WHEN I WOKE up this morning, I promised myself I would not cry this week.
I meant it too. It felt achievable at the time; I even posted new week, new start. That’s how positive I was things were going to be great. I’ve cried so much over the past two weeks I’m surprised our building didn’t flood. But last night was the mark of the end of all the crying.
So I thought, anyway.
I wasn’t off to a great start when I had to drag myself from my bed. Nate’s head was buried in my neck, his warm body clinging to mine. The idea of having to detach myself from him was cry worthy.
He was so caring last night. No, he is so caring. Settling into bed with him after he washed and brushed my hair for me was the most calming experience of my life. In that moment, it was easy for us to talk about everything that’s happened.
“I can’t believe you think I could ever reject you, Anastasia,” he said in shock. “You have no idea, do you? The lengths I’d go to if you’d let me. What I’d do to make you happy.”
My heart did a weird thing I’ve only read about. A mix between a thud and a flutter, the kind that made me question whether it would continue to function properly.
Being with Nate brings an overwhelming sense of safety, like whatever problem I throw at him, he’d cope with. In a world where I feel like I could be swept away by the waves at any moment, he anchors me. I value that, value him.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” I mumbled into his chest, where my head was resting.
“I deserved it,” he admitted, kissing the crown of my head. “I could have done more. I could have called you before Aaron’s parents did and explained. I could’ve not admitted to something I didn’t do.” He laughed. “I’m sorry you had to spend one second thinking I would do something to hurt your dreams.”
“I like you, Nathan,” I said, peering up at his face. “And it hurts me on multiple different levels that I’m now a person who likes a hockey player. But I do. It’s so hard because Aaron is so convinced it was you, but I’m trusting my gut.”
“I like you too. The last two weeks have sucked so bad.”
Our conversation was interrupted by the sound of Aaron banging around our apartment, presumably unhappy Nate was round.
Aaron’s hurting, too, both physically and mentally, but he hasn’t found a healthy way to communicate it with me. He dropped me and it’s making him fucking hate himself. Apologizing more times than I can count, he’s obsessing over one little mistake that wasn’t his fault, and I can’t get him to snap out of it.
I don’t blame him; it was an accident neither of us saw coming. Other than a few marks, I’m safe. I’ve told him how grateful I am that he caught me, but it’s not enough for him.
I’m scared of how that will affect us when he’s back since the idea of being picked up right now freaking terrifies me. Even in the shower with Nathan, when he started to lift me to get closer to his head, for a moment, my heart wanted to stop.
I’m surprised I didn’t crush him; my legs were so tight around him that he probably has an indent. He didn’t seem to care. I think he was concentrating on not accidentally poking me with his penis.
Worrying about Aaron is something I’m used to, but you can only properly help someone who tells you what’s wrong with them.
The banging of doors—undoubtedly Aaron again—woke me up this morning, and I opted to lie awake, listening to Nate’s breathing instead of going back to sleep.
“I can hear the cogs in your brain turning. Tell me, what could you be thinking about this early in the morning?” He yawned, kissing my shoulder affectionately.
By that point, I’d already declared a cry-free week, so I didn’t want to launch into my Aaron issue.
“I’m trying to decide whether you put a hockey stick in bed between us or if you’re really happy to be waking up beside me.”
He rubbed himself against my ass, groaning next to the shell of my hair. He’s a vocal guy and it does something to me. It’s like he flicks a switch somewhere and suddenly it’s Niagara Falls between my legs. “If I say it’s a hockey stick, will you play with it?”
“Oh my God. You are so cringe. I hate hockey, would you believe?”
“I could make you fall in love with hockey, Anastasia,” he whispered, sending goose bumps across my entire body. “With the right educational tools, of course, and the appropriate amount of practice.”
I don’t think he was talking about his dick.
Trailing a line of kisses down my neck, his hand traveled below the band of my panties, lightly brushing his finger across the material between my thighs.
I wanted to pant like a dog. Embarrassing but totally justified. In the back of my head, I knew I needed to get out of bed and not roll around it with him. “I’m a very hands-on learner…but I’m afraid we don’t have the time to practice, Captain.”
“Oh fuck.” His hand tilted my head back, immediately capturing my mouth with his. “Call me Captain again.”
Breaking away from him, my eyes narrowed. “I think that might be something we need to explore.”
“I’m one hundred percent for exploring it.” “I mean in a psychological way.”
He grinned. “Kinky. I like it.”
That’s the moment I should have canceled Monday and stayed in bed. I could have let Nathan climb on top of me, show how much we’ve missed each other, and hide from the day together.
But I was unwise and naïve, thinking Monday couldn’t royally fuck me.
 |
“COULD I get another vodka and diet coke, please?”
When you’re not allowed to cry to deal with your issues, alcohol is the next best thing. I never thought I’d be a person who wanted to get drunk alone but having no skating partner for eight weeks will do that to a girl.
The bartender puts a new coaster in front of me and places my drink on top of it. Muttering a quiet “Thank you,” I bring the straw to my lips, eyes shutting tight when I get a mouthful of unmixed vodka.
Eight weeks. The worst bit? I’m not even worried about how good he’ll be in eight weeks; I’m concerned about myself. I’m worried about my new aversions to lifts and my ability to keep up with him. Aaron could take a year out; I can’t imagine him being anything short of spectacular when he gets back.
Nationals is eight weeks from now and I have no idea if we’ll be good enough to compete, and it fucking terrifies me. Aaron isn’t picking up my calls and he didn’t show up to practice, even just to talk, so that’s great.
Nate calling to say he’s not allowed to play until Aaron could skate was the final straw, and the second the call ended, I requested an Uber.
I told Brin I was going to Simone’s for extra practice, but what I did was go to the dive bar two blocks away from Simone’s.
I’ve been minding my own business for about an hour, and I’ve had no problems, but the group of guys a few seats away have been getting louder and more obnoxious, sip by sip.
Each time they get up to go to the bathroom, they take a seat closer to me when they return. Bit by bit, they’ve ended up right next to me.
Smelling their desperation, I throw back the rest of my drink and request my bill.
“Lemme buy you a drink, darlin’,” the one closest slurs, leaning toward me. “You look lonely.”
“No, thank you.” I’m not too nice, not too rude. Like every women-blaming propaganda piece has ever told me about dealing with intrusive drunk men. “I’m leaving now.”
“Don’t go yet. The fun is just star—”
“You ready to go, baby?” I recognize the voice before I see him, and the relief I feel when Russ’s baby face is looking back at me when I look up is overwhelming. Bending to grab my duffle bag from the floor, he slings it over his shoulder, holding out a hand to me. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
“…That’s okay…muffin,” I say, accepting his hand. Putting some bills on the bar, I jump down from my stool, not realizing how drunk I am, until
my feet hit the floor.
Unsurprisingly, the drunk guys don’t utter another word. Russ’s size is intimidating; I imagine he’d have no issues if they were causing trouble.
Holding open the door, the cool November breeze hits me as I walk under his arm, out into the street. “Well, that was weird.”
“Sorry, I’m Russ. We met a few weeks ago at the icebreaker thing. I’m on the hockey team.”
“I know who you are, Russ.”
The tips of his ears go pink. “Those guys are awful. They’re always in there, drinking and harassing people. I heard you say you were leaving and I didn’t want them to give you any trouble.”
“I appreciate it, honestly, I do.”
The tips of his ears go from pink to red as he mumbles, “You’re welcome,” quietly.
“I need to request my ride.”
“There’s a coffee shop right around the corner. I can wait with you if you like? I’d offer you a ride, but I usually run home.”
“You’re welcome to join me, but don’t feel like you have to.”
Turning the corner, Café Kiley is quiet, with only a few people eating and drinking. We take a seat at one of the outdoor tables and order two coffees.
“So, Russ. What motivated you to spend your Monday evening in a bar alone when you’re underage and live miles away?” I clasp my hands together, leaning forward to rest my elbows on the table like I’m interrogating him.
He scratches the back of his neck, squirming in his seat.
The server puts down our coffee and makes himself scarce; we probably look like a couple on the verge of a breakup, my eyes are glassy, and he seems mega uncomfortable.
Russ takes a sip of his coffee, prolonging the silence until he can’t take it anymore. “I work there in the evenings. I work in the kitchen or whatever,” he says, looking embarrassed.
“I work in Simone’s a couple of blocks away.” As far as I know, the other hockey guys don’t have jobs. Like every college in America, the economic divide runs pretty deep. “I’m not rich but have rich friends, so I need the cash. They like to eat expensive shit and working helps me pay my
share. I’m super lucky my parents pay for my skating stuff, but the rest I need to earn.”
The tenseness in his shoulders dissolves as they drop, and the reluctance I was sensing fades slightly. “Yeah, the guys in my frat have trust funds. My scholarship pays for most stuff, but working helps me pay my share, or whatever. Sorta like you said.”
“I get it,” I tell him honestly.
“Why are you in a bar alone on a Monday?”
“I take it you know Nate is on the bench?” He nods. “My skate partner won’t pick up my calls, and I’ve had to ban myself from crying. Alcohol is the next best thing, right?”
“I don’t often drink. A few sips of beer now and then, but my d—” He stops himself, immediately reaching for his coffee, using the long sip he takes to silence himself. When his mug is empty, he looks back at me. “I’m sorry about your partner, even if he is a dick to you. What will you do now?”
“He isn’t a dick to m—” My eyes narrow. “You don’t like talking about yourself, do you? You did this at the icebreaker. You kept me talking about myself and I learned nothing about you.”
“There isn’t anything interesting about me, Anastasia.” The way he says it breaks my heart. Confidently, well-practiced. Like he’s said it a million times.
“I refuse to believe that. I’m interested in what you have to share.”
“Did you request your Uber?” he asks, totally changing the conversation.
Shit. “No, I forgot.” He looks uncomfortable again and when his eyes flick to his phone screen, I understand why. “You told Nathan, didn’t you?”
“I texted him when I saw you at the bar. I’m sorry.” “He’s on his way, isn’t he?”
“In my defense, I didn’t tell him where we were. He makes us use Find My Friends, says it’s in case we get into trouble, and he needs to try to find us.”
“Oh, Russ. I was beginning to like you. You just had to rat me out.”
His cheeks flush again and he sinks back into his chair. “You’re less scary than Cap.” Nathan’s white Tesla pulls up beside us and Russ puts some bills on the table. “I think.”
It takes a lot of effort to convince Russ to let Nathan give him a ride home, but once he’s finally in the car, Nathan stays quiet while I try hard to get Russ to share about himself. When we pull up outside the frat house he lives in, he awkwardly smiles at Nate. “Thanks for the ride, Cap.”
“No problem,” Nate says coolly.
Leaning into the back of the car, I hug Russ. “Bye, muffin. I’m sad our relationship has come to an end.”
He laughs nervously, eyes flick to Nate quickly then back to me, shaking his head. “Bye, Stassie.”
When Russ has climbed out and I’m back in my seat, I realize Nathan has the most confused face. “Muffin? Relationship? I swear if you wear Russ’s jersey next, I’m transferring to UCLA.”
“Our love was short but meaningful.” I sigh. “The connection Russ and I have will outlive us, but I’m happy it happened, instead of being sad it’s over, y’know?”
“You’re drunk.” He grins, brushing my hair from my face. “Why did you get drunk on your own, baby?”
“I’m on a crying ban.”
He nods, pulls away from the curb, and rests his hand on my thigh. “I don’t understand how those two things are related, but okay. You wanna talk about it?”
“I should be asking you that,” I mumble, tracing the outline of his hand. “I know you said you’re okay, but are you?”
“It’s the consequences of my own actions, Anastasia. Skinner is using me as an example. It’s fine. The team still plays without me, I’ll be back in a couple of months. Come on, tell me what’s happening in that big brain of yours.”
“Aaron’s avoiding me. You can’t play hockey. I can’t practice and I’m scared of being lifted.” I chew the inside of my cheek, reminding myself not to cry. “Nobody can fill in for Aaron because everyone has commitments or partners already, and I ju—”
“I’ll be your partner.”
I’m choking on my words, literally. He pats my back gently as I struggle to make my lungs work. “I mean this in the most respectful way, huh?”
The drive from Russ’s place to mine is short and Nathan pulls into the drop-off zone. Twisting in his seat to look at me, his face is serious. “I said
I’ll be your partner. I have to skate and work out anyway, I’ll just do it with you. I’ll be gone for away games, but you can have me the rest of the time.” Dragging my hand through my hair, I can’t help but shake my head, immediately thinking of every reason it would be a horrendous idea. “Figure skating isn’t like hockey; you can’t just switch. It’d never work,
Nate.”
“It’s eight weeks, Stas. I might not be able to leap about like Aaron, but I can help you practice and do your lifts.”
“You can’t lift me. You’re not trained.”
Resting his hand on my neck, his thumb rubs tenderly against my cheek. “You’ll have to show me what to do, but I’m more than capable of safely lifting you.” He sighs and the weird heart-thumping flutter thing returns. “I’m an excellent skater and I’m strong. I’m much stronger than Aaron. I’d use myself as a human mat before I’d ever let you hit the ice.”
I gnaw on my lip, thinking about what he’s said. “It’s kind of you, but it’d never work.”
“Give me one good reason why it wouldn’t work.” He brings my hand to his mouth, kissing it gently, and gives me the real reason. “Just one.”
“Because of that,” I respond quietly. “I can’t mix skating and whatever we are. I like you, which pains me greatly to say out loud, but you’ve wormed your way in and made me enjoy spending time with you. I’m nice to you now. It’s a true representation of how far I’ve fallen. A disaster, some people would say.”
He chuckles, staring at me with adoration that steals my breath away. “You’re saying a lot of words, drunk girl, but you’re not saying anything that makes sense.”
That seems fair. “I need to focus, Nate. I can’t do that if I’m in your bed every night.”
“What about every other night?”
I roll my eyes, smothering the grin trying to betray me. “Nathan…”
“If you think I can’t keep my dick in my pants, you’re wrong. Two months ago, I thought you would rip it off and feed it to me. Look how far we’ve come?”
My eyes are watering. Traitors.
“You fucking love bossing me around. Think how good it’s going to be teaching me to figure skate. Please say yes.”
“I don’t think this is a good idea…”
“But say yes anyway.”
Blowing out an exhausted, tension-riddled sigh, I nod. “Okay. Let’s be partners. Yes.”
