20. Penelope
It’s been three days.
Three days of bedtime stories, three days of me calling him and talking to him until he sleeps, three days of wishing he’d just let me visit.
Well, not anymore.
If he wants me to read to him tonight, he’s going to have to open this damn door and let me inside.
There’s two boxes in my hands, each containing a dozen donuts for the team—gotta pay the entry toll and keep them sweet. I have homemade shakes, juices, and store bought ice cream in a cool bag over my shoulder, and board games and books in the bag at my feet.
I know depression when I see it, or don’t see it because the depressed person is hiding—ask me how I know—and this boy is depressed.
My knock on the door to the hockey house is kind of muffled, but there’s movement shuffling on the other side, and after a moment Apollo de la Pe?a opens it.
He and his brothers are known to own very lavish residences across town, so it’s sweet that he’s here. I bet I know why. He’s team captain, the wellbeing of his team is of importance to him.
He looks tired, pale, and has dark circles underlining his eyes as he hones in on the boxes of donuts in my hands. “Are you trying to poison all of us with mustard now?”
I roll my lips between my teeth, shaking my head. “Heard about that, huh?”
“Sí. And we saw the car.” He bends down to grab the bag on the ground before stepping back and ushering me inside. “Remind me never to piss you off.” He winks at me.
“The donuts are clean.” Not sure he’s going to believe my assurance, but I had to say it all the same. “We have a truce in place for the time being since he went and got his face smashed in ‘cause he’s scared of me.”
Apollo chuckles, puts the bag on the ground and takes the donuts from me. “Let me go put these in the kitchen.”
“Oh. This too, please.” I slide the cool bag off my back, pausing to grab one of the smoothies out of there to bring up to Tate and make him eat.
Apollo’s clearly impressed. “Homemade? Myers must be special.” He winks, and part of me wants the ground to swallow me up.
When he returns, he picks the bag up again and gestures to the stairs. “You know which room he’s in?”
I shake my head.
“Follow me.” After a few steps he stops, turns back, and purses his lips. “You are here for Tate, right? You’re not here for someone else?” The concern on his face is adorable. What’s he afraid of? That Tate will find out I’m here to visit someone else on the team and what? Lose his shit?
That’s kinda hot. And for a moment it’s just a little tempting, but considering Tate’s current mood, someone would definitely die, and that’s not the vibe I’m going for.
“I’m here to see Tate, yes. One of you is enough of a headache.”
He laughs again. “You’re not wrong. We’re pretty high maintenance.” When we get to the top of the stairs I follow him down a corridor, pausing outside a white door that looks the same as all the other white doors on this floor.
“He’s pissier than he was yesterday. I’m not sure what to do.”
I give him my best reassuring smile. “I’ll see what I can do.” With a soft knock from the hand holding the smoothie, I turn his bedroom door with the other. I’m not waiting for him to say no.
From the dark shape on the bed facing away from me, there’s a feral growl. My dude is in for a rude awakening when he realizes that I can growl too. I flip on the light, and he groans.
“Quit your bitchin’” I make my way around to his side of the bed, but he’s already sitting up. Ugh. My dude also smells. This is worse than I thought. “Right. You’re going to get your ass out of bed and into the shower, I’m going to change your sheets while you’re washing because I think your funk has seeped through into the wooden frame of this bed.”
He scowls at me.
“Then you’re going to have some of this delicious protein and fruit smoothie that I made myself, might I add. Like by my own freakin’ hand. I did some research at school about what kinds of things might keep you from losing weight, and I made a bunch of them. They’re downstairs in the fridge, and when they’re gone, I can make more.”
When he doesn’t say anything, he simply stares at me, I roll my eyes. “Thank you, Penelope, that’s so very kind of you.”
He grunts.
“Thank you, Penelope, that’s so very kind of you.” I repeat.
He grunts again.
We’re locked in a silent staring competition, waiting for the other to blink.
“Thank you, Penelope, that’s so very kind of you.” I repeat again, leaning on each word slowly.
“Thank you.” He grinds his words out between clenched teeth.
“You’re welcome. Do you need help getting out of bed?”
He snarls at me.
“Okay, okay, I was just asking. Won’t bother to ask if you need a hand washing your ball sack and ass crack.”
He gets out of bed, but doesn’t move, so I step in front of him and sweep my fingers over his not broken cheek. “Please? If you’re nice to me I’ll cuddle and read you a story.”
That makes something flicker across his face.
“And if you’re really nice I might let you cop a feel before bed.” I lean over and brush a kiss against his cheek. “But not until you go wash that funk off you.” I scrunch up my nose, and he rolls his eyes.
“So dramatic.”
“Says the boy who hasn’t left his bed in days.”
“How do you know?” He pauses and turns his head back to me.
“Because the smell told me so. Now be gone, Satan. Or I’ll make you change your own sheets, too.”
Apollo hooks me up with clean sheets and takes the dirty ones away to get them washed. He looks at me like I’ve walked on water or something. “He hasn’t spoken to anyone or let them in his room for days.”
“None of you have the boobs for the job.” I wink at him, making him laugh again.
“This is true.” He nods, thoughtfully. “I’m worried about him, though. We all are. It’s not like him. When he faces a challenge he usually kicks it in the cojones. This isn’t Tate at all.”
I awkwardly pat the captain of our hockey team on the bicep. “Give him a little time. The trauma’s still fresh, and he’s on the bench for months while you guys get to have all the fun.”
“I know. I just wish I knew how to help.”
Shaking my head, I give him a sympathetic smile. “He doesn’t want anyone’s help. He doesn’t need anyone’s help either. I think he might need to learn some lessons from this injury.” I hold his intense gaze, and he tilts his head.
“Lessons?”
I nod. “There’s more to Tate than hockey. I’m not sure he knows that, or knows what he is without the game. I hope, if nothing else, he realizes that he has so much more to offer than points on a scoreboard.” I shrug, letting my words hang between us for a long moment. “I’m going to go change his sheets and then inflict some snuggles on him. Might not cheer him up but it’ll make me better. And if he’s still dickish, I’ll accidentally smother him with my cleavage.”
Apollo shakes his head. “You can be pretty scary Penelope, you know that?”
Flashing him my best grin, I nod. “I do know that. You wanna help me make his bed?”
He does, and he leaves before Tate comes out of the shower. I’m not prepared for the sight of Tate coming out of a steamed up bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, bare chest, and droplets of water dripping from his hair and body as he walks and towel dries his head.
“You’re drooling, Pitstop.” There’s an air of smug satisfaction to his slurred words.
“And you’re losing weight, Satan. Come over here.” I pat the bed beside me. “Smoothie’s on the bedside cabinet, and trust me, if any of the guys steals one from the fridge you’re going to have some competition on your hands.”
There’s that low growl again. It does things to my panties. He dries off quickly and sits on the bed in nothing but a towel.
“Easy there cowboy.” I pat his still-damp chest. “I can only handle one asshole at a time.” I lean over and kiss his cheek again, enjoying the almost purring sound it draws from somewhere deep inside his chest.
He takes a drink from the cup, looks at me, and takes another drink again. “This is delicious.”
“I know.” I nod.
When he goes back for another drink, my insides warm. He settles next to me on the bed, smoothie in one hand, and his other wrapped around me, my head resting on his chest as he strokes my arm.
“Does this mean we’re dating now?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I don’t know why I said that other than the fact I feel a need to define whatever this is, or at least could be.
He doesn’t stop moving his fingers up and down my arm, but he does pause from chugging my smoothie, probably a good thing too, I don’t want him to puke over this clean bed. “Do you want to?”
“Are you asking me?”
He sighs. “Why do you have to make everything more difficult?”
“And why do you have to be a giant butt face? Can’t you just ask me out?” I flutter my eyelashes up at him. “Some girls need to be romanced.”
“No.” He shakes his head, and my heart sinks. “I’m telling you you’re my girl.”
Something flaps in my chest. “What happened to consent?”
“Do you want to be my girl?”
“I dunno. I haven’t yet decided. Maybe. Maybe not. I mean this is a new space for me. A few days ago I still wanted to sever your penis from your body with a rusty blade.”
He shivers. “And now you’re not dismembering my junk?”
“Well, at least not yet.”
He chuckles. “I’ll take it. My face hurts.”
“I have that effect on people. I make them smile so much their face hurts.”
He squeezes me.
I squeeze him back. “When was your last dose of meds?”
He stays quiet.
“Tate?” I look up at him again. “When was your last dose of meds?”
“Last night before bed. I’m trying not to take them as much, they make my head foggy.”
I smack his chest making him jump. “Idiot. So you’ve just suffered in pain all day? For what? For who? What’s wrong with your head being foggy when you’re lying in a pit of your own stench and despair anyway? May as well be pain-free while you do.”
“So dramatic.”
“And you’re still an idiot.” I get up and find his meds on the table, measure them out, and present it to him to take.
“They make me sleepy.”
“Then you’ll sleep.”
He shakes his head.
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to wake up and find you gone.”
“Then I’ll stay.”
From the twitch in his face I’d say he’s trying to smile. “You will?”
Sighing, I nod. “Yes, but I have no clean underwear, no pjs, no change of clothes, and no toothbrush. So can I at least go back to my place and get them first?”
Shaking his head he pats the bed beside him. “You’re too far away.”
Satan is a softie. Who knew?
He picks up his phone, his fingers moving at lightning speed before he plops the phone back onto the bedside cabinet and slaps the bed again. “Pitstop, come here.”
He relents and takes the meds because he knows it means I’ll sit, then I turn the light back off and hit the bedside lamp instead. And when I settle next to him, he pulls me against him, buries his nose in my hair and inhales. It’s not wash day so he’s probably gotten a nasal passage full of freakin’ dandruff and grease but he doesn’t seem to give a flying fuck.
“Wanna talk about it?”
He shakes his head.
“Wanna cry about it?”
Another shake, but he sniffs, and my heart splinters.
“Oh, Tate.”
“Don’t.” His voice is hard, charged with emotion, strained with the effort of holding back.
I sit up in the bed, and instead of letting him hold me, I hold him. I draw him against my chest, and he falls apart. Huge shuddering sobs rack his athletic frame as he cries on my chest.
Soothing him is pointless, but I try anyway. I rub circles on his back, stroke his arm, and shush him as he just lets days of frustration and agony out on my chest.
By the time he’s done, he’s snoring softly in my arms, and I’m probably as exhausted as he is. And my shirt’s wet.
Fuck.
The last time I saw a breakdown like that was Dad to Mom. It was months after his injury, he’d just been told he’d likely never play again. I watched through a crack in the living room door as my Dad, my idol, broke down on Mom’s lap.
A soft knock on the door is followed by Ares coming in with a dark duffel bag in his hand. He sets it on the floor next to my side on the bed. He crouches next to me and hands me a bottle of water.
“You okay?”
I’m not, not really, but I don’t want to burden Ares, or anyone else in this house for that matter. They’ve got enough on their plate with Tate right now. “Yeah. I’m good.”
He shakes his head. “Mentirosa.”
I smirk. “That means beautiful, right?”
He smirks right back. “It means you’re full of shit. I brought you some of your things.”
“My... things?” I blink slowly, glancing down at the bag.
He nods. “Nightwear, change of clothes, toothbrush, you know, your things.”
The blood drains from my body in a sweep of ice through my veins. Ares de la Pe?a was in my underwear drawer?
As though he can read my mind, he holds up his hand. “No, amiga. I didn’t go hunting through your things. Eloise helped me.”
“Is my dorm room just a fucking free for all?” I’m conflicted, grateful for their thoughtfulness and bringing me my things but it’s a gross invasion of my personal space. Started by one Satan Tate Myers lying snuggled against me, clutching me like he’s terrified I might flee.
“I know. But.” He gestures at Tate. “Desperate times. I’ll get the locks changed for you if you’d like?”
I nibble on my bottom lip. “Maybe. Wait until we’re out the other side of this.”
He nods and stands, patting me on the shoulder. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“The donuts.” He smiles. “And for settling him every night this week. He told us you call him, talk to him, read to him. He also told us your history.” His face turns sad, and I can’t bear the ache in my chest.
“I’m sorry about your father. If there’s anything I can do for him, please let me know.”
It takes me a split second to think of something. “Do you mean that?”
Ares nods. “My battle with addiction is public knowledge. I know how hard it can be, how hard it is to choose sobriety every day. I’ve seen friends and colleagues injured, go through rehab, lose their careers. Not long ago we just saw Raffi walk away from the game he loved before it killed him.” The emotion in his voice brings tears to my eyes.
“We all play a game we love. But every time we step out onto the ice we risk our lives. I’ve seen the hit on your dad, it wasn’t good. It’s not surprising it ended his career, nor that the grief of that loss drove him to seek comfort in other places.” He nods. “So yes, if there’s something you can think of that I could do to help him, please say. Because I’ve been there. Except in my case, my father’s wealth got me the best medical treatment and rehab. Not everyone has that luxury.”
Ares knows way more about me and my life than I’m comfortable with right now, but the fact he’s leveling with me like this feels a bit... cathartic?
I don’t know when I started crying. It’s becoming a habit, and I don’t like it, but he hands me a tissue from the box on Tate’s table.
“He’s working as a janitor in the hospital. And while there’s nothing wrong with being a janitor, I know it’s not for him. He’s a math major, with a minor in computer science, Ares. The man is a freakin’ math nerd. I mean, who the fuck studies math for fun? And all the way through college?”
I shudder, which makes Ares chuckle.
“I know your father has a lot of employees, and I know you, your brothers, and Athena have your own companies in various states of growth, but if you come across anything that might be more suitable to him, I’d appreciate it.” I heave out a sigh. “I’m concerned about him doing so much manual labor. It’s not good for his injuries. Even all this time later, he still suffers. And he really does love math.”
Ares squeezes my shoulder. “Leave it with me, okay? We’ll figure something out for him.” He turns to leave, pauses, and looks back at me like he wants to add something else. But there’s guilt on his face. I swear, if this fucker was hunting through my delicates drawer I’ll strangle him with one of my thongs.
“What is it?” I sound like a mom waiting for their naughty kid to make a confession.
“We, uh, well, we already did something.”
“We?”
He nods. “The twins and me.”
“You all went through my underwear? I’m going to fucking kill you, Ares. I’ll skin you alive and drape your skin on your hockey stick. And then stand your stick body in the crease of your own net.”
His mouth hangs open. “Loca.”
I know what that word means.
“You’re savage.” He says this like I didn’t furniture wrap Tate’s car to a pole in the parking lot of their rink.
“This can’t be news.” I snort.
“It’s not about your underwear. Though your reaction makes me wonder what treasure is buried in that drawer that you don’t want us to see.”
My face flames. Thank fuck it’s not bright in here.
“We paid his bills.”
It takes a few deep breaths before what Ares says lands with me. They... paid my Dad’s bills? “His medical bills?”
Ares nods. “His finances...” He shrugs. “Those bills were crippling. I know you lost your home because of his surgeries and the addiction.” Another shrug. “We did what we could. He had a lot of credit card debt from paying medical bills, and that shit spirals like crazy with interest.”
I’m all-out sobbing now. “A-Ares.”
“I tried to pay his mortgage too, but he leases it. Makes sense considering the strain he’s under. Glad I couldn’t, because I was afraid that might be a step too far.”
I’m laugh-crying now, holding up a hand like it might stop the funny. “Y-you paid tens, if not hundreds of thousands of dollars of my father’s debt off, but paying off his mortgage would have been the step too far?”
He nods, his face solemn. “We weren’t going to say anything. I probably shouldn’t have. We did it anonymously.”
“What changed?” I swipe at the tears on my cheeks with the tissue, and Ares passes me another one.
“Seeing how worried you were for him. I know how heavy that weight can be, too. And I needed you to know that he’s going to be okay. I’m going to go see him at the hospital to talk to him about my charity for athletes in his position, recovering from drug and alcohol abuse. We’ve cleared his debt, and we’ll keep an ear to the ground for any positions that might come up that he’d be suited to.”
He gestures at Tate still sleeping in my arms, his breath falling in even waves. “Regardless of whether things work out between you or not, you’re part of our hockey family. You, your brother, your father. And we’ve got you. I’m only sorry you had to travel so long down the road alone, Penelope.”
The emotion in the room is so thick and heavy you could slice it with a meat cleaver. I don’t know what to say. I can’t ever repay the de la Pe?a brothers for their kindness. They’ve completely changed my family’s life as easily as if they’d waved a magic wand.
“I-I don’t know what to say Ares. I can’t ever thank you enough.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not about the credit, amiga. We were just born into a wealthy family and used that wealth to our advantage. The least we can do is give some back to those who need it.” He turns to leave again, but casts back a glance. “If you want to repay us, though, we wouldn’t say no to a lifetime supply of those protein smoothies of yours. They’re fucking amazing.”
I’d throw something at him but there’s nothing in reach. “Those are for Tate.”
“We’ll see.” He pauses like he’s not sure whether to stay or go, but eventually leaves me alone with my thoughts, closing the door to Tate’s room behind him. Then it’s my turn to cry. I’m not sure the de la Pe?a brothers know what they have done for my family, for Dad, or how much stress they’ve taken off all our shoulders in one fell swoop.
Tate stirs then sits up. His eyes are glassy as he blinks at me slowly. “Why are you crying, pretty girl?” His words are slurred and hard to make out between the meds and the hardware. He rubs the tears from my cheeks.
“Did Ares make you cry? I heard he was in here, but didn’t catch what he said.” He stares at my lips for a long moment as though he’s aching to kiss me, and my heart squeezes. “Do I need to kill Ares? I can totally kill Ares.”
He nestles back down onto my cleavage, mumbling to himself about Ares, and falls asleep. Within minutes there’s a puddle of drool on my boob, but Tate’s snoring again. Eventually he shifts down in the bed, giving me the space I need to stand up so I can get changed.
I find a notebook on his table, leave him a note that I’m going to find something to eat since I hadn’t planned on being here overnight, and leave it on the pillow next to him.
Not sure it’s safe to venture out into the belly of the hockey beast to find food. I’ve lived with an athlete in his prime, I know how much food they consume, and how territorial they can be of it. If there’s nothing in the kitchen, I can always order in.
In the dining room, the de la Pe?a brothers sit at the table with Scott. Two of the rookies, Rico and Mikko I think their first names are—downside of only ever seeing last names across player’s shoulders is that you never know what their first names are—are standing next to the sink cradling mugs. It’s as though they want to sit with the brothers, but they’re intimidated.
Don’t blame them. The big dick energy radiating from the table is fucking strong.
“Penelope.” Apollo spots me and stands. “Do you need something?”
I wave him off. “I haven’t had dinner yet.”
One of the rookies snorts, and behind his hand I can swear he says something like, “like you need it.”
My face burns. Yes, I’m fat. Yes, I have body issues, and sometimes get in my head about my size, but more often than not it’s other people who have an issue with my size as opposed to me.
I don’t know where to look or what to do, so I keep talking. “I was going to DoorDash something here since I hadn’t planned on staying over, and I didn’t want to impose.”
Ares has both hands clenched on the table in front of him, his knuckles are white, his jaw clenched, and there’s a muscle feathering in his cheek like he’s fighting back the urge to do... something. It tracks.
His reputation for having a bad temper precedes him. Which also tracks, considering he’s named after one of the twelve Olympians. Is there any other way for the son of Zeus and Hera to be other than confrontational and aggressive?
It’s Artemis who moves, he stands up, turns to the rookies, tips his head toward the door, and without a word they follow him out of the room.
Ares is vibrating with rage, I feel it coming off him in erratic, uncontrollable waves.
Apollo opens his mouth to speak but I hold up a hand. “Please don’t. It’s okay.”
“It’s not fucking okay.” Ares snarls so loud I jump.
“He’s right, Penelope. We don’t shame in this family. About anything. No kink shaming, no fat shaming, no shaming of any kind. It won’t be tolerated in this house, in this team, or even on this campus. I’m not going to apologize for them, but we aren’t going to let it go without acknowledging it and confronting it.”
“This is a safe space, Penelope.” Ares is still struggling to maintain control. He’s gripping the edge of the table, and his voice shakes with effort. “Always.”
I’ve never had people in my life who weren’t my parents or my brother stick up for me like this. It’s overwhelming.
Usually my friends almost apologize for my size, or they give me sympathetic looks but say nothing. Having these two guys I barely know—three, since Artemis has taken the rookies out of the room—on my side makes something click inside me.
I get it now.
I get why Dad didn’t want to stop playing, I get why Tate—albeit reluctantly—moved into the hockey house, and why the de la Pe?as paid off Dad’s debt. There’s something special about the bond in this team, in this sport, something that runs deeper than a bunch of guys thrown together to play on the same side.
These guys are ride-or-die, chosen family.
Scott hasn’t said a word, but from his furrowed brow and the scowl on his face, he’s not happy either.
The temptation is to run away, to not eat, to let the voice of the rookie bed into my body as though he’s a knowledgeable voice on fat people. But before I even say a thing, I can tell from the faces around this table that I’m not getting out of here without eating something.
The lump is back in my throat, clogging me up with years’ worth of emotion, of bullying, of self-loathing, of having to explain and defend myself and my weight.
I don’t have to explain myself here. And there’s something so freeing about that it makes me want to cry. Again.
But if I do, I’m afraid they’ll think the rookie upset me, and they’ll take him out back and beat him to death with their hockey sticks.
“I could eat.” Scott eventually breaks the silence, pulling out his phone and pulling up a food delivery app.
“Me too.” Apollo nods.
I’m about to agree, when the yelling starts.