Chapter 19 Sonya
SONYA
In the morning, I wake up alone. Diana is gone. I make quick work of tidying the bed as if I was never there and then grab my jacket and bag.
It’s my phone that gives me trouble.
It’s connected to the longest, most annoying cord tangled up in his side table. When I try disconnecting the charger, it knocks a drawer open.
I’ve got no intention to snoop, because why would I? Why do I want to look through what I assume will be a fair amount of toys, lube, batteries, and most likely a towel. You know, standard sex stuff.
But that’s not what I find. In the process of shutting his drawer, I glance down.
This frayed picture snags my attention.
Without meaning to, I lift it up. Something inside me swoops and dips.
Two teenagers in hockey jerseys grinning at the camera.
Adrian Hughes looks like a boy band version of himself. Floppy blonde hair, that same smirk, chunky silver braces.
Beside him is a boy with a more quiet confidence. Their features seem different enough for them not to be related. This kid has a broader nose, thinner mouth, and nearly buzzed dark brown hair.
Friends maybe? Or a childhood hockey pal?
Either way, not your business, Sonya.
Putting the picture away, I accidentally place it down the other way, which is how I see the message on the back.
All caps, roughly scrawled.
But that’s not what startles me.
The message does.
Five letters that leave my chest feeling off-kilter.
Sorry.
More aching, confusing emotions build inside me, and I don’t have time to figure out what they mean because there’s a knock at the door.
I drop the photo, then scramble to pick it up, before throwing it back inside the side table and slamming the drawer shut.
I’m out of breath when Hughes strolls in, too busy lifting a giant covered tray to notice my jumpiness. “Morning,” he sings. “How’re you feeling?”
“Back to normal,” I insist loudly. “No fever, no nothing.”
Hughes tilts his head at me, giving me a once-over. “You look really good.”
Heat that I thought was thoroughly contained, flares awake inside me. I tell myself it’s nothing and if my voice is extra blunt and rude when I say, “What are you hiding?” it doesn’t mean anything.
He shoots me a mischievous grin. “I’m glad you asked, because get ready for this.
” He lifts the lid off and tosses it aside dramatically.
“Blueberry pancakes with a touch of cinnamon, a danish waffle, there’s a bowl of strawberries and cream.
I didn’t know how you like your eggs, but I thought scrambled’s a safe bet.
Otherwise, ignore that and try my jam-filled crêpe.
It’s the best crêpe you’ll ever taste, I promise. ”
He lowers the tray with a flourish so I can see everything he’s described.
I lean closer, the strands of my hair falling forward. Is that—
Yup, it is.
A pineapple cut into a star and another one cut into a heart shape.
Butterflies I never knew existed inside me wake up inside me. “You didn’t have to. I’m not hungry—”
Hughes’ shoulders visibly drop. He’s a lost puppy if that puppy was a towering hockey player with an exaggerated pout and downcast blue eyes.
At the same time, a rumble fills the air.
Where is that coming fro—
My hand races up to my belly. I squeeze. That did not just happen. I did not make that noise. But then it happens again.
Hughes laughs and leans forward, wafting the tray under my nose. “Pancakesss. Wafflesss. Fresh strawberriesss,” he says, annoyingly drawing out the words.
All I can do is stare at how his robe loosens every time he moves. He’s still wearing it, and that belt is so haphazardly tied!
“Stop doing that,” I warn, panicking.
“Not until you eat.”
He doesn’t stop. The robe sash wobbles.
“It’s going to open,” I say with a curse.
“What’s going to open?”
“Your robe!”
“So? Say yes and I’ll stop. Will you eat? ” he asks, jiggling his hips.
The belt unfurls…
“Ugh, okay, I’ll eat!” I exclaim all at once quickly.
He puts the tray down and hands me a fork.
I sit down and funnel a piece of pancake into my mouth pronto, glaring at him.
Oh, fu—
I take another bite. Then another.
“Go ahead.” He smiles sweetly. “Pretend to hate it.”
I totally will.
I bring my hand up to my mouth, to stop any rogue moans from slipping out.
Then I pop part of the star-shaped pineapple into my mouth, sneaking a glance at Hughes. Absolute delight dances across his expression.
I straighten and move onto the “best” crêpe. I don’t think I’ve ever had one before, but not because of food scarcity. Some kids in the system experienced that, but I never did. If anything, I had food boredom.
My foster guardians gave us food that met all nutritional standards, but not flavorful ones.
The pantry was stocked with canned beans and never any snacks.
It’s something I got used to even after I left them, because being a ballerina requires a more nutrient-dense, balanced diet to fuel the rigorous training we have to do.
Indulgences have been few and far between, my love of Mexican food being one of them.
I section off a piece of the crêpe and slowly taste it.
My eyes close, because otherwise he would see them rolling back.
Ten minutes later, the crêpe is demolished. So are most of the scrambled eggs and half the pancakes. I push the tray away, because if I don’t, I’ll overeat past the point of comfort.
“Tell your chef I said thank you. And send me their contact information.” I have to buy them a gift card because that was one of the best meals I’ve had in a long time.
Adrian pulls out his phone. Starts typing on it, with the cheesiest smile on his face.
My phone buzzes. I pick it up.
HUGHES
Heard you wanna thank this chef? How about a kiss!
My jaw drops. I have to shut it quickly before he notices. “You made all of this?”
With the amount of money he has and the complexities of this meal, I just figured he’d thrown money at someone to make it. Not that he stood in his own kitchen and took all that time cooking for me…
I freeze, only my eyes blinking.
First, the hospital rescue, then he’d watched over me last night, and now this? It’s too much. All my muscles clench. I’m shaken.
Hughes picks up the tray and walks out of the room to go put it away, I assume.
As soon as he’s gone, I rush to gather my stuff again. I’m throwing my bag over my shoulder when the door swings open. How’s he back so fast?
“Everything okay?” Hughes asks, tilting his head and examining me. His smile dims a bit. “What’s wrong?”
I straighten and stare at him. “Bathroom,” I stammer, needing the quickest escape, and not wanting to answer him when I feel this…unbalanced…
It’s the adjacent door to my right where I rush over, slam the door shut, and lock myself in. The bathroom is as indulgent as the bedroom. There’s a jacuzzi meant for a group and one of those stalls that include a bench and multiple shower heads
I go to the mirror and look at myself.
Pupils dilated, tops of my cheeks deepening in color, and parted lips. My hands grip the counter. I inhale. Exhale. Tell myself, you’re okay.
I have to calm down. To not be affected, as if I’m lost at sea and his gestures aren’t waves trying to knock me over, one by one.
I bet they don’t mean much to him, but to me? My eyebrows squish together. I want to run. Retreat. Hide somewhere I can be alone, to refortify my defenses.
Searching through the pockets of my sweater, I pull out a kohl pencil.
I tug the skin underneath my eye so I can reach my waterline, dragging along the color. It’s not much, but this helps. It’s my armor. You’re going to be okay.
The next two minutes are spent on my phone.
“Sonya.” Hughes is knocking on the door. “Why did you send me a gift card?”
“For the breakfast.”
The knocking stops. Less than a minute later, my phone pings. I stare at the notification, then barge out of the bathroom. My eyes feel like they’re about to pop out of my head. “You can’t send one back to me. Especially with that many more zeroes!”
Hughes was leaning against the wall and now comes off it. “Why not?”
“I’m sending the same amount back,” I threaten, going to my phone.
His gaze sharpens on me. “Do it. And I’ll send you five times more.”
He’s already starting the process of sending me more, and I can’t think. Instinctively, I charge over to stop him.
With how much bigger he is, I wouldn’t be able to get close to him if he wasn’t being so careful with me. But now I’m here, pushing my shoulder into his arm trying to get his phone, and we topple over.
Hughes switches our positions last second, so his body hits the ground, and I’m falling on top of him.
I struggle against him, trying to get back up.
His robe opens.