13. Wishful thinking
13
Wishful thinking
Electra
I’m feeling. Oh, God, I’m feeling so much. Too much and I can’t get enough. My emotions are spilling out of me from tears to laugher and everything in between—or all together at once.
Freedom, is this how it feels? Is this what it means to let go of all that hurt I’ve been bottling up on the inside?
No, I don’t think so, but it sure is a window into that kind of life, and Exton is the one who showed it to me. No, pressured me into it is more like it, and it makes me wonder how did he know it would work? What sort of demons is the ice helping him fight?
Through all these days he’s been with me I never once questioned why…the real why, not the bullshit he gave me that first time. Because I’ll never believe that some other team wouldn’t buy him right away if he was let go from Outlaws. But my train of thought is broken when I’m brought to a screeching stop and Exton all but collapses behind me.
I turn around and gasp.
He’s lying on the ice, his arms and legs in different directions and he’s panting. Hard.
“That’s it, little star. You’ve done it.”
“Done what?”
“Killed me.”
I suppress my giggle at his dramatics. “Hmm, maybe you are not such a hockey god after all if a little exercise was all it took to kill you,” I tease him, and it feels good. It feels damn good to just get into it with him.
To think not even an hour ago I was locked under that thick ice of mine, and now here I am, alive and feeling. Thanks to him.
Exton manages to lift his head up and glares at me. “Please remember that it was you who just taunted me. I’ll show you hockey god,” he says bitterly but there is no real bite in it and lowers his head back down. “Next time”—he waves with his hand—“but I will show you.”
This time I can’t hold back that laugh as it bubbles out of me, and it feels damn good to let it out too. Painful, but good. It’s as if all these muscles are relearning what they were supposed to be doing.
“And now she’s laughing at me. That’s it—” he sits up and points his index finger at me— “I was going to let you rest and hole up in that cabin of yours, but now I’m out for blood. We’re going out.” He springs up to his feet like he wasn’t just dying on that ice a second ago.
“Going out?” The light humor is gone from my tone. I don’t like crowds—not anymore. I just want to be left alone, yet I know mentioning this won’t go over well with Exton.
He’ll just stuff me into his fancy car, ignoring my protests and antagonize me with his favorite “ what are you going to do about it, cripple?” So, I sigh and motion for him to lead the way.
“Well, don’t look so excited on my account.” His sarcasm is nice and thick because I know my face is nothing short of scowling.
“You said nothing about me being happy about it so deal with it.” He chuckles but grabs a hold of my wheelchair and wheels me off the ice.
“Did you at least feel it?” His warm breath fans over my cheek once again and my stomach tightens just like it did back there.
“Yeah.” I swallow hard. “I felt it. I felt it all.”
Exton is almost giddy with excitement as he opens the doors to Blade’s, ushering me to get inside.
The ride here has been an interesting one to say the least. Starting with him lifting me bridal style to get into his car. Before today, I rode in Stella’s car and hers is a regular sized sedan, so I had no problems lifting myself with my hands—which are still strong from my skating days—and maneuvering until I was inside. But Exton Quinn wouldn’t be caught dead driving just a regular sedan. Oh no. He has to have one of those fancy lifted cars, and when I declared I’m not going anywhere because I can’t get in, he swiped both his hands underneath my body and hoisted me up before I could gasp, forget saying anything about the matter.
For a brief second, my brain short-circuited. He was holding me.
Holding me in his big, strong hands and it felt…nice. God, it felt so nice. Better than I imagined when I first saw him and thought of it.
I didn’t think it could ever feel nice to be held by another man. Not that this was anything other than me getting into his car, but it felt…nice. And a little electrifying. Thrilling. His touch warm and strong. Safe.
Just like it was this morning when I woke up to him wrapped around me and the memory of it made my cheeks heat up.
Thankfully, it was dusky outside already and he couldn’t see it.
Yet when he did have me in his arms, I swear he held me for a second longer than necessary, but that would be crazy. Or maybe wishful thinking that has no business entering my brain.
That part of my life is over before it had a chance to begin.
Before I felt real love. Not the PR stint I’ve lived through.
And if I couldn’t be loved when I was whole and beautiful and successful for the past four years, then what kind of hope could I possibly have for anyone else when I was an empty broken shell now.
No, it’s better to not even entertain those thoughts. Not allow the tentacles of depression I already have a hard time fighting against every day to dig their claws into yet another bleeding wound.
Exton was sent here against his wishes. He was pressured to take the babysitting gig to get back on the ice—as he told me—and sooner or later, when they realized I’ll never stand or walk, they will call him off.
The second part of this interesting ride was how excited Exton was to get me to Blade’s. He told me about the bar in all the details he could remember from his only time here, describing the fantastic menu and the stylish interior and the awesome dude at the bar—his words, not mine. He looked so happy to come back here, so I didn’t allow my face to show how hard it was for me.
How the second I realized where exactly he was taking me, I wanted to demand he take me back home or that I was entertaining how much worse could I make my own situation if I’d jump out of the moving vehicle.
But one look into his animated whiskey eyes and I bit my tongue.
He gave me freedom today so the least I could do is give him this evening.
Exton helps me into my chair again and I close my eyes, fighting the tears as he wheels me to the front door.
“Stop,” he says as we enter and just as I thought, all eyes turn to us right that second.
Great.
Just fabulous.
“Stop what? I haven’t done or said anything.”
“Yet,” he adds for me as he moves us past all of the inquiring, gossipy eyes of Iris Lake. “And I’m trying to be ahead of the game here. So, stop whatever it is you are thinking. They are not looking at you. They are looking at me.” That makes me snort.
“Tell me you have a big head without telling me, Exton Quinn.”
“How do I tell you about other big parts of my body without telling you?” Thank God I’m not drinking anything yet when he makes this comment because it surely would end up on the floor.
“Not interested to know that in the slightest,” I mumble with as much conviction as I can inject into my lying tone and busy myself with transferring my useless body into the booth he stopped at. And I’m doing my best to not look around the bar or pay attention to little changes here and there. But mostly, I’m trying to not see all those things that did not change.
“You know I could help you with that.”
“I’m not an invalid.”
“Sure could have fooled me.”
“Anddd we’re back to this.”
“Just saying how I see it, falling star.” He sure is. Exton never once pretended to think of me as something other than what I am today and that’s the part that makes it easy to be around him.
There is no need to pretend I’m okay or that I’m not broken beyond repair. There is no need to keep the “Elle” part of me alive because he is fine with Electra. The pissed-off angry elf who is also a cripple as he likes to call me so very often.
In fact, he makes that Electra feel alive again.
“Okay, so what do you want to eat.” He changes the subject, and I clear my throat when I really should start clearing my head because these thoughts start creeping into it far more than they should.
I pick up the menu with trembling fingers that I try to hide it by gripping it a touch too hard, I dread seeing all the changes in it. But my heart nearly stops when I see all the familiar names on simple white paper, exactly where they were the last time I was here.
I pretend to study it when I know it by heart, and something cracks in the said heart. They kept it. They kept it all. I’m fighting the pressure behind my eyelids when another voice barges into our space.
“My man, Exton Quinn, you’re back! I thought you were leaving that day.” A bulky, stoic man with a buzz cut that looks vaguely familiar comes up to our table with a wide grin on his face and bends down to embrace Axe in a weird bro hug.
Well, maybe Exton was right after all, and they all are looking at him rather than me.
“Eh, couldn’t leave this one to fend for herself.” He points to me, and I roll my eyes.
“Well, well, well, Miss Electricity herself made it into Blade’s,” the guy says, and my whole posture straightens up.
“Liam?” I whisper shout, my shock evident in my voice because there is no one else who called me Miss Electricity in Iris Lake, and that punk who always chased after me and pulled my braids looked nothing like the man in front of me now.
“Flesh and blood.” Liam grins and I brace the palms of my hands on the table, getting up to give him a huge hug when I freeze.
I can’t. I can’t do that. I can’t get up like I used to. How could I forget that?
I sit my ass back down, shifting uncomfortably in the leather seat, my eyes downcast as I fight another wave of tears.
“So, you do know my awesome dude from the bar.” Exton’s easy voice is like a lifeline. One he keeps extending to me every single time just when I need it the most whether he’s aware of it or not. But I send him a grateful look, nonetheless.
“I guess I do.” I smile back but it’s one of those fake “Elle” ones that I reserve for the rest of the world and when my eyes catch onto Exton’s, they warn me he sees it. Sees right through me.
So, what? I want to yell.
I told you to stop. His seems to convey.
I’m not doing anything.
Yes, you are. You are pretending. Why?
I don’t particularly want to answer my imaginary conversation that felt way too real and turn my attention back to my childhood friend. Liam left for college right after high school and by the time he came back, I was long gone. “It’s good to see you, Liam. You’ve changed.”
“So did you,” he says and his face blanches. “I mean that you look beautiful, not that other thing…you know…I didn’t mean that,” he tries to correct himself, wildly gesturing around my wheelchair, but it seems to have the opposite effect—which is quite hilarious, if I’m gonna be honest. “And I didn’t mean that you didn’t look beautiful before. You were. Are. Oh, God, someone kill me now,” Liam groans, tipping his head back, and I giggle.
“Jesus Christ, do all the guys fall over themselves around you, little star?” Exton gives Liam a “what the fuck” kind of look and the poor guy groans some more.
“You’re supposed to be my friend,” Liam cries out to Axe, and I’m definitely giggling now.
“Do you have a crush on Electra?” Exton being the asshole he is taunts Liam some more and the poor guy turns beet red.
“I hate you. You’re no longer my favorite hockey player.”
“Yet you didn’t answer my question.” Suddenly, it’s a lot chillier in this booth and what I took as teasing before now sounds like…jealousy?
“Anywayyyy,” I draw out, shifting the tension away. “Did you decide what you’re having?
“No. There are too many options. Why don’t you guys have all the regular shitty bar food? What’s up with these upscale choices?” Exton’s stomach takes his mind off whatever weird mood he got in and I almost smile at that.
Such a guy.
“Well, the original owners actually wanted people to enjoy their food, not just stuff their bellies.” Now it’s my turn to shoot my childhood friend a grateful look.
“Do you want my recommendation again? Or go with beef wings like you did last time?”
Beef wings. I can practically taste the smoke in my mouth, remembering each and every spice as it danced around my palate the first time I tried them.
“Those were best fucking wings in the history of wings. Whoever created that idea, deserves the Noble Prize and my heart. But I want to try something else too, so throw it at me.”
“Well, the finger food sampler is extremely popular and so are the pizza samplers and loaded short rib nachos.”
“Okay, I’ll take that.”
“The nachos?”
“No, all three of those.”
“Okay.” Liam chuckles and turns to me. “And for you, Electra? Do you want your stuffed pretzel?”
Normal people don’t tear up when someone asks them about a pretzel. But I do.
Yet I shake my head and mask my emotions with a fake smile. “Axe got enough food for half of these booths, so I think we’ll be fine with that. Thank you, Liam.”
“Those are samplers, they can’t be that big,” he draws his brows together.
“Oh, you have no idea, my friend,” Liam tells him with a saucy grin and without further comments or questions leaves us to place the order.
I guess they didn’t change the portion sizes either.
“So, you and Liam—”
“Went to school together,” I finish for him before anyone hears him and starts spreading rumors like wildfire.
“No dating?” He puckers his lips in concentration as if this is some important bit of information and I almost want to laugh again. What is going on with him today?
“When do you imagine I had the time to date? I spent every free minute of my time on the ice. There was no fun and games for me.”
“I was on the ice with you these past few days and we seemed to have loads of fun.”
I roll my lips, keeping that smile off my face because yes, I’ve had the most fun with Exton. More than I’ve ever thought was possible.
“Yeah, Stella would never have allowed you around back then.” Exton shivers at the sound of my trainer’s name. It’s almost comical how terrified he is of her but to be fair almost everyone is. And that’s how she likes it.
I’m just one of the lucky ones to be allowed access to her other side. The one she guards with a ton of icy bricks.
“Shhh, we do not mention the terminator’s name, or she’ll show up,” he whispers, shooting me a look, and now I do laugh. Loudly, tipping my head back against the leather booth seat. Oh God, if only she could hear him right now.
“Well, speaking of Stella, how did she get you to come here and be a glorified babysitter?”
“I told you before, she made a deal with my coach after I got suspended and that’s it. I had no other options.”
He did say that and I still don’t buy it. Not one bit.
“What did you do to get suspended?”
“I’m surprised you didn’t look me up that first day.” He folds his arms and the thin thermal shirt does nothing to hide his hulk form. It only makes it worse. For me and that weird feeling in my stomach. Jesus, couldn’t he put a sweater over it?
I swallow hard, pulling my knit turtleneck sweater off my neck because suddenly, I’m too warm. “I don’t trust the internet.”
“Why not?” He cocks his head to the side, triggering those loose curls of his to fall over his forehead and my hand itches to tuck them back in.
Did she have to find such a hot babysitter?
“You are a professional athlete; do you trust everything they write about you? Is it all true?” He considers my question for a second.
“You’re right, the internet is evil. But for the most part they are right about me, because what they post is what I want them to see.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Now I’m the one cocking my head, regarding the guy I labeled as a cocky asshole with new eyes.
“Nothing.” He brushes off my question really fast and pushes the sleeves of his shirt up, exposing those veiny, tattooed arms.
Oh, dear Lord… stop looking at him like that, Electra, didn’t you suffer through enough disappointment in this life?
“I smashed another guy’s face and then I kept hitting him until he was just a bloody mess on the ice, which then turned into a full out fighting between everyone on the ice.”
“What?” The question comes out hoarse.
“You wanted to know why I got suspended. That’s why.”
“Jesus Christ! Exton! Are you insane? Wait, don’t answer that question.” I raise my palm up. “I already know the answer.”
But he only shrugs.
“Why?”
“Why did I hit him?” I nod. “He slept with my girlfriend. Well, ex-girlfriend of sorts,” Exton says casually and takes the sip of the beer that Liam just dropped off for him.
I open and close my mouth a few times, but nothing comes out. Before my injury, I’d say that was wrong. I’d say you should look for alternative ways of handling that kind of situation, but now? Now, a part of me wishes I was strong enough to smash Erik’s face into the ice a few times.
“Did you love her?” Why is it suddenly so important for me to know? He must’ve loved her a lot to do what he did, but I need to hear it.
“Definitely not,” he snorts and now I’m confused. Why would he attack the guy in such a brutal way then? But as my eyes catch on his fidgeting in the seat, I get a good idea.
“So, your ex-girlfriend that you definitely didn’t love went and slept with someone else and that bruised your gentle ego…”
“The fuck? I don’t have a gentle ego.” Bingo.
“Oh, sorry, my mistake. I meant huge, the size of Texas, kind of ego.” He grits his teeth.
“I have history with that guy, okay?” Even though he phrases it as a question, his body language says this topic is closed for discussion.
I’ve felt something off about him, but now he all but confirmed my suspicions and I want to know the rest. I want to know the real him.
Why? I have no idea.
In fact, it’s a downright bad idea to get to know him better.
“My, my…I did not believe that little shit head when he told me that Electra Monroe is here.” A new voice breaks through my thoughts and when I look up, my eyes catch on Liam’s grandfather. Only now he’s about fifteen years older than when I last saw him.
“Mr. Ross!”
“Honey, nothing changed around here, I will still tell you to call me Uncle Gary every time I see you.” He gives me a warm smile that makes the wrinkles around his eyes more pronounced, and I’m hit with a pang of sadness. Time flies and I wasted so much of it, avoiding this place.
Especially because none of them look at me like the failure I am. No, every time I turn my head I see someone smiling and waving at me.
“And I will still call you Mr. Ross no matter what.” I send him a warm smile back and he squeezes my hand with his old and frail one.
“How do you know everyone here when I was under the impression that you’ve never been here?” Exton’s question pulls both of our attention his way but before I can come up with a good excuse, Mr. Ross answers first and unlike his grandson, he does not hide the whole truth.
“Electra? Never been here? My boy, she was practically raised in this bar. Her grandparents built it with their own hands and then her mama made it into what it is today. The menu and all. I’m just the lucky old bastard she decided to sell it to when—”
“I was surprised to see that you haven’t changed anything,” I rush to interrupt him, changing the subject and I succeed when it comes to Mr. Ross, who launches into the speech about being sentimental and valuing history, but not everyone at this table is fooled.
I don’t dare look Exton’s way, nodding and fake smiling my way through Mr. Ross’s story, but I can feel the man across from me, brimming with questions.
And none of them are the ones I want to answer.