Chapter 28 Adrian #2
My timer beeps, letting me know my garlic bread is done. Slowly, I head towards the oven, because even a second longer by her side and I won’t be able to stop myself. I will take Sonya into my arms and hold her tight.
Dinner is ready. I plate up two servings of spaghetti and push hers across the kitchen island while my ballerina stares at me. “I made too much. You should have some.”
She doesn’t move. To stop myself from pushing harder, I pick up a fork and take a bite, not tasting anything.
In the meantime, Sonya’s palms rub against her pants, before she jams them into her pockets. “You know what, thanks for sharing all that. I’ll look into it myself.”
Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I incline my head, even as I’m scrambling on the inside. If she has the yips, what can I do? What will help her?
“So you have a team of experts?” I rush out. “A sports psychologist, physician, and a performance coach on speed dial that can mobilize and evaluate you? Because what works for one athlete, won’t work for another. If it’s what you have, this kind of thing needs individualized strategies.”
Sonya comes forward until she’s close enough to grip the back of one of my kitchen island stools. “What are you really saying? That you do have a team?”
My chest expands. “I’m the captain of the Vancouver Wings.”
It’s answer enough, but when she stares at me, I add, “That means I have access to resources no one else typically does.”
Her nostrils flare. “Your cockiness continues to piss me off, you know that right?”
I force myself to shrug. “I’m aware, darling. Now would you like access to my team or not?”
Say yes, baby.
The stool she’s squeezing rattles. “Why would you do that for me?”
“Because you…”
Mean more to me than I can talk about. “Why would you help me?” Sonya asks again, glaring at me with blatant suspicion.
Great question. Considering I have this other, very important thing to do. I have to make sure I don’t fail my teammates as their captain and let them get traded. Players who sacrificed their blood, sweat, and tears to make it to the league need me to step up. That should be my only priority.
“Tell me,” orders Sonya. “What’s your angle?”
My angle? It’s simple, darling. Imagining you having another panic attack makes me physically sick. I can’t stand you getting hurt like that ever again. I die a little bit even thinking about it.
“I’d do anything for you.”
Her body practically vibrates with aggression. “No, be serious.”
There’s a bit of sauce on the edge of my thumb. I lick it off. “Or let’s settle the reasons later. First, you meet with my team. Because what if this helps? Are you willing to walk away from the chance that it might?”
“No. But—” Sonya purses her lips. “I need details. Exact terms of what I would owe you for you doing this.”
My bottom lip protrudes. “Don’t you trust my intentions?”
She rocks the stool back and forth so fiercely.
“You can’t tell me this is without strings.
Nothing in this world is without strings.
When people claim it is, they are lying to themselves.
Because you might not consciously think I owe you something in return for what you’re offering me, but deep down, there will be an expectation that I should at least appreciate you.
” Color creeps along the tops of her cheeks.
“Trust me, I’ve heard that a lot. Be grateful you got a home.
Adults agreeing to look after you, but not really. Basic food on the table.”
Be grateful you got a home. Basic food on the table.
Primal protectiveness roars through me, causing the muscles underneath my skin to jump. Adults agreeing to look after you, but not really. What the hell does that mean? My jaw clenches as I scroll through the document again.
“Sonya.” I say her name like I’m pleading and suffering.
“Hughes.” She closes her eyes briefly, before opening them again. “Just answer me. I need to know.”
“You are asking me…what I want from you?” I repeat, trying to focus.
“Yes.”
Running my hand down my face, I shake my head. “What if there’s nothing—”
“Unacceptable.” She closes her hands so tightly that her knuckles stand out. “You have to tell me what you want.”
“You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be, darling—”
“Don’t care. Think of something.”
“Right.” My thumb taps on the table.
“It’s not that difficult,” mutters Sonya.
“I want lots of things.”
“Name one.”
“I—”
“Something of actual value.”
“Okay, because I was going to say an eight-pack, but when I’m committed to the gym, it happens anyway—”
“Be serious—”
“I’m trying—”
“If you don’t answer, I’m walking,” she threatens sharply.
“Sonya, just…don’t.”
“Then tell me what’s something of real value that you want, and it can’t be a joke. Because if this works, if your team helps me and Bob Pepita hires me for his ballet, then I get everything I want. So tell me what you want more than anythi—”
“You.”
Sonya freezes like she’s been caught by some headlights shining suddenly and overly brightly on her. Her pupils dilate.
It’s completely silent for multiple, painful, prolonged heartbeats. Until Sonya finally screws her eyebrows together and swears under her breath. “I said be serious.”
“Yeah. Sorry.” My grin is so artificial it must be a sticker. I laugh. “Let me go again. I want…”
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
When I don’t answer, Sonya stands up. She’s looking down and rubbing at her jeans, the movement mindless. “If you won’t cooperate, then I’ll have to think of something myself.”
“Yes. Do that.” I gesture magnanimously that I’ll accept whatever she comes up with, still reeling from how two seconds ago I declared, out loud and so boldly, that I wanted her.
Sonya begins to pace, slowly ticking her fingers.
“Okay, here’s what I know. Your GM is threatening to trade players before you can pull together as a team.
” Her second finger goes up. “I’m extrapolating because you play it off, but I think the pressures of being a captain are a lot on your shoulders.
” Third finger. “There’s also something about you worrying about being selfish.
” Fourth finger. “And the World Hockey Championship, you wanted to go but didn’t think you deserved to? I haven’t forgotten that.”
I’m gaping at her.
She remembers every clumsy word I blurted out to her from the rage room. The ones I’d played off as nothing.
Her hands hit the surface of the counter and slide closer to me. Like she’s a detective and I’m a suspect, squirming under bright lights. “Are you sleeping properly?”
“No.”
Shit. Why did that answer pop out of me?
A crease forms between her eyebrows. “Are you under a lot of pressure?”
“Yes.” It’s my Sonya problem acting up again. The compulsion to share with her things I don’t tell anyone else becomes even more unruly. It’s under my skin. Inside me.
She taps a finger on her lip, frowning deeply as if she’s genuinely upset. “Does anyone on your team know you feel this way?”
“No.”
What are you doing? Stop dumping this on her.
“Do you want to tell them?” Sonya asks, pausing to stand still.
“No. It’s my problem to figure out. I don’t want to stress any of them out more than they already are. With how our last season went and these trade rumors already flying around, it’s bad enough already.”
“That makes sense,” she says, nodding to herself. “You’re the captain. You want to handle your responsibility on your own. Tell me more about this World Hockey Championship thing.”
“No. That’s—” I clear my throat, hiding a flinch. “That’s a separate issue. It has to do with my past.”
She nods again. “You should forget anything in your past that holds you back. That’s what I’ve done.”
“What happened in your past, darling?”
“What past? I don’t have a past.”
I can’t help but laugh and shake my head. Her deadpan is unbelievable. Admirable, even.
Sonya’s mouth twitches. “Exactly my point. Now you want to be strong for the team, right? I can…help with that.”
“How?”
“It might not seem like it—these blocks have thrown me off, but if I had to guess, there’s something physical going on with me.
Some specific order of steps in my routine that are messing me up.
There’s a factor to it all that I’m not seeing clearly myself since I’m too close to it, but hopefully experts can pick up on quickly.
Anyway, what’s going on with my ballet has nothing to do with my mental fortitude.
” She pushes the sleeves of her top back and looks at me.
“If you need help managing stress and locking it away, I’m really good at that.
I can give you some great advice because I always know what to do and how to be okay. ”
“That…” I sigh. “Would be fucking great.”
“The panic attack was an anomaly. Shock, I think.” Sonya visibly swallows. “Anyway, that’s what I think I can offer—my expertise—that might match what you’re giving me.”
If anyone else heard us talk like this, they might ask if this is a case of the blind leading the blind. You know, two repressed people who would be better served if they honestly got in touch with their emotions—
But it’s just me and Sonya here.
I jump forward and stick my hand out to her, smiling broadly. “Darling, you have a deal.”