Chapter 25 Unspoken
Chapter twenty-five
Unspoken
Jameson Sinclair
“We’re capable of walking on our own,” I growl at the guards pushing us toward the exit.
“Didn’t ask,” one of them replies.
I scan the crowd as we near the door. There are a few semifamiliar faces, but no one I’d even call an acquaintance. Maybe I have a class or two with them, but I couldn’t tell anyone their names. Except for Carson, who’s too busy chatting up some blonde by the bar to see us getting thrown out.
We’re shoved out the door and into the cramped landing with the doorman from earlier.
“These two are banned,” one of our escorts says in a low voice. “Mr. Rosewood wants them off the property.”
The doorman raises a brow.
“You must have done something quite heinous to incite the wrath of Hayes. I tell him he’s much too lenient,” the doorman says. It occurs to me this is his first complete sentence that doesn’t seem scripted.
“I need my phone,” I tell him as the guards leave and shut the door back behind them.
“First, smile,” he says while lifting a phone up. The flash goes off, blinding me for a second.
“What was that for?” Marigold whines, rubbing her eyes.
“Our records. We need to know your face so you’re not allowed back,” the doorman replies, back to his monotone ways.
“My phone,” I insist.
He gives me a dry look before bending down to a safe that I hadn’t noticed before. It’s the size of a shoebox, which indicates that most people know the no-cell-phone rule before they arrive.
“Yours was the only one tonight, so that makes it easy,” the doorman says, confirming my suspicions.
I take my phone from him and mutter thanks before turning to Marigold.
“Ready?” I ask her.
“I don’t think we have a choice,” she retorts, then starts up the stairs.
I follow her up and into the dim living room again. Neither of us say anything until we’re out on the sidewalk. Marigold looks at the Alpha Pi house with a despondent expression.
“I’m glad I didn’t tell anyone else about this.” Marigold sighs. “Then the failure would feel even worse.”
“Maybe we can figure out another way in,” I encourage her. “And if not, we’ve got the series on the hockey team. Charlie loves it.”
“The series isn’t mine, though,” she replies glumly.
“Is it so bad to share a byline with me?” I ask, trying to keep the hurt out of my voice.
It’s probably not good to push her when she’s already upset, but it’s past midnight and I haven’t slept well in weeks. The decision-making part of my brain has atrophied.
“Is it so bad to want something for myself? To want Charlie to notice my work because it’s mine, not because it’s attached to his favorite summer intern?” she questions in return.
“He said he asked you to be on this project because you’re one of his best sports reporters,” I point out. “What more can you want?”
She faces me fully and crosses her arms.
“That’s an easy question for you to ask considering you got the internship.”
“Are we talking about that now?” I ask. “Or are you only going to bring it up when you want to hurt me?”
Frustration flashes in her eyes.
“I told you I was done.” Her voice is cold. Controlled. But I can hear the tremor beneath her facade.
Then be done! I want to shout, but instead I grit my teeth and let out a slow breath. This won’t help our situation. I need to be patient. Our friendship is worth too much for me to blow it all on an impulsive quip. I shake my head.
“It’s late. We should get some sleep,” I say.
She holds my gaze for a long moment, then nods.
“Yeah, we should.”
She turns to head toward her building, and I follow.
After a few steps in silence, Marigold mutters, “You don’t have to walk with me.”
“I want to,” I reply, hoping that she won’t argue this, too. I’m too tired to get in a ring with her again.
“I know you’re mad at me.”
I shrug. “So? That doesn’t change the fact that I care about you.”
We fall into silence again. The crisp February air has me tucking my hands into my hoodie pocket.
I glance over and find that Marigold has her arms crossed to keep warm.
I wish I could pull her close the way I did in the basement earlier.
She didn’t seem to mind; in fact, at one point I thought she enjoyed it.
The look in her eyes made me wish I had my journal with me.
But maybe I was wrong. Maybe she just saw it all as a way to get her story.
With every step I take by her side, I remind myself that I have to play the long game.
I can’t get greedy or impatient. I’ll lose her for good.
And that’s something I can’t take. Not now that she’s given me a glimpse of hope for a future with her in it.
Even if that future doesn’t look like what I’ve dreamt of.
By the time we get to her building, Marigold is shivering. I open the door for her and she hurries inside. I take a step into the lobby to warm up before I have to head back out. Marigold faces me, her expression unreadable, which is unusual for me.
“Thanks for coming, even if tonight was a bust.”
I give her a small smile, grateful for her words as they show another baby step.
“I had fun before we got kicked out.”
She laughs a little. “I don’t think I’d go back unless I was getting an article out of it. Too bloody for me.”
Is this an attempt at conversation? My chest warms and my smile grows.
“There’s plenty of fighting in the NHL, and you like that.”
Her nose scrunches up. “Yeah, but there’s more to the sport than just bashing skulls.”
I chuckle. “I think boxers would say the same about their sport. There’s a lot of finesse and technique involved.”
“All I saw tonight was a busted lip.”
“At least you didn’t see loose teeth,” I say, and laugh when her expression turns even more disgusted than before.
“I swear there’s a way to prevent that. I don’t think those guys wear their mouth guards properly.”
“Probably not,” I reply. “They’re terrible to wear while playing”
She points at me. “You better always keep yours in. No gap teeth for you.”
I grin, because if Marigold is bossing me around, that means she feels like she has a say in my life. And that’s perfectly fine with me. I’ll take a sassy, controlling Marigold over a cold, indifferent one any day of the week.
I quote The Princess Bride. “As you wish.”
She looks down, failing to hide her smile.
“I should probably head up.”
I know she’s pulling back again, but that’s okay. I’ll keep building momentum and trust.
“And I should start back to my place.” I take a step back. “Good night, Goldie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She glances up, her smile soft but present. The urge to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth hits me like a puck to the helmet. Maybe a walk in the cold will be good for me. Clear my head so that thoughts other than “kiss her!” can fit inside of it.
“Good night.” She whispers her reply.
I watch her walk to the elevators, carrying my heart with her, though she doesn’t know it yet. Once she’s out of sight, I push open the door and draw in a deep breath of frigid night air.
The walk back to my dorm is done on autopilot. When I reach my door, I can’t recall anything I saw on the way there. All I can remember is the way Marigold felt pressed against me and the smile she wore as she said good night.
The living room is dark when I walk in. Nash must be asleep. I head to my room and straight to the journal at my bedside. Pen in hand, I date the page, and then I write down everything I wanted to say but couldn’t.