Chapter 25 Stella
Stella
December
Colt was discharged after a couple of observation days in the hospital. He goes back to the Warrens’ house, so Jill can monitor him. I return to my dorm, finish up finals, and turn in our final project paper.
Our English professor gave us an A on the essay, but said that, while I did well on our final presentation, Colt will, unfortunately, have an incomplete grade in the class until he can take his own final exam and give a presentation as well.
I want to argue, but I know there’s nothing I can do. Everyone knows about his accident. Videos started popping up on social media almost instantly. But, according to the University, rules are rules.
Talk of my outburst at the game has also spread, the cameras also having caught my reaction, and now the entire campus knows Colt and I are together. Strangers approach me and ask how he’s doing. I get pitying looks and offers of condolences left and right.
I’m glad the semester is over.
Beau texted me, having gotten my number from Colt’s phone, and said that I was still invited to Denver with them. They hadn’t canceled the trip because it is non-refundable this close to the date, but Colt is to be on strict house arrest at the cabin.
I agreed to go because at least I can keep him company while the rest of them go skiing. And I just miss spending time with him.
We’re in this sort of limbo where neither of us knows how to act around the other. We don’t call or text. I’ve gone and visited him a couple of times over the last two and a half weeks, bringing him his favorite snacks, but the visits are awkward and don’t last very long.
The morning of the fifteenth, Beau picks me up from my dorm, loading my luggage into the back of his black Land Rover.
“Do all of you drive black cars?” I ask, getting in the passenger seat.
“What?” Beau looks confused as he starts the ignition.
“You and Colt both drive black vehicles. And I’d put money that Booker drives a black car, too.
” I’m trying to lighten the mood because, honestly, I haven’t been this nervous since the first time I went over to Colt’s apartment.
It’s like we’re having to start from scratch, and I barely had the mental capacity to do it the first time around.
“A blacked-out Camaro,” Beau confirms, smirking.
“Why? What do hockey players have against colors?”
“Black is just the most badass,” he replies, whipping away from campus and toward his parents’ house. “But Drew drives a blue beater of a Jeep, so, no, we don’t all have black cars.”
We make more casual small talk on the way to the house. The first time I came here, I had to stop myself from gaping as we pulled up to the large iron gate. I’ve been here a few times since then, and it shouldn’t still be this breathtaking.
The Warrens live in a beautiful, sandstone mansion with black wrought iron details and hundreds of windows.
Colt gave me a tour—albeit an awkward one—the first time I came to visit. There’s a finished basement that houses a full bar, complete with a pool table, a poker table, three leather couches, and a television that takes up an entire wall. Colt said it was for “watching the games.”
The house has three upper floors. The main level has the living room, TV room (because, to rich people, those two rooms are different, apparently), the most gorgeous kitchen I’ve ever seen, a formal dining room, and a plethora of bathrooms.
The second level of the house has all the bedrooms—six to be exact. And every single one has its own en suite.
Finally, the third floor is just one single, large room, where Mr. Warren has a home office/library. A library.
I’m not sure what exactly the Warrens do for a living, but their home is, officially, the most amazing place I’ve ever set foot.
When Beau and I arrive, he parks his SUV in a bay of the detached garage and rolls my suitcase toward the awaiting car that’s here to take us to the airport.
Inside, Colt, Booker, and Drew are sitting around the island in the kitchen. Jill allowed Beau to invite them both, since apparently, they’d been the boys’ plus ones the last couple of years.
Where one goes, they all go.
I stop to stand beside Colt as Drew and Beau start goofing around. This is going to be a long trip. Or maybe it won’t be long enough.
“Hey,” Colt says, brushing his elbow against my thigh. From the way he’s sitting, I have to look down at him. He rotates his body toward me slightly, so that his leg is pressed against mine.
“Hi,” I respond. I loathe the awkwardness between us. Everything used to be so easy. But I don’t want to overwhelm him.
Before we left the hospital, the doctor explained that concussions and head injuries can lead to behavioral issues and mood swings. With Colt’s amnesia— and having to relive the pain of losing his dad—she emphasized that it was very important to try and keep him calm.
They had even talked about restarting him on his antidepressants, as well as antipsychotics, plus his painkillers, but he refused all the prescriptions, adamant that he didn’t need them and that he’d stick with Tylenol.
“I would’ve picked you up, but I’m not cleared to drive yet.” He looks sheepish, but his small smile heals something inside of me. He may not remember me, but he wants to try to be there for me.
“Crosby, you aren’t even cleared to watch TV yet. I don’t think I want you driving me around.”
He snorts in response to my teasing, and a wave of relief washes over me. Maybe I’m overthinking for nothing. He’s still Colt. I just need to be myself.
A strand of his soft hair falls down over his forehead, and I reach up a hand to brush it back, but stop myself halfway there. I don’t know if he wants me to touch him yet.
His hair is shorter than it had been before the accident.
They’d had to shave the back in order to close his wound.
He got the staples taken out a couple of days ago, and had his barber try to even out the rest of his hair to match the awkwardly shaped short spot.
He left it longer on top, though, so he’s not rocking a full buzzcut.
“How’s the pain today?” I ask instead, letting my arm fall back to my side.
He looks at my hand but doesn’t move to create any more contact between us than there already is. “Sore. The usual. I’ve been worse.”
“I’m just saying, if Danielle is back this year, you have to get in there, man,” Drew says to Beau, breaking me and Colt out of our little bubble.
“I’m not interested in Danielle. I don’t do repeats.” Beau takes a swig from his water bottle, looking bored.
“Bullshit. Last year, you were in her room at the resort every night,” Booker points out, joining the conversation.
“Last year was one trip. Doesn’t count as a repeat if it’s all in the same vacation,” Beau defends.
Colt scoffs, and I look down at him. “What?” I ask.
“I may not remember who he’s talking about, but I’m pretty sure I’ve had this argument with him before.”
“You remember it?” I question cautiously.
“No, not remember. It’s just sort of a feeling.”
“Alright boys—and Stella—are you ready to go?” Jill inquires, sweeping into the kitchen wearing some designer sunglasses and the most expensive-looking comfy clothes I’ve ever seen.
Within minutes, we’re on the road.
The cabin we pull in front of is almost as impressive as the Warrens’ home. It’s all sparkling glass and rich wood. It’s nighttime—the sun having set while we were flying—and the stars reflect off the wall of windows like something out of a fairytale.
Inside, everything is updated and modern, with a cozy touch of rustic thrown in the mix. The boys head to the stairs, obviously having pre-claimed rooms from their previous trips.
“It’s like they turn into teenagers again every time we come here,” Jill says, walking up behind me.
Beau and Drew run up to the second-floor landing.
Booker is right behind them, only less outwardly enthusiastic.
Colt walks up the stairs carefully. Not because he’s scared, but because I can see him trying to remember last year—or the year before—when Booker and Drew would’ve come for the first time.
As far as he’s concerned, this is his first trip with them, too.
Jill sighs sadly. “I hate this for him,” she whispers.
“Me, too.” I know, both from the look on her face and simply from knowing Colt, that he’s usually racing up the stairs right beside the others.
“I hate this for you, too, Stella. I can’t imagine how you feel,” she hugs me, and the warmth of her seeps into my bones, making me feel a little bit better. “Come on, I’ll take you upstairs.”
The cabin has four upstairs bedrooms—the master bedroom is on the lower level—but the boys have a tradition of sharing rooms rather than taking their own.
Beau and Colt take the room in the back of the cabin that overlooks the mountain and the trees. It’s an incredible view. The room has two full-sized beds, each too small for the massive hockey players, but they claim them with nostalgic affection.
Booker and Drew have since claimed the room next door with the same setup. As grown men, they should want their own rooms, but I honestly think it’s charming that they want to spend time together, the four of them.
They also have to share one bathroom.
Jill leads me to the other side of the landing, where the rooms face the front of the cabin. The room she gives me has a fluffy-looking queen bed and a breathtaking view of the resort, the lights making it look like a castle lit up in the night.
When she leaves me to get settled in, I begin unpacking my suitcase into the dresser and taking my toiletries to the bathroom, which I have to myself.
A knock on my door startles me from my thoughts.
“Need any help?” Colt asks, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his large chest.
“Nope, I’m just finishing up,” I reply, putting my bathing suit into a drawer.
I turn to see him staring at where the fabric disappeared, and my heart skips a beat. Is he…thinking about me wearing it?
He clears his throat and comes to sit on the edge of my bed.
“I’m sorry I won’t get to teach you how to snowboard. Beau said he will if you want him to. Or he can teach you how to ski; whichever you prefer.”
I walk toward him, stopping an arm’s breadth away. “It’s okay. I know I’d just end up on my ass, anyway. It’s probably best that I stay in with you. Otherwise, we might have two head injuries on our hands.”
He smiles faintly, reaching forward to take my hand. Pulling gently, he leads me to stand between his knees. I want him to touch me, to hug me, but he just holds onto my fingers like they’re his lifeline. It’s still the most physical contact we’ve had since he got hurt.
“I want to enjoy this week, but they’re all…censoring their words around me. They start to reminisce about last year, but then stop and change the topic because they don’t think I can handle hearing about things I don’t remember.” His voice is quiet but gruff. Frustrated.
“I’m sorry. They’re just trying to be considerate. We’re all new to this, unfortunately.” His eyes meet mine with sad humor.
“I know. At least with you, it’s really your first time here. You don’t have any reason to mince your words around me. We can pretend everything’s normal and we’re just on vacation.” His words break my heart, but the hopeful look he gives me is enough to have me nodding.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Whatever you want to do. I can pretend everything’s back to how it was before if that’s what you want. I was just trying to give you some space.”
“I know. That’s how I know you’re an amazing girlfriend, even if I can’t remember how we met. But I promise, I will. I want to remember you, Stella. But I also want everyone to stop treating me like I’m broken.”
“You’re not broken, Colt.” I step forward, further into the cradle of his legs, and his hand comes up to rest on my hip.
“What would I do next—if this were before?” he asks, bringing his other hand to my waist.
I brush my hand along his jaw, where the bruise from his chin strap has faded to a harsh yellow. He shivers as my hand trails down the side of his neck. “You’d kiss me senseless,” I whisper, scared that if I speak too loudly, I’ll have to go back to reality.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he murmurs. With a tug, he pulls my body flush to his and captures my lips in the sweetest, shyest kiss.