Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
MIA
J anuary is a depressing month. I don’t care how people try to spin it as a “fresh start” or a “new chapter.” I hate it. It’s cold—no, fucking freezing actually—and the days are short and dark.
It’s also the first month I lived without my mom.
So, yeah, January can go fuck itself.
My plan is to live in new-year ignorance and spend the rest of it in class or the library. And that’s where I’m heading back from right now—or at least trying to make it back as I slide along the icy path leading off campus.
It’s past ten p.m., and instantly, I regret not leaving earlier to catch the last bus, even if it’s only a two-minute ride to my dorm. I left my car back in Dallas since I figured getting around a big city like Seattle would be easy enough.
But apparently only if you make the last transport.
“Mia.”
Coming to a skidding stop as my snow boots fight to find a grip, I know without looking that Jessie is behind me, and it breaks my heart to hear him slur my name in a way that tells me he’s had way too much tonight.
“Mia,” he says again, and I turn to look at him.
Compared to the last time I saw him, he’s dressed differently. He’s wearing his postgame dark blue suit and shoes tonight, but no winter jacket.
“Jessie?”
Despite his state, he looks hot as hell as he leans against a streetlight, wearing a black beanie, his dark blond hair peeking out around the sides.
Somehow, his blue eyes shine tonight, and his rosy cheeks pinken further as he smiles when I walk toward him.
“Hey, Mia,” he says, his eyes casting down my red winter jacket, not stopping until they reach my toes—a little like the tingles his gaze sends through my body.
“W-what are you doing here?” I ask.
I haven’t heard from him in a week—since I walked out of the café and proceeded to sob into my assignment when I got back to the library. Seeing him was the best and the hardest thing for me—perhaps for both of us.
He pushes off the light and closes the few feet remaining between us.
At first, I think he’s going to bring a finger under my chin, demanding all my attention.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he reaches to the side of my head and pulls one of my fluffy black earmuffs away from my ear. He leans in closer, and the warmth of his breath fans my face, intensifying the tingles.
“I wanted to see you. I hope you don’t mind.”
As he pulls back, he smiles down at me, and I can’t help it when I smile back, my knees shaking, but not from the cold.
But here’s the harsh reality I’m faced with: I know he wouldn’t be here if he were sober and thinking straight. Sober Jessie would be willing his feet to walk in the opposite direction of me, but his inhibitions have been drowned in a ton of booze.
“How much have you had?” I ask quietly, keeping my voice soft so he knows I’m not mad. Because I’m not. I’m never mad to see him.
He brings his pointer finger to his still-smiling lips. “Shh. Probably way too much. Enough for me to be standing here in front of you. I knew you’d be studying tonight.” He leans forward and lifts my other earmuff away from my ear. “You’ve always been a good girl like that.”
His words shoot straight through me, but his flirtatious tone sets off a flurry of butterflies in my stomach.
“I picked up extra hours at the florist, so I’m behind in my classes.”
Shock paints his gorgeous face. “You have a job?”
I laugh, my breath forming a cloud in the freezing air. “I can work, you know.”
“Oh, I know.”
He brings an arm around my waist. I don’t know who is watching, but I don’t care as he pulls me into his warm body.
“But why? Hasn’t Graham got you all set?”
I shake my head. “This is for me. Being here, standing on my own two feet.”
“I’m proud of you, Mia,” Jessie whispers into my hair. “So fucking proud.” His voice cracks on the final word.
I know I shouldn’t, but I’m going to ask him back to my place anyway. Unless he calls an Uber, he has to walk way too far in the freezing cold, which I worry he’s already done to be here tonight.
“My dorm is a ten-minute walk away,” I say quietly.
“Mia.” He pulls back and squeezes his eyes shut.
“You can’t go back across town like this,” I plead. “I can get you a coffee and some food.”
He scrunches his nose up and then buries his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply. “I hate coffee. You know I do.”
“Well, at least come back to my dorm and out of the cold.”
He releases his hold from around my waist and glides his hand down my right arm until our fingers touch, and it’s then I feel how cold he is, even through my glove.
“Jessie, you need to get warm.”
“I’ll be okay,” he replies.
But that’s not a chance I’m willing to take. I don’t think about it for a second longer when I wrap my little finger around his and lead him into the night and toward my dorm building.
A few students are still hanging around in the halls when we enter my building and make our way up the stairs. Jessie pulls down his beanie to hide his identity as best he can, but panic still races through me. What if he’s recognized? There’s no way our picture wouldn’t find its way onto the internet.
I walk us faster to make it to the privacy of my dorm and blow out a relieved breath when we finally reach my door, and I slide my key into the lock.
“Do you live alone?” Jessie asks from over my shoulder, his hot breath fanning across my neck.
Shit. Tara.
I turn to look at him. “Wait here for a second.”
Our dorm is small, but it has everything we need—from a tiny white kitchenette with two stools at a breakfast bar and a small living space with a gray couch. Then we have a shared bathroom and a bedroom each. I let Tara have the bigger room since she had more stuff when we moved in.
But when I push through the door, everything is dark, and the door to Tara’s bedroom is open with no one inside.
She must have a shift at the bar near campus tonight.
I flick on a floor lamp in the open-plan space and wave Jessie inside. “I have one roommate, Tara, but she isn’t home, thank Christ.”
He looks around and smiles, pulling off his black beanie to reveal his sexy, tousled hair. “Nice place.”
“Are you being sarcastic?” I quirk a brow as he closes the front door behind him.
“No. Seriously, it’s … kinda cozy. Reminds me of when I was at college.”
Jessie wobbles as he takes off his shoes at the door and then looks at the bedrooms. “Which one is yours?”
I point to the one on the right. “That one. I’ll bring you some water or something, just make sure to take your shoes with you. Otherwise Tara will notice.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod my head and pull the fridge door open. “I have no idea what time Tara is due home, and trust me, she will recognize you. So, unless we want to stay up half the night, explaining why you’re here and definitely shouldn’t be, you should go ahead.”
A couple of seconds later, a lamp switches on, and I hear the springs on my bed squeak as he takes a seat.
“Do you want some Tylenol?” I ask, setting a glass down on my nightstand in front of me.
Jessie shakes his head. “No thanks.”
In the soft lighting of the room, I can tell his eyes are still glazed, but he’s more with it than when I first saw him outside.
I knew he was battling with his mental health when he played for the Destroyers, and I knew he went to therapy. Dad had mentioned Jessie had an idiot father and needed more support than the average kid, and all Jessie would tell me was that his childhood was very different from mine. Back then, I was really young and didn’t know how to ask, but now, sitting on my desk chair in front of him, I want to know more. The reasons behind his actions.
Does he drink to forget? To numb the pain?
Silence stretches between us. Eventually, he leans forward and attempts to pick up the water, but his coordination is shaky, and he almost knocks the glass off the table.
“Does this make us friends now?” he asks with a lopsided grin.
“What? Me taking you in so you don’t freeze to death?”
His shoulders shake as he downs the water in one gulp.
“Can I ask you something?” I say cautiously, unable to stop myself from wanting to know more about his state of mind.
“Sure.”
“Why do you do it?” I nod at the glass, hoping he’ll get the meaning behind my vague question.
He looks at the empty glass in his left hand and then sets it back on the nightstand, blowing out a long breath. “Drink?”
I nod slowly as he looks at me for a brief second and then down at the floor.
“Because I have zero self-control.” He shrugs, looking around my room and then finally back at me. “And sometimes, it’s easier to be numb.”
“To pain?”
“Yeah. To memories. Invasive thoughts don’t have the same effect when I give less of a shit.” He looks me in the eye once more.
With alcohol in his system, I get the feeling he’s opening up to me more than he normally would. I got that same feeling back when I was younger.
What happened to him to make him feel this way?
Part of me feels guilty for wanting to push him further, but maybe this is my chance at getting answers as to why he’s always kept me at arm’s length. I remember my dad shouting at him, saying he was just like his father. I asked Dad over and over what he’d meant by that, but he refused point-blank to talk about Jessie. To even acknowledge his existence.
“Did your dad do something to you?” I whisper into the silent room.
His head darts to me, panic across his face. “Why are you asking about my parents?” he rushes out, pulling at the collar of his dress shirt.
“I just remember something my dad said that day when he caught us. Something about you being like your father.”
He runs a stressed hand through his hair as his jaw tics. “I’m nothing like that piece of shit.”
My stomach clenches at his honesty, but my heart breaks at the realization that my gut was right. His troubled past has everything to do with his dad. His troubled past is still hurting him today.
“Jessie”—I twist my hands together in my lap—“were you, um … were you abused when you were younger?”
Whenever he went home to visit his family, he’d come back in a different state of mind—a bad one—and a couple of times, I noticed bruising on his cheek, but chalked it up to a hit on the ice. Or at least tried to convince myself that was the reason.
“I told you back then that my childhood was nothing like yours, Mia,” he finally answers. “Nothing like a lot of people’s.”
The door to our dorm opens and then closes with a bang.
“Mia?” Tara shouts.
Jessie’s eyes bug out as he looks around the room in panic.
“It’s okay. She won’t come in without knocking first,” I whisper.
“Mia? Are you in?” she repeats.
“Yeah,” I shout back.
She knocks on the door.
“Don’t come in!” I hurry out.
“Why not?” Her voice turns cheeky. “Got some company in there?”
I roll my eyes at Jessie when he smirks, but really, I’m more frustrated at her timing. I know we’ve lost our opportunity to talk.
“Yeah,” I finally answer.
“Ooh, not such a good girl after all. Have fun!”
A few seconds later, the TV in the living room switches on, and I look across at Jessie. “Best make yourself comfortable for the night.”
He looks at the single bed he’s sitting on. “Do you have some spare blankets? I can take the floor.”
“Only out there.” I point to my door. “And if I head out in search of spare bedding, she’s going to be hungry for answers.”
He nods. “I can sleep without bedding; it’s fine.”
I cock my head to the side. “Are you for real? This dorm was freezing last semester—never mind January—and that floor looks about as comfortable as my seven-inch heels on a hot day.”
He shrugs and stands from the bed, pulling back the covers for me. “Just get in, Mia.”