Chapter 21 I’d Be Yours, If You Asked
I’d Be Yours, If You Asked
Knox
In third grade I had a crush on this girl, Ophelia, and she was a grade ahead of me.
Ophelia was the it girl in line at the cafeteria.
The boys acted like idiots around her, like eight-year-old boys do when they’re head over heels.
And I was one of them. And so to show Ophelia how much I liked her, during break, I kicked the football against her head.
Clever plan. I thought I was the shit. Absolutely on fire.
Ophelia didn’t think it was so cool. She fell into the mud with her white dress and had to get picked up by her mother.
She didn’t show back up at school for the next two weeks—it turns out that my declaration of love caused her to have a slight concussion.
I can remember the tightness I felt in my chest when Ophelia came back and looked at me like I was the plague incarnate.
I didn’t feel well. Something in me felt strange, and I could feel an odd pressure in my chest. I thought I was sick.
So I went to my mom and told her what was going on.
She laughed. I can still hear how clear her laughter was.
“Knox,” she said. “You’re not sick. You’re in love. ”
That was horrible. I didn’t want that, so I started to howl.
My dad had a logical explanation. “Bronchitis. That’s what bronchitis feels like.”
Yep. Crystal clear. I hung around in bed for a week, played with my Game Boy, and now and again produced some made-up coughs I convinced myself were real while ignoring my mom’s knowing grin whenever she came in to bring me tea.
And now it’s back, that terrible bronchitis.
Following Paisley’s rejection, it crept up quietly to claw its way into my chest and expand.
It’s getting worse from minute to minute and I’m getting more and more pissed off.
Above all, because I let Paisley borrow my car to go buy groceries.
Why? I never—and I mean never—let anyone borrow my Range Rover!
And now I’m sitting here on a stone-hard seat on my way to Breckenridge and freezing my ass off while, instead of warm air, some undefinable stink is being blown through the bus.
I have no idea the last time I took the bus.
I really cannot remember, but the pain I feel in my tailbone as we take a detour through the bumpy mountains makes it abundantly clear that I haven’t missed a thing.
The bus stops in front of the Highline Railroad Park in Breckenridge. The doors slide open, and two kids with their grandparents and a heavy man who took up two seats and spent the whole ride breathing heavily in a whistle get off before I do.
The ice arena is just a few minutes away from the park.
Back when I still played hockey, Wyatt and I were here a lot.
After that, however, I totally ignored it.
I should have come to see him play more often; today I was overcome with a guilty conscience.
Wyatt is always there when I need him. He comes to every one of my competitions, he’s at every show.
At this point, his game is over thanks to how slow the bus is and that frustrates me.
I stuff my hands into my pockets and dig my face into my scarf in order to protect it from the cold. The wind blows the fresh powder toward me, a few delicate flakes find their way into my eyes. I blink them away before opening the door.
The entrance area is overflowing with people talking. Probably about the game, which has to have been over for at least thirty minutes. I automatically sink my head while making my way through the crowd and heading for the players area. It can only be opened from inside, so I send Wyatt a message.
Not even a minute later the door swings open and my man is standing there in in jogging pants and a T-shirt holding a beer. His hair is still wet from the shower. He smells of that Alaska deodorant of his. “I would be happy to see you here if I wasn’t seriously worried.”
“Why?” I slip past him into the players area where it’s not exactly any calmer and hang up my coat and scarf.
A woman with dark hair and long—I mean, really really long—legs catches my eyes and winks.
I’d like to keep eye contact and shoot her my famous smile that, without saying a word, gives away just what it is I’d like to do with her right now.
But Wyatt interrupts by placing a beer in my hand and letting a relaxed burp drift into my face. “Because the last time you were at one of my games was to tell me that Aria had taken off.”
His words sidetrack me from looking past him to the darkhaired beauty. Instead, I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Normally, Wyatt doesn’t speak about Aria at all. He doesn’t mention her. Ever.
“Boredom,” I reply, and shrug with a look of feigned indifference while taking a sip of my beer.
“Ah.” His tone tells me that he doesn’t believe me. He leans against the bar table in front of us and lets his eyes wander over the crowd, before adding in a seemingly indifferent tone, “What’s Paisley up to?”
“How should I know?”
“Man, chill.” Wyatt grins. “Whatever your problem is, you’d better deal with it. This weird Knox is really fucking stressful.”
I grit my teeth. “When are you getting out of here?”
Wyatt puts his bottle to his lips and takes a long drink. Then he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and shrugs. “No idea. Later on there’s a party at a dude from the other team’s house. Maybe I’ll let myself get hammered and forget how shitty life can be sometimes.”
“And you’re telling me I’m the one who needs to deal with his problems?” As Wyatt just looks at me grimly in response, I add, “You can’t go.”
My boy gives a grunting laugh. “Right, totally forgot that you’re my custodian. Next time, I’ll submit a request.”
I roll my eyes. “You’ve got to give me a ride back to Aspen.”
Wyatt, who was just about to put his bottle back to his lips, stops and frowns. “Why?”
I avoid his glance and look instead back at the woman who looks over at me immediately. I run a hand through my hair and grin. “I came on the bus.”
Wyatt stares at me. Apparently, he’s at a loss for words, as it takes a long time before he has anything to say. “You came here on the bus?” he repeats, his voice full of disbelief.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
The woman pushes back her hair and turns her back to me so slowly that I can see her ass move in her skintight jeans. My crotch begins to throb. I like the feeling, it distracts me from this damn “bronchitis.”
“Paisley’s got my car.”
Wyatt chokes on his beer. He coughs and tries to catch his breath. Once he’s gotten it back, he says, “She’s got your Range Rover?”
“Did you catch a puck to the head or something? Why are you repeating everything I say?”
He ignores my comment. “Did you let her?”
“No, she stole it. Of course I lent it to her.”
For a while Wyatt just stares at me. Then he says, “Shit, Knox. Now I know what’s wrong with you. You like this new chalet girl.”
“Shut it.”
Wyatt laughs in disbelief and shakes his head. “Your ride. Incredible.”
“Are you going to give me a lift later or not?”
“Of course.”
“Good.” I polish off my beer in one go, put the empty bottle on the table, and start to move past Wyatt.
“What are you up to?”
“I’m going to get myself what I need.”
I hear Wyatt clicking his tongue as I move toward the brunette beauty. Her full lips break into a wide smile. She shoos off her friend with one hand and leans forward onto the bar table so that her breasts are squeezed upward, giving me an even deeper look into her cleavage.
“You better warn me if I’ve got to count on your friend joining us any second.”
She giggles. “No friend. Just me.”
“Not someone’s girl?” I lean onto the table toward her. “You got a name?”
“Amanda.”
She doesn’t ask what my name is. Of course she doesn’t. She knows who I am. “Nice, Amanda-without-a-friend. What did a beautiful girl like you lose in here?”
Before answering, she wets her lips. Fuck, is she hot. Just what I need. Just what I’ve been missing. I am positive that if I follow my desires, this insufferable feeling that I feel when Paisley is around will disappear.
“My father dragged me here,” she says. “And it’s terribly boring.”
I nod in the direction of the changing rooms. “Shall we change that?”
Her eyes follow mine before she looks back at me. Her sexy glance makes my blood start to boil while transporting it to deeper realms. “I hope you’re good.”
I give a rough laugh. “You have no idea.”
“Then change that.” She turns and moves toward the cabins without looking back to see if I’m following.
A self-righteous smile steals across my face.
This is exactly how it’s all supposed to go.
Quick and without any obligations. A coming and going.
No long-term bronchitis settling into my lungs and weighing me down.
I’ve hardly stepped inside the cabin when I feel her full lips on mine.
And at that moment it starts. The pressure in my chest becomes immeasurable.
My heart begins to hammer uncontrollably and wildly; no pleasant throbbing but something that makes my hands tingle and panic start to spread.
Images of Paisley appear before my inner eye.
Suddenly this all feels wrong. This here—her powerful perfume, her warm breath mixing with my own, her hands working at the buttons of my jeans—all this makes me feel something that I don’t like at all.
Something inside me wants to defend itself.
I have to fight back the feeling of pushing her hands away and simply walking off.
Pull yourself together, Knox. This is what you want. You need this. You’ve done something like this a hundred times. And you’ve always enjoyed it.
Amanda pulls away. Her breath becomes shallow as she goes onto her knees in her high heels and my waistband brushes my knees. I lean my head against the wall of the cabin and close my eyes, try to concentrate on the here and now, on the fact that I want this.
But, fuck, it’s not working! I can feel her lips closing around that part of my body that just a minute ago wanted this so bad, but now…
…it reacts. But in the opposite way to what I need.
“Are you serious?”
I open my eyes, ball my hand in her long mane and touch myself with the other. “It’ll be fine in a second. I just have to… Hold on a sec…”
Amanda stares in disbelief at my penis, which simply doesn’t want to stand up. Regardless of how quickly I move my hand up and down while staring at her breasts, it doesn’t move an inch.
With a disappointed snort she shakes her head. “And to think you were so cocky about this.”
This has got to be the biggest humiliation of my life.
And naturally, as far as I’m concerned, it’s all Paisley’s fault.
I am so fucking angry at her right now that I might even fire her later.
But then there is that other feeling that goes against it.
And suddenly I feel as if I don’t know myself any longer.
“Fuck!” I smash my hand against the locker next to me before leaning my head back against the wall. “Oh, fuck off, will you?”
It’s not her fault. Truly. But right now I feel humiliated and dirty, embarrassed and degraded and powerless, powerless in a way I haven’t felt in ages.
The resounding slap comes two seconds later. I take it. I deserve it. I press my lips together and try to fight the feeling of being small and defenseless.
Unsuccessfully.
Heels over tile. The door slams. Quiet comes down, takes me in, tries to comfort me, but I don’t know if I actually want to be comforted, to be honest, I have no idea what it is I want at all.
It’s as though the quiet wanted to send me a silent whisper, the answer on its lips, word after word, but I can’t hear it.
I could, but I don’t want to. And that’s the thing, right?
The reason I can’t help myself. Why no one can help me.
Because I’m not interested. Because on the day, on that fucking day that I learned death was real, that it laughs in your face while it poisons your heart, on that day I felt so goddamn much that, afterward, I started not to feel anything at all.
And I was okay with that. It was better for me that way.
But ever since Paisley—ever since this girl with the protruding ears and the soft smile, whose dark past I want to kiss away until the sun can shine in her and bring her to shine—I want to feel again. To live again.
And that fucking terrifies me because it’s been a really long time since I’ve known how that even goes.