16. Benji #2
“Hey,” she says, gesturing back to the bar. “Can you make sure Lisa is okay? I’m going to make sure Grant is all right. It looked like he was bleeding.”
I nod, not bothering to tell her that Grant’s blood leaves his body more often than not. She’ll figure it out soon enough.
She shoots me a grateful smile and scurries off after Grant, disappearing into the dark and the snow. I take a moment to compose myself, and then stalk back to the bar.
I poke my head back inside, but after scanning the crowd for a brief moment, I see no trace of Lisa. Not wanting to get kicked out twice, I turn back outside and check around the corner of the building.
It takes a minute, but I find her tucked against the side of the bar. She has her coat on, but she’s still shivering, eyes closed.
I pause, remembering the last time I approached her when she didn’t want anyone near her. Finally, I decide to call out to her. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
She lets out a shaky exhale, and then peeks at me with one eye. She quickly snaps it shut again, and whispers, “You’re bleeding.”
I swipe a hand across my face and see that she’s right. It must have happened from the hit I took on the side of my cheek. I swipe at my nose once more, and then sniffle. “Bloody nose. I’ll live.” I put my hands in my pockets and assess her. “Are you okay?”
I don’t expect a response, so I’m startled when she answers me. Her voice is hoarse and quiet enough that I barely catch the words. “I don’t do f-fighting.”
I squint at her, unsure what she means by that. “But you…box?”
And you’ve got a mean right hook of your own. I want to add the comment to lift the mood, but I can see now’s not the time.
She lets out a long exhale, and I watch it rise in the cold winter air. When she responds this time, her voice is steadier. “I box so I can feel strong and protect myself. Not to hurt others. There’s a difference, Benji.”
I remain quiet, try to put the pieces together in my mind.
Clearly, she’s been hurt before. She doesn’t like being touched.
And she doesn’t enjoy fighting. She doesn’t trust anyone, not even with her name.
Was it a stranger who hurt her, or someone close to her?
Someone in her family, maybe? Is that why she is trying so hard to disappear into a life that isn’t her own?
I take a cautious step forward. “Let me help. Let’s order a ride and get you home.”
She shakes her head, and when I extend my hand to her, she looks away, closing her eyes.
What is this girl running from? I hate to see her like this. I don’t want her to be afraid anymore. I want her to know she’s safe with me. “I won’t let anyone hurt you,” I promise.
Her eyes snap open, flicking from my face down at my hand. I leave the offer there, waiting patiently as the snow falls softly around us.
When she finally looks back up at me, her eyes are narrowed. “But you hurt people,” she points out, and I can see the tears forming “You just did.”
Ah. My hand drops. I open my mouth to say something more, then close it, because she’s not wrong.
She just witnessed it firsthand. And it’s not just reserved for slimy dudes in dingy bars – it’s something that happens frequently on the ice.
All she has to do is search my name, and she’ll probably find a compilation of my best hits, my best fights.
How do I let her know that there’s a line I’d never cross when it comes to this? How do I win her trust, make her see this something I would never do to her?
I’m not sure there is a way.
“I protect my team, Lisa,” I begin, struggling to find words that would make sense. “I protect my team, and I protect my – my team’s girls.” I fumble, barely avoiding the words my girl. She’s made it clear that’s something she’ll never be.
“What did that guy say to Andi?” I continue. “That made her throw her drink at him?”
She quickly averts her gaze, but not before I see a dark expression cross her face. “Nothing worth repeating,” she mutters.
I frown, but decide not to push it. “Maybe not worth repeating, but probably worth a cocktail to the face.”
She gives a small smile, and it feels like a weight lifting off my chest. I offer my hand again and this time she takes it, stepping into my space.
Her touch is barely there, and I try not to think of how big of a deal it must be for her.
I’ve just used these hands to draw blood. She knows it, and I know it.
I pull her as gently as I can toward the sidewalk, ordering a ride on my phone as we walk.
It’s silent as we wait for our ride to arrive, but not uncomfortable.
The snow is falling softly around us, lit up by the street lights.
The night air is crisp, and the laughter and pulsing music emanating from the bar provides a soft background noise.
It takes a few minutes before Lisa speaks again.
“It was a really expensive drink Andi threw.” Her tone is wistful. “Such a waste.”
I chuckle. “Something tells me Grant will reimburse her. Though he looks even worse than I do, if you can believe it.”
“I can’t,” she says, looking my way and scanning me pointedly. I grin back, fully aware of the dried blood mixing with snowflakes falling on my face. It must be an interesting sight. “The guy Andi doused did throw the first punch. Though,” she adds thoughtfully, “Grant was quick to punch back.”
“He was,” I agree. “And as his teammate, it was my duty to back him up.”
She frowns. “Hockey players are weird.”
I can’t argue with that.