Chapter 7 #2
He doesn’t have a chance to say anything before my stomach rolls, and I’m bent over into the bushes, vomiting.
I’m too busy losing all of my pride to protest when he pulls my hair gently out of my face, and I only feel worse because I wish he wasn’t so damn nice to me, especially when I just insulted him.
I wipe my mouth on the sleeve of my sweater, feeling more disgusting than I ever have before. Jack hooks an arm around my waist, helping me up, and I’m afraid to look him in the eye.
“C’mon, Al. Let’s get you back home,” he says, and it’s the tenderness in his touch that causes a flicker of doubt in my resolve to not let Jack anywhere near my heart.
It’s already been broken more times than I can count, and I’m not sure it’s possible to rebound from another one, but it seems inevitable where Jack is concerned.
The next morning, I wake up with a pounding headache, feeling like the biggest bitch in the world as the events of last night replay in my mind. Jack drove me home and helped me to bed without a single complaint.
A wave of nausea rolls in my stomach when I remember what caused me to flee the bar in the first place.
I knew at some point I would run into Bradley, but I was naive to think I’d be unaffected. Unfortunately, thinking you’re prepared and actually being prepared are two different things.
I was not prepared is an understatement.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand, and I unplug it, seeing dozens of texts from Macy and Ellie—some legible, but most a random collection of letters put together. The most recent one is from Jack, reminding me to take the pain meds and drink the water he left on my nightstand.
Today is a day I’m pulling the covers over my head to hide from the world when I should be hiding from myself.
Am I being too mean to Jack?
Absolutely.
Am I afraid of becoming friends with Jack?
Yes.
Should I become friends with Jack?
Potentially.
I groan, twisting to shove my face into my pillow. I need to make things right with him by trying to explain my apprehension.
Jack isn’t the same as Bradley, and it was unfair of me to take my fear for one out on the other.
Alondra
Can we talk?
Jack
at the rink
u said plenty last night
I feel sick to my stomach, and not because of how many shots I did. We were having fun last night before I saw Bradley. I was being a flirty drunk, but Jack did nothing wrong—I did.
I pull myself from the safety my bed promises to shower. I unfortunately have to stop mid-shower to puke again. I’m moving slowly, but I’m awake, even if I wish I were still sleeping. Then I could pretend I wasn’t a huge bitch to Jack last night.
Pure stubbornness is how I find myself walking into the rink, and finding Jack is easy.
I question my sanity for a moment, but it’s crazy what a guilty conscience will make you do.
Each step toward the ice feels like a death march, but I get closer to the ice than I have on any of the mornings I’ve snuck into the arena with the intention of skating.
Stopping at the clear paneling, I watch as Jack sends shot after shot into different areas of the net with frightening accuracy.
He’s really good. The Carolina Dolphins will be lucky to have him.
He looks larger than life out there with the added height from the skates, but he took care of me last night with the utmost gentleness.
Jack doesn’t spot me until he’s fishing the pucks out of the net, and his facial expression becomes guarded.
When he’s done collecting them all, he glides to the exit, moving past me without a second glance as he takes off his gloves and sits on the bench next to his things to unlace his skates.
I cross my arms over my chest, trying to figure out where to begin.
He sighs, grabbing the bench, looking at the ground. “Al, I heard you loud and clear last night. You don’t want to be friends.”
My guilt already felt like a knife had stabbed me, but the resignation in his normally upbeat demeanor twists it. “I was drunk, but it’s not an excuse. I-I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t just last night,” he says, turning up to look at me, and Jack’s unwavering stare makes me want to hide. It’s like Jack’s looking right through me.
I chew the inside of my cheek and shuffle closer to sit next to him, my nose wrinkling slightly from the smell coming from his gloves. I’m not really in a position to complain about it, though.
“It’s not about you,” I say, being deliberate with every word, but there’s no beating around this bush.
“Chad was trying to be an ass last night when he said that I hate hockey players, but he wasn’t wrong.
It doesn’t really have anything to do with the players, but more so with my dad’s priorities and where I fit into them. ”
I cross my arms over my chest as if it’s enough to protect me here. I feel a longing in my heart to put on my skates and try skating today, but the thought of facing my fear makes my lungs constrict.
“My dad has always put his players over me. It didn’t matter what I did or how hard I tried, they were always more important than me.
I’ve spent years trying to make him love me the same way he loves his players.
I really am sorry. I’ve been holding it against you because it’s effortless for you to get his time and attention, and that’s not fair. ”
“Oh,” Jack says, exhaling a long breath. I turn in his direction, confused by what Oh is supposed to mean.
“Oh?”
He dips his chin in a nod. “Oh,” he repeats.
What is happening?
“Jack?”
He rolls his shoulders, and I watch as Jack’s hand drifts to his chest, his finger running over the length of the necklace. “I’m sorry he makes you feel like we’re more important to him, but for what it’s worth, I think Coach does love you. He might just have a hard time showing it.”
I don’t argue with him because a small part of me is desperate enough to hope Jack’s right.
I push my pride aside, extending my hand. “Friends?”
Jack smiles, the corners of his eyes softening. “I’d prefer a kiss actually,” he teases, and I think my rudeness has been forgiven.
I chuckle, dropping my hand after returning his smile with one of my own.
“Not happening, but nice try.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He shrugs, and I roll my eyes, hoping my face isn’t bright red.
“Guess I can’t. Thank you for taking care of me last night. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d let me walk off on my own.”
“You could have told me I was the worst person in the world, and I still would have taken care of you. Friends don’t let friends walk away drunk. I wasn’t going to leave without knowing you were safe.”
I can tell by his expression he’s serious. “I thought we just became friends?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.
Jack shakes his head. “Darlin’, I’ve been your friend, even if you weren’t mine,” he says, and it’s so brutally honest, it renders me speechless. “Are you feeling better?” he asks, and I twist my damp curls around my finger.
“The spins hit me again this morning, but I should be good,” I say, leaving out the part where it was in the middle of my shower.
He laughs, the sound resonating through me. “I’m shocked you had anything left in you to throw up.”
My cheeks flush because last night really wasn’t my finest moment. “Me too.”
I catch the way his eyebrows narrow and his lips purse before the uncertainty melts from his handsome face. Am I allowed to think he’s hot? I’d have to be blind not to be aware of his attractiveness, and it’s not like it’s something he doesn’t already know.
“What?” I ask, and Jack raises an eyebrow, flashing a crooked smile.
“What?”
“You made a face. What is it?” I ask, wondering if this is something I should be asking.
“Who were you running from last night?” he asks, and the question lingers in the silence of the empty rink.
“Nobody,” I answer, swallowing the lump forming in my throat as I look away, recalling the ghost of my former self who didn’t know what it felt like to lose the thing she loved most.
Maybe she’s still there, flying across the ice, and I just have to find her again.