the moths have cleared, and the cobwebs are dusted. It leaves all the nerves I had about letting someone in a little easier to cope with.
Kneeling on his bed, I barely reach his height. “I didn’t mean to drop in like this. I just—”
“Stop.” He smooths his hands over my arms. His expression is tender when he kisses my forehead. “I’m just surprised.”
“Good surprised?” “Very good surprised.”
My erratic pulse doesn’t slow, but his words calm the dark feeling in my stomach. His approval skates between my legs. I move forward hoping he’ll kiss me before I malfunction, but he pulls away.
“You smell too good for me to ruin that.” He moves to grab a towel. “I’ll shower first.”
I nod, even though he doesn’t smell. Not to me, at least. It’s odd because the last time Kian hugged me after practice, I all but launched him across the room for touching me while smelling like a rotting pair of socks. Since then, he’s been extra cautious about even walking by me after a game.
Aiden drops his stuff by his closet. His phone pings, and when he checks it, the drop in his mood is palpable. He stares at the phone for a long minute.
“Is everything okay?”
He ignores me and types out a text. Trying not to pry in what isn’t my business, I stay quiet. For all of two minutes.
“Am I keeping you from someone?” The question is harsher than I intend, but he’s starting to irritate me. The slow lift of his head and those
piercing eyes bring an unknown heat to my neck. “If I am, I can see myself out.”
I drop my eyes and climb off the bed. The temperature in the room rises to a degree that makes my clothes uncomfortable. But I don’t dwell for long because when I walk past him, he stops me with a hold on my wrist. A conflicting emotion clouds his features, and another I can’t quite pinpoint.
“You want to leave?” he asks.
“You seem preoccupied, and I don’t like to be ignored.”
With a sigh he releases my wrist and moves to sit on the edge of his bed. My anger puffs away like smoke, and there’s a pull that forces me to follow, and it also spurs me to put my arms around him. I’m hugging his left side because he’s huge, and my arms aren’t that long.
Another long minute passes in silence. I sheepishly pull away. “You looked like you needed a hug.”
He pulls me back into him. “I do.”
The eruption in my heart feels so massive I’m sure he can see it. With my face planted on his chest, I bask in the comfort of his arms.
“Here,” he suddenly says, placing his phone into my hand, without letting me go.
“Why?”
“So you can dampen the jealousy.”
I try to lift off his chest, but he doesn’t let me. “I’m not jealous. You were just being an ass.” I shove his phone back in his hand.
“We’re playing Yale tomorrow.”
That is not what I expected him to say. The Yale-Dalton hockey rivalry is a long and contentious one, but it’s uncharacteristic for Aiden to be worried about a game.
“You don’t think you’ll win?” I ask.
He chuckles with a shake of his head. “It’s not that. The game’s just hard to play.”
“Why?”
“It’s an away game.”
Being off home ice is a disadvantage, but Dalton hasn’t lost an away game this season. Our school support is also high at away games because sororities make it a point to represent gold and blue.
“You’re not a fan of New Haven?” “My parents died there.”
My head snaps up in shock, and my heart crumbles into my stomach. “What?”
Aiden stares at his hands. “I was eight, and they were coming to see me play at a scrimmage. The roads were icy, and the sun had set when a drunk driver hit them out of nowhere.”
Pain sears me in half. “I had no idea, Aiden. I’m so sorry.”
His hold tightens. “That’s why Yale’s a tough one for me. The guys know, so they try their best when I’m off my game.”
I slide my hand against the smooth skin of his jaw. “I can’t imagine how hard that must be.”
He covers my hand with his, the warmth tingling my skin. “It’s better after all these years, but it’s just something about that locker room.”
“Is that where you found out?”
With a faraway look, he nods. “My grandparents showed up, and I knew something was wrong.” My heart feels like it’s disintegrating in the acid of my stomach when I imagine a scared little boy having to deal with that. “Sometimes it feels weird to continue playing hockey because I can’t shake that feeling of guilt.”
Confusion riddles me. “Guilt?”
“I was the reason they were even driving on that highway.” “Aiden, that’s—”
“I know, it’s not healthy. Every therapist has told me that.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s simply not true. Someone made a stupid reckless decision, and it took two very important people from you. In no way is that your fault.” He stares at me for a long fragile minute. “What were they like?” I whisper, not wanting to shatter the glass of vulnerability.
Shadowed eyes flicker with an emotion I can’t place. “No one has ever asked me that.”
I blink in surprise. “Why not?”
“Eli and I grew up together, so he knew my parents well. The guys have heard stories, but I guess a fatal freak accident makes the topic unapproachable.”
He laughs, but I see his hesitation. “So tell me.” “You don’t have to—”
“I do. I want to know,” I insist.
He lets me take his hand. “My dad did everything to get me to be the best player I could be. He wasn’t one of those overbearing fathers who would
punish me if I didn’t become a pro athlete. He just wanted me to be passionate about something. If I’d quit hockey after ten years, he would have thrown out my skates for me.”
Knowing he had fond memories of his parents creates a deep warmth in my chest. I’m not surprised because Aiden is the most caring guy I’ve come across, but when you grow up in a place where that kind of love isn’t given freely, finding out others have it feels foreign. “He seems like a really great dad,” I say, softly. “And your mom?”
His smile is tender. “She was electric. Fun and so full of energy it was like she was one of the kids, and my dad loved her all the more for it. All the moms at practice would complain about our grueling schedule and the dangers of hockey, but Mom didn’t care. She trained me on being safe, but she’d say ‘You have one life Aiden. It’s okay if you get a few bruises. They’ll make for good stories.’ All while showing me the stitches she’d gotten from playing.”
“She played hockey too?”
He nods. “She’s the reason I got into it.” “She seems badass.”
Green eyes lock with mine. “Yeah, she was.”
