THE PAST FOURTEEN days have been the longest of my life.
For two weeks, I’ve sulked and moped around, desperately jealous of my teammates, pining after a girl who hates me.
In a nutshell, I’ve been a loser for two weeks.
I genuinely nearly cried with happiness when Robbie called to tell me to get my ass ready for practice because Shithead had been cleared to skate.
Not playing with the team has made me realize how much I love hockey. I know it sounds outrageous because you’d think I’d know, right? I thought I did. But having time away has given me a new focus and clarity.
My next thought was Anastasia and the fact her dreams were back in reach. Jesus, I want to see her so fucking bad.
My bathroom is full of bottles that smell good, just like she does. I’ve never liked the smell of honey and strawberry as much as I do now that I haven’t seen her.
But she doesn’t want me near her. I saw it in her face when she thought I’d lied to her again. I want to call her; I’ve thought about calling her dozens of times, but I’m scared I’ll make everything worse.
Mattie told me how sad she looked when he saw her in class, and I hate being the reason for it. She must care for me a little, even if she doesn’t realize it. When I felt like I was at death’s door with my migraine and I violently and very unattractively vomited multiple times, she was beside me, rubbing my back.
When I passed out on her bed, and she climbed on to check my temperature, I pushed my luck and buried my head in her lap. I wanted to hide from the light that was making my brain fry, but she stroked my hair
for what felt like forever. I tried to stay awake to appreciate it, but I couldn’t.
Sabrina is sick of me asking how her best friend is. Every time I even mention Stassie, she tells me LAPD has tons of unsolved crimes I can confess to and to annoy them instead of her.
It’s wordy, so you’d think she’d shorten it after two weeks, but no, she’s very committed to her craft. As much as she likes giving me a hard time, I know she’s stuck in the middle and is super upset. Robbie told me Anastasia forbids Sabrina from even mentioning any of us, which only makes me feel worse.
I wanted to text her to say good luck for sectionals but chickened out when I thought it might stress her out. I want things to go back to normal more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
Getting away from Maple Hills and smashing UT Austin 8–3 was an excellent way to put my drama to the back of my mind.
I was worried I’d be rusty, but everything was perfect other than Joe and JJ living in the penalty box like they were paying rent. I’ll let Robbie deal with them because I’m in too good of a mood.
For now, anyway, it might not last long since I’m sneaking across the hotel lobby with two bags from the liquor store.
Technically, it’s not illegal because I’m twenty-one, but Faulkner won’t see it that way if he catches me passing around bottles of Jägermeister. I was picked to take the risk; the guys say I owe them because they had to take all the shit Robbie normally gives me when I wasn’t there.
Pressing my key card against the door, I push the handle down when the light flashes green. Most of the guys are already in the room I’m sharing with Robbie and Henry, putting their sweaty feet all over my bed.
It feels more like walking into a funeral than the room of a team who just won a game. “Who died?” They all turn to look at me, identical somber faces. “I was joking, but now I’m not sure. Why are you all looking at me like that?”
They look between each other, and Kris is the first to clear his throat. “Faulkner is looking for you, dude.”
“I haven’t even opened a bottle yet.” I laugh, putting the bag on the desk. “How can I be in trouble already?”
“It’s not that,” Robbie says, running a hand down his face. “Aaron can’t skate again, Nathan. You’re back on the bench.”
“What the fuck do you mean he can’t skate?” I yell. I’m going to get another fucking migraine. “Did they compete?” Silence. “Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”
“He dropped her,” Henry says flatly, walking over to the bags and pulling out a bottle. “His wrist gave out when they performed, and he dropped her.”
 |
I’VE BEEN SITTING OUTSIDE of Maple Tower for thirty minutes, and I still haven’t managed to make it inside yet.
Fifteen of those minutes were me on the phone with Sabrina, trying to convince her to give my name to the concierge so I could get a code for the elevator. The other fifteen have been mentally preparing for Anastasia to kick me out.
Faulkner confirmed what the guys said when I found him. Aaron’s injury gave out while they were on the ice; he tried to catch her on the way down, injuring himself further.
“I’m sorry, Hawkins,” Faulkner said, handing me a beer from the minifridge. “We’ll know more Monday, but Skinner wants you benched from what’s been said so far.”
I don’t care about myself right now. I’m thinking of my team like I always am, but mainly I’m thinking about her. I won’t be able to stop thinking about her until I see with my own eyes that she’s okay.
There’s an ache in my stomach the whole elevator ride. Thankfully, Brin didn’t ask for me to be forcefully removed, and I was let into the building. Knocking my knuckles against the door three times, I step back. The ache intensifies, and my heart feels like it’s beating in the wrong rhythm.
The distinct Brooklyn harshness I’m used to being thrown in my direction echoes on the other side of the door. The door swings open and Sabrina leans against the frame. “If you make her cry, Nathan. I swear, your dick will live in a jar in my room, and I’ll make it my life’s mission to ensure you are never happy again.”
“Noted.”
Dragging me in by my sweatshirt, she huffs as she closes the door behind me. “She’s in her room and she doesn’t know you’re here. Be
patient with her, she’s tough, but she’s vulnerable at the moment.” Behind her, Aaron peeks out of his bedroom, then slams the door shut when he spots me. Brin mutters something in Arabic under her breath and rolls her eyes. “Everything is out of her control, Nate. She’s not a girl who likes being out of control.”
“I got it, Brin. I want to see her because I’ve missed her, and I’m worried about her.”
She gives me a cautious nod and moves out of my way. “She’s missed you too.”
I have no right to want anything right now; I’m grateful to have made it this far. But a tiny, selfish part of me hopes I don’t find Ryan Rothwell on the other side of this door.
Tapping my fingers lightly, I listen for her quiet “Come in” before pushing it open.
She does a double take and sits up straight in her bed, wincing at her quick movement.
She’s wearing my T-shirt. “Hey.”
She blinks at me, then again like she can’t comprehend it’s me. I step into her bedroom and close the door behind me, keeping my distance from her. “Hi,” she whispers back.
“I know you don’t want me here, but I heard what happened. Even if you rip my head off, I had to see you, Anastasia. I needed to see with my own eyes that you’re okay.”
Bringing her knees to her chest, she pulls the T-shirt over her bare legs and nods. She looks anything but okay right now. “You look better than the last time you were here. I didn’t know you get migraines; it was scary.”
I take a step closer to her bed and she doesn’t react badly, so I take another. “I didn’t mean to scare you, and, uh, I’m sorry for the vomit.” I entirely forgot about the vomit until right now. “And I’m sorry about everything else. I’ve fucked up so badly, but it’s not in the way you think.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
She rests her chin on top of her knees and sighs. “I know, Nathan.”
She looks broken. Pale and puffy face, eyes red from crying or rubbing, or both. Her hair, ordinarily shiny and flowing down her back, is tied into a ball on the top of her head, and her entire demeanor feels deflated.
“Stassie, can I hug you? You look like you need one, and I, well, I’ve missed you a lot.”
“I’d like that,” she says, so quietly that I hardly hear her.
Kicking off my sneakers, I climb toward her. She stretches out her legs and I immediately see the fresh bruises from yesterday. Not knowing where to put myself, I sit beside her, propped up on her millions of pillows, just close enough so our legs are touching.
It’s like two weeks apart has made us forget how to be around each other, but when I put my arm around her, she climbs between my legs, and sinks her face into my chest.
My body knows what to do better than my brain. I pull her closer gently, wrapping my arms around her. All the tension in my body fades and I can breathe properly again. Until her shoulders shake and her fingers cling to my sweatshirt. I press my lips to her forehead as her cry becomes audible, getting louder and louder. “Shh, baby. It’s okay.”
“Everything is a,” her voice cracks between sobs, “total mess.”
Cupping her neck with my hand, I brush my thumb across her cheek until the cries stop, and she stills against my chest.
I keep my arms around her, saying nothing, holding her until she’s ready to talk. I’m listening to the gentle sound of her breathing when she finally speaks. “I’m sorry about the crying.”
“Hey, I chucked up and passed out on you, Stas. I can deal with a bit of crying. You wanna talk about what happened?”
She releases my body, and for a second, I think she’s making a run for it, but instead, she straddles my lap and sits facing me.
I rub my hands up and down the front of her bare thighs while she rubs her palms against her eyes, getting rid of the stray tears. “You ever been dropped from a great height in front of hundreds of people?”
“Fell out of a ski lift once.”
She snorts and shakes her head. “Of course you did.” She plays with the string of my sweatpants, not looking at my face. “Everything was fine. We’d practiced and practiced, and he was fine. We were near the end of our routine, doing the lift, and his wrist just went.”
The way her voice shakes when she says it is like a punch to the gut.
Her eyes finally meet mine, tears brimming.
“I t-thought I was going to crack my head open. It all happened so quickly; Aaron caught me on the way down, but I bashed his leg as he
swung me around. He has these hideous cuts and bruises; I feel so guilty.”
I circle a particularly angry-looking bruise on the inside of her thigh lightly with my finger. “You hardly got off lightly.”
“I landed on my feet instead of my head, Nate. It could have been so much worse.” Her entire body is shaking on top of me and I don’t know how to fix it. “He got my feet on the ground, told me to keep skating, and we managed to finish.”
“Then what happened?”
“I threw up and cried.” She scoffs. “We waited for our score and by some miracle, we just managed to qualify. We’d been perfection until that moment, and I don’t know.” She laughs, but it’s humorless. Bit by bit, it morphs into tears until she’s half laughing, half crying. She shrugs at me because I don’t think she knows what’s happening either.
Tugging her body to mine, I rub her back as she sobs again. She wraps her arms around my neck and rests her head on my shoulders. Her sniffs and sighs tickle my neck, and I feel so out of my depth.
Her cheek presses against mine, and her breathing deepens. Then she presses her nose to my nose, and her hands settle at each side of my face, where they stay until she presses her lips against mine.
Everything is so much slower than usual. There isn’t the usual urgent, sexually frustrated rush or the drunken, horny haze. It’s just me and her, sober, her soft body underneath my hands and her tongue gently moving against mine.
She breaks us apart, hand brushing across my stubble affectionately as I watch a thousand questions swirl around her pretty, blue eyes. “Nathan, will you play house with me?”
“Always.”
 |
I SUSPECT washing women’s hair usually doesn’t take this long, but I don’t have the heart to stop.
I tried not to gasp or stare when she pulled her T-shirt off and stepped under the running water. I could see deep purple bruises across her ribs and stomach from the impact of Aaron catching her, making me feel sick.
I’m used to seeing people battered and bruised. It comes with the territory of being both a hockey player and having a friendship group filled with clowns. But never this. She gave me a sad smile, holding out her hand for me to step into the shower with her. “It’s not as bad as it looks, I promise.”
Playing house, essentially forgetting real life for a few hours, was the best thing she could have come up with. Thinking back to what Sabrina said about control, I asked Anastasia what she wanted to do. Immediately she wanted to wash her hair, claiming she couldn’t face the tangles herself.
I’m good at massaging the stuff into her scalp. At first, I was a little rough, but I’ve got it right now, and I get all the suds out.
Being in her shower is fascinating; there’s tons more smelly stuff than I knew existed. Found out body exfoliator is a thing and it’s blown my mind. “Is that why you’re always so soft?”
It feels really fucking good to hear her laugh. “Uh, yeah, maybe.”
After we were both under the spray, her body relaxed into mine, where it’s stayed. There’s nothing sexual about this shower and I don’t want there to be. I want to look after her and I feel grateful she wants me to.
Spinning around to face me, she creeps onto her tiptoes and rubs my head. “Can I wash your hair?”
Her eyes are brighter now, cheeks flushed, bringing the color back to her face. I’ve been trying to get her hair to stand up straight for the past five minutes, determined to give her a punk rock hairstyle. It’s too long, and every time I get enough shampoo foam into it, it flops over and smacks her in the face. I get an elbow in the stomach and she gets a mouth full of shampoo.
“You can’t even reach my head properly,” I tease, linking my fingers with her grabby hands. “Do you want some help?”
She looks like she’s about to be stubborn, but she must realize she doesn’t have another choice because she nods.
Lifting her as gently as I can, she winds her legs around my waist. I keep my hands under her to keep her supported; well, it’s actually to keep her away from my boner. My dick doesn’t understand the naked, wet woman wrapped around us giggling, doesn’t want to sit on him.
She lathers the shampoo between her hands and sinks them both into my hair, and I swear I moan.
“Thank you, Nathan. I needed this.”
“I needed it too.”
