10. Stefan
10
STEFAN
Coach Barber was in fine form today, and my body aches all over. He really put us through our paces in practice today. What I wouldn’t give for a rubdown from Lexi. That girl has magical hands. Man, I miss teasing JJ about her and her hands. Last I heard, the two of them were ridiculously in love again. But if you ask me, love is for suckers. I was in love once, it didn’t end well—totally my fault—but being in love made me realize you’re vulnerable. That your heart is fragile, especially when it breaks. Looking back, not only did I break her heart but I broke her soul. At the time, I was spiraling and I didn’t want to drag her down with me so I acted out. Could I have ended things in a better way? Probably, but in the end, it worked out for the best for her. Even if her new partner is a complete jackass.
Kallen-fucking-Jones is the star goalie on my old team. Everyone loves him, including my ex.
Waving bye to the team, I grab my gear and head home. I’m going to head up to the rooftop deck and climb into the hot tub and soak my sore muscles.
It’s funny, when I’m up there, even though I live right on the beach and there’s heaps of people wandering around three levels below, when I’m in that tub, it’s like I’m in my own oasis.
Traffic was light and I make it home in record time. Walking inside, I come to a stop when I see Wren on her knees in the middle of the room crying.
Dropping my bag, I walk over to her, and without uttering a word, I pull her into my arms and comfort her as she falls apart. Holding her tight to my chest, Wren sobs her heart out. Running my hand up and down her back, I’m at a loss of what to say but I know that chicks dig hugs, so I quietly sit here holding her as she lets it all out.
Eventually her sobs stop and we silently sit here in the middle of my living room. Wren is snuggled into my chest, and it hits me that this isn’t awkward. She fits against me as if we were created within the same mold. She lifts her head and looks up at me. Her cheeks are tear-stained, and without thinking, I lift my hand and wipe her wet cheeks. “Are you okay?”
She nods and smiles at me, but it’s forced. “It’s just hard.”
“What’s hard?” I ask … holding back the urge to make a joke about being hard.
“She’s gone?—”
“Who’s gone?”
“Mads,” she replies as if I know who Mads is. Then she adds, “And Penn’s all alone and Fletch doesn’t have a mom.”
“Who are Penn and Fletch?”
“Penn’s my brother and Fletch is my nephew.”
Nodding, I process what she’s saying. “When did you all lose Mads?”
“It was before I moved here, she was killed in a car accident. One day she was here and the next she wasn’t. Fletch’s mom is gone, and now Penn is a widower.”
A chuckle escapes me, and Wren looks at me with daggers. “Sorry, I know this isn’t a laughing matter but you’re Wren, you’re brother’s Penn. Clearly your parents liked rhyming names.”
“It’s been a running joke all our lives.”
“I can see why, but what happened today to cause you to fall apart in the middle of my living room?”
“A few months back, we staged an intervention for my brother. He wasn’t coping. He’s fine now but during the intervention, we talked about his rug, the same rug you have. It’s called The Fletcher. It’s how my nephew got his name ’cause they conceived him on that rug, and with that memory in my mind, it hit me that she’s gone and well?—”
“You broke down.”
“Yep.” She nods, letting the ‘p’ pop.
“Tell me about her?”
“You wanna know about Mads?”
“Mmmhmpf.”
Wren smiles and begins. She sits in my embrace and I hold her tight as she tells me all about Mads, her brother, and her nephew.
“You can let me go now.”
“I know I can, but I’m oddly comfy.”
“Me too,” she agrees. “I really need to pee, though.”
“Why don’t you go pee and then join me in the hot tub? You can tell me more about you and your family.”
She nods and mumbles, “I’d like that.”
Shocking me, I miss her being in my arms when she stands up. She offers me her hand, and I take it, but when she tries to pull me up, it ends with her falling on top of me. Her hands land on my shoulders and our gazes catch. Our breaths mingle together and before I do something stupid, like kiss her again, she pulls away and races up to her bedroom. Leaving me sitting here confused about what just happened.
A soft voice from the second floor garners my attention. When I look up, I see Wren standing before me in a sexy as fuck, black halter one-piece swimsuit with cutouts on the side and a towel draped over her shoulder. “You coming?”
“Yeah, just getting drinks. You want one of your girly cans?”
“Please … and we both know that you love the girly cans,” she air quotes girly cans, “more than I do. What with your sweet tooth and all that.”
“Photos or it didn’t happen.” But she’s right, my sweet tooth does like the girly drinks. When she first moved in, I played off the White Claws in my refrigerator as leftovers from a party when they are, in fact, mine.
Grabbing a watermelon White Claw—my favorite—for Wren, a beer for me—because I do not drink that girly sweet shit—and a bag of chips, I make my way up and meet her on the second floor. She takes her drink from me, and together we head up to the rooftop deck.
The sun is shining brightly today, there’s not a cloud in the sky. This is one of the things I love about living in LA. Days like this happen more often than rain, and it never snows here. I don’t miss that, not one bit.
Wren climbs into the tub and she sits in my spot and I frown. She notices the expression on my face.
“Is this your spot?”
“No,” I quickly refute, but she knows I’m full of shit. Her raised eyebrows give it away. “Fine, yes, it is my spot but it’s okay, you can sit there.” With a chuckle, she stands up and wades over to the opposite side and sits back down. “You didn’t have to move.”
“Yes, I did. You’d pout about not sitting in your spot, and we can’t have you pouting.”
Flipping her the bird, I climb in and sit down, in my spot. Leaning back, I rest my head against the edge and I stare up at the sky. “This is my happy place,” I state, breaking the silence.
“I can see why,” she agrees, and when I lift my head, I see her doing the same. She looks much more relaxed now, and as I sit here and watch her, I find myself enthralled by her. Wren comes across as this hard as nails chick, and she is, but underneath her tough exterior, she’s a softie.
“Stop staring,” she utters.
“I’m not,” I defend. “I’m admiring the view.”
“Of me,” she snaps.
“Well, you are in my line of sight, and I can’t help but look.” I point to the sky behind her. “There’s not a cloud out there, and that blue is so, well, blue.”
“Funny that the sky would be blue,” she teases, but she sits up and spins around. Resting her arms on the edge of the tub, she lowers herself down and stares out at the sky. “It really is a stunning shade of blue,” she murmurs. Wren starts mumbling about light refracting and purple and shit, but I’m not really listening. I’m just staring at her.
She looks so carefree and relaxed right now, the opposite of how I found her earlier.
When I walked in and saw her like that, I thought someone had died. It reminded me of that day when I was fifteen and I came home and found my nanna in a similar state, but unlike today, someone did die. Well two someones died, my mom and my younger brother.
…Waving bye to my coach, I trudge up the front stairs. My body aches, I stink and I’m starving. Mom said she was going to cook my favorite for dinner, buffalo chicken mac and cheese. Opening the front door, I step inside and stop mid step when I see my nanna in the middle of the foyer on her knees. She’s crying, full-on sobbing crying. She senses my presence and lifts her head. Tears are cascading down her cheeks. “Stefan,” she blubbers my name and breaks into another round of sobs.
Dropping to my knees, I pull my nanna into my arms and hold on to her as she breaks down. She wraps her arms around my waist and continues to cry into my chest, but when she breaks the news about my mom and brother, the roles reverse. It’s her turn to hold on to me tightly while I break down over the loss of my mom and brother.
“Hey,” a soft voice pulls me back from the memory. “You okay? You have tears in your eyes.”
“I’m fine,” I snap at her.
“You know, what fine stands for?” I stare blankly at her. “Freaked out. Insecure. Neurotic and emotional.”
“I am none of those things,” I refute, but she gives me that Wren look that lets me know she knows I’m full of shit. “Okay, fine. I was thinking about my family.”
“Tell me about them,” she says.
“You want to know about my family?”
“Yep,” she replies before taking a sip. “The more I know about you, the easier it will be to work with you.” She waits for me to continue, but before I can tell her, she adds, “And the sooner we get your image overhauled, the sooner I’m out of here.”
Her “out of here” comment pisses me off and makes me want to clam up tighter than a nun’s cunt. Then, Wren being Wren imparts more of her wisdom. “Studies show that sometimes talking about things is good for the soul.”
“So you want to hear me talk about statistics and plays?”
“I’ll listen to anything you have to say to me. I’m not a monster, Stefan, I only want the best for you.”
“Why?”
“Why what?” she asks, confusion marring her face.
“Why do you care?”
“Well, it’s my job to listen?—”
“So it’s just about the money then?” My hackles are raised, of course she only cares because she’s getting paid.
“Not everything is about money, Stefan. I care because everyone deserves to be happy, but we’re all built differently and that’s what makes each of us unique. Some people are academics. Some are book smart. Some can cook, some can burn water.” We both laugh at that. “Some people are a natural at what they do, like you on the ice. Even though they excel in areas, they lack in others and that’s where I come in. I mold people to be the full package.”
“So you manipulate situations?—”
“No.” She shakes her head and chuckles at my remark. “It’s not manipulating, it’s making people see things differently and giving them the tools to thrive. A garden can’t grow without water and fertilizer. Think of me as fertilizer, helping you to sprout and grow.”
“You want me to think of you as shit?”
“Metaphorically, yes.”
“You are quite phenomenal, Wren Brookes.”
“And you, Stefan D?uchmen, aren’t as tough and mean as you portray.”
“Let’s keep that between us. I have a reputation to uphold.”
“Considering my job is to overhaul said reputation, I don’t think that’ll be possible.”
“Maybe we can meet in the middle?”
“Maybe,” she agrees. “Now, go get another round of drinks and then let’s play twenty questions.”