Chapter 14 Andie
Fourteen
Andie
With the blaring of the horn indicating the end of the game, the crowd sits back with a loud groan in their seats.
The game against the Tampa Titans has proven to be far more difficult for the Boston Bandits than anyone anticipated. And since it’s a home game for the Bandits, everyone boos the Tampa players.
Beside me, Kaeli nervously bites into her nails, a trait I didn’t think she’d possess. But gradually, she’s revealing herself to the people around her.
My gaze flicks to the scoreboard that shows a tie between the two teams, meaning the game is now in overtime. The teams switch sides in the fifteen-minute intermission.
I press my hand on Kaeli’s bouncing knee and give her a comforting squeeze. “It’ll be okay.”
She turns to look my way, detaching her eyes from Ezra with too much willpower, and gives me a smile that looks more like a grimace. “Thank you. I’m good.”
I cock my eyebrow at her, and she heaves a sigh, done hiding behind the fake smile. “Ugh, I’m sorry. My head’s in the game. The team has been practicing endlessly. I know Tampa Titans work hard too, but well, I’m biased.”
“Who wouldn’t?” I agree with her, my eyes wander back to the ice, snatching on the goalie for the Boston Bandits as five players from both teams take their place, ready for the overtime period.
While the puck drops and each team tries to get a goal in and win the game, I take in Noah for the hundredth time as he stands there, focused and determined to stop the puck from going into the net.
He’s unstoppable, wicked fast, and has instincts that he has clearly been sharpening for more than half his life. He’s inspiring.
My eyes flick to the Jumbotron as the camera pans to his face.
I can’t help but notice the drop of sweat that falls from his eyebrows, sliding down his cheeks.
The strands of his blond hair falling over his green eyes, even under the helmet.
He’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, and I can’t ever let a soul know I think that.
Not if I don’t want my brother to burst an artery.
Grabbing my phone, I snap a few videos and pictures of my own too to post on his fan account later, glad that Kaeli’s gaze is too busy following my brother on the ice to notice.
Giving myself a few more minutes to drink him in, I divert my attention back to the game. It’s tense, fans cheering for the Bandits until their throats go sore.
The Titans winger skates as close to the goal as possible, pulling back to take his shot, making Noah adjust his grip on the hockey stick, spreading his legs wider.
From the other side, Ezra is bounding toward him at a breakneck speed to thwart his attempt, hoping to turn the direction in which the game is headed.
He almost does, but then, out of nowhere, Titan’s enforcer, Kyle, rams straight into Ezra. They both go flying and knock into Noah behind them. The crash is so powerful, it’s like the whole arena shakes.
Almost everyone is on their feet, including Kaeli and me. A gasp falls out of us, worried, getting antsy when none of them move.
Kyle is sprawled over Ezra, whose body is lying over Noah. Noah took the brunt of the fall, protecting my brother from a possible injury. But what about him? Is he okay? Why isn’t he moving?
I start to spiral, my breathing becoming faster and faster until I feel like I’ll throw up.
Please, God. Please let them both be okay.
I pray to whatever power there is. After what feels like excruciatingly long hours when it’s merely been a few seconds, they move, the other players and referees skating toward them to help them.
Kaeli and I find each other’s hands, squeezing them in relief, glad that both men are okay. Oliver, Seb, and Levi, Bandit’s defenseman, help both Ezra and Noah up. The second, Noah’s upright, he throws his gloves and helmet to the surface.
The arena echoes with a string of curses, excitement zinging through them. Unfortunately, people love a brawl. Especially when players like Noah get into—someone who rarely does.
Cracking crap on a knuckle.
Before anyone else can get their bearings, Noah hauls Kyle straight and takes a swing at him.
My hands cover the gasp that escapes my mouth, eyes widening as the fight progresses. It doesn’t surprise me that Kyle got even Noah to retaliate. Kyle is an enforcer for the team, a shit stirrer, with a British accent and aristocratic air that evaporates the second his skates hit the ice.
On ice, he’s absolutely ruthless. Banging people into the boards left and right. Noah’s by no means any less intimidating; regardless, Kyle’s affinity for violence makes my heart race for Noah’s well-being.
The camera pans to their fight, showing both of them sporting bruises and splashes of blood. Kyle has a maniacal grin on his face even when Noah gets him right in the jaw, his face careening to the side.
Kyle gets in a few punches, too. It feels like an eternity has passed before their fight is finally broken. Both of them are benched, and the game goes into another overtime since no one scored in this one.
Finally, settling back down on the seat, I try not to fidget lest I draw Kaeli’s attention. Because now that it’s clear that Ezra is alright, she has calmed a smidgen, enough to notice my unease.
She leans closer to me, muttering in my ear, “That was a close one, huh? I’m glad Ezra is okay.”
Of course, she’s worried about Ezra. I am too. But I’m also worried about Noah, who endured the brunt of it all. Yet, I give her a tight smile, my heart still hammering, “Yeah, thank God.”
With a nod, her attention goes back to Ezra on the ice. It’s clear, though, he pulled a muscle or something because for a second, he almost loses his balance. But I can’t bring myself to care about him in this moment.
All I can think about is Noah as he glares at Kyle, who goads him with a wink, knowing Noah can’t reach him, not that it would’ve deterred him if Noah could. The game goes on, and the Tampa Titans score the winning goal.
You could ask me who scored it, and I wouldn’t be able to answer, not that I cared. Not when blood was gushing out from a cut on Noah’s jaw.
My feet begging me to go to him, tend to him. Not that I think he’d appreciate it.
* * *
I pace in front of Noah’s apartment, trying to talk myself out of this very stupid idea.
I can’t just go and knock on his door uninvited. Who said he’d even wanna see me? He must be too exhausted to even pretend to entertain me.
I’m not his girlfriend, not even his friend. I’m nothing to him, really. Just a woman he ate out.
ONCE.
I think back to when I had this fantastic thought of running here. After the game, in which the Boston Bandits lost, I went straight home, despite my heart—my stupid heart—telling me to go to Noah.
I even laid down in my bed, changed into a pair of sleeping shorts and a loose t-shirt. But I couldn’t stop tossing and turning in my bed.
All I could think of was his bruises, the bleeding cuts, and I wondered who would tend to him. He lives alone. He has no girlfriend. No relative as far as I knew. Was he okay? Did he have the ointments and medicines he might need? Should I call in and check on him? Would he even answer?
Question after question swirled in my mind until I could no longer control my actions and bought him some medicines and Ubered straight to his apartment.
Now that I was here, though, I wasn’t so sure. What if he sent me on my way? Shut the door on my face? Didn’t need my help? What if he mocked me?
Sweet jelly on a pie!
Throwing my head back and looking at the moon, I let out a groan. Knowing I can’t keep pacing in front of his place like a crazy stalker, not if I didn’t want the doorman to call the cops. Nor can I turn around and leave, knowing he was hurt and might not have anyone to take care of him.
Mustering my nonexistent courage, I enter the building and straight into the elevator, my feet tapping incessantly on the floor as it takes me to his penthouse. The door slides open on his floor, and with a deep breath, I ring the bell.
A beat later, I hear the muffled voice of his steps, and my breath gets stuck in my throat, wondering how he’ll react to seeing me at his door so late at night.
The door opens, revealing his broad build, his hair wet as a drop of water falls over his naked chest, a towel wrapped low around his waist. He must’ve taken a bath.
My eyes widen, a tingling sensation overtaking my body at how delectable he looks. His own eyes take me in from head to toe, but when a muscle in his jaw twitches, and he looks annoyed at my presence, I berate myself for coming here.
My shoulders fall, rejection stinging. Taking a step back, I apologize, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.” My fingers digging into the bag of meds.
To save myself from any more embarrassment, I turn on the heel of my feet and start to leave. A firm hold on my elbow, pulling me into his apartment, has a gasp falling out of my mouth at the sudden action.
My back finds itself pressed into his door, his tall frame towering over me, bracketing me between his hands as they press beside my head—the scent of his freshly showered body enveloping all of my senses.
God! He smells good.
“What are you doing here, Andie?” he growls, his jaw clenched tight. The water droplet from his strands falling over my eyelashes, making me blink in surprise.
Ah, yes, I came here for a reason. I raise the bag in between us, unable to speak, still very much aware of his naked chest and the towel around his waist.
He cocks his eyebrow in question, waiting for me to respond.
“I…This is some ointment, I thought you could use.” When he doesn’t speak, I start to ramble.
“Today, you got into a fight on the ice, and Kyle got in a few punches. And I could also see the cuts on your face and neck in the Jumbotron, and I was worried about you and thought what if you had no one to tend to you, or what if you didn’t have any first aid. How would you take care? What if—”