Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lincoln
Trinity’s lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling. Though she’s been putting on a smile more, I catch her looking miserable when she doesn’t know I’m looking. Sleep and food don’t seem to be helping her much. I’ve gotten glimpses of the feisty woman I boarded the plane with just over a week ago, but she’s not completely herself.
I was planning to go back out looking for help today, but I don’t feel right leaving her when she’s sick.
“Have you ever been anemic?” I ask her as I sip a cup of coffee from the love seat.
“Anemic? No, why do you ask?”
Should I be honest? I know she won’t like it, but I’m frustrated with trying to figure out how bad she’s feeling because she won’t just tell me.
“Anemia can cause fatigue.”
She sighs heavily. “I’m fine. It’s not like I can catch up on work emails, dude. I literally have nothing to do.”
“You don’t want to read anymore?”
“I’ve already read the books that interest me.”
I set my mug on the coffee table and stand up, stretching. “Want to do some bodyweight exercises with me? I can modify everything for your ankle.”
“No, thanks.”
I run a hand over the short beard I’ve grown over the past week. “We have to stay mentally and physically strong, Trin.”
“Please don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I pinch my brows together in confusion.
“Don’t try to be my team captain. I’m not a hockey player you need to motivate to win a game.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not doing that. I’m just concerned about you. The fatigue, the headache, the mood swings--”
“Mood swings?” She sits up and glares at me.
I fight back a smile. “Yeah, like just then, when you went from calm to pissed off in three seconds.”
She shakes her head. “That’s not a mood swing; it’s you .”
I ignore her and keep pushing on what’s going on with her. “It’s not caffeine withdrawal after a week; that would be over by now.”
“Will you just drop it?”
“Do I really seem like the type who drops things?”
“Why don’t you do your exercises and burn off some energy?”
I pick up my mug and take a sip. “I will, but first, I want to know what all of your symptoms are.”
“No thanks, Dr. Dickhead.”
She’s the definition of headstrong. This time, I’m not giving up, though. If there’s something serious going on with her, I need to know what it is.
“You do realize that in the past twenty-four hours, you’ve cooked me a meal, flirted with me, yelled at me, thanked me and called me a dickhead?”
Her lips part and for a couple of seconds, she seems too shocked to speak. “ Flirted with you? You arrogant asshole.”
“Oh, come on. We both know you were teasing me during your bath last night. Talking about how good it felt in that sexy voice, asking me if I have a girlfriend.”
She balks. “That was me being polite. How could you possibly have a girlfriend when you treat women like this?”
I set the mug down again, walking over to the bed. “I’ll stop pushing your buttons if you’ll just tell me what’s wrong with you.”
She gets out of bed and stands face to face with me, having to tilt her head back to meet my eyes because of our height difference.
“What’s wrong with me is you.” Angry tears fill her eyes and I feel a stab of guilt. “You bitch when I’m in a bad mood and accuse me of flirting with you when I’m in a good mood. I can’t win.”
I try a softer approach. “I see you cringing when you don’t know I’m looking. It’s making me crazy not knowing what’s going on with you. Will you just tell me? I don’t care if it’s a...I don’t know, a menstrual thing or whatever, just tell me.”
Her laugh is unamused. “A menstrual thing.” She presses against her temple. “Look, I’m sure this will pass soon. And in the meantime, I’m fine.”
Exasperated, I finally blow. “Fucking talk to me! I’m responsible for your safety and I can’t help you if--”
“It’s serotonin withdrawal, okay? That’s why I’m sick. I’ve been on medication for anxiety for years and it was in my bag when the plane went down. Any other deeply personal things you feel entitled to know about me?”
I close my eyes and drop my chin, feeling like the world’s biggest asshole. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”
“I’ve never been so sick,” she says, sounding defeated. “It’s hard to eat and I feel horrible, plus my anxiety is raging.”
I shake my head and meet her gaze. “You don’t have to tell me anything more. I was wrong to push you like that.”
She shrugs. “You know now, so at least I can stop pretending I’m fine.”
I left her to go look for help when she needed me here. She was sick and probably helpless and I just left. That’s even worse than the way I pushed her to reveal something personal.
Now that I know what’s going on, though, I no longer have a lead ball of dread in my stomach. It’s not something life-threatening.
“How can I help?” I ask.
“Stop being such an asshole?” A smile quirks on her lips.
I laugh. “I deserved that.”
She takes a deep breath. “There’s nothing you can do. I’m hoping the serotonin withdrawal will pass soon, and then I just have to do my best to cope with my anxiety until we get out of here.”
We’re standing so close I can see all the shades of her eyes—dark green with flecks of amber and brown. Her long hair is loose around her shoulders and I feel an urge to reach out and touch a section of it.
She’s Dalton’s sister, though. I have to remind myself of that several times in a row as she looks up at me, her vulnerability so sexy it’s making me hard. I want to be there for her, but I have to draw the line at things turning physical.
“You can talk to me,” I say softly. “About your anxiety. Or whatever. When I got drafted to my first team, one of my teammates had depression and anxiety. I saw what a bitch it can be.”
She looks down and then back up. “I didn’t want you to know because you’re so strong. I already feel so weak from my ankle. I don’t contribute much.”
My hand itches to reach out and cup her cheek, but I can’t. One touch won’t be enough.
“You’re not weak,” I assure her. “We’re in this together every step of the way.”
Her expression softens. “I’m sorry about the mood swings. And about irrationally denying them.”
Damn. She’s a dangerous mix of cute and sexy. I want to pick her up and kiss her until she wraps her legs around me. Get in bed with her and use my mouth and hands to make her forget about feeling sick because she’s so turned on.
“Anyway.” She clears her throat and looks away. “Are you leaving soon to go look for help?”
“Thought maybe I’d wait another day. That okay with you?”
She nods. “Of course. It looks pretty windy out there. I don’t want your tracks to get blown over.”
“I won’t go out when it’s windy.”
She sits back down on the bed. “It’s hard not having anything to do. I’d give anything for a day packed with conference calls and meetings.”
“Will you try something with me?”
Her cheeks flush. “I guess that depends on what it is.”
I can think of many dirty things I’d love to try with her, but I can’t, so I shove the thoughts away. “I work with a mindset coach and we do mindfulness meditation. You want to try it?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Okay, so we need to sit across from each other. Let’s do it on the bed because of your ankle.”
We both get comfortable and I take a few seconds to remember how my mindset coach, Jen, starts these sessions. I used to be dismissive of mindset coaching, but then I started to see the improvements it was making in my life, both on and off the ice.
“Clear your mind of distractions and think about somewhere that feels peaceful to you,” I say. Picture that place and then we’re going to do some breathing where we inhale for three, hold for two, and exhale for four. Breathe deeply. Put a hand right here.” I take her palm and place it beneath her breasts, my thumb brushing over the curve of one breast.
Her eyes flare open slightly from my touch, and I start to get hard again. I foresee a lot of jerking off going down in the outhouse while we’re stuck here.
“You want to feel your chest moving in and out as you breathe. Just focus on that and on the counting.”
She moistens her lips with the tip of her tongue and I let my mind roam for just a second, imagining myself lunging toward her to kiss her and press her down against the mattress.
She’s twenty-six and if only two people have seen her naked, I imagine they were both sexual partners. I already know her well enough to know she’s uptight in bed. Fuck, how I’d love to bring her to the brink over and over with edging, making her tell me what she wants in order to finally get it.
“I’m ready, Linc,” she says softly.
“Right.” I shake myself out of the daydream, hoping she can’t see my erection.
At least I’ve got jeans on instead of the damned long underwear. I sleep with my back to her every night, so I don’t have to worry about her waking up and finding my hard dick poking the bedcovers into the air. Or worse, touching her when I’m on my side facing her.
“Okay, we’re going to inhale for one...two...three.” I keep my hand on hers to make sure her chest is rising and falling. “Hold for one...two. Now a long exhale. One...two...three...four.”
She closes her eyes as I count and she breathes. It’s a heady sensation, having her trust me with the knowledge she has anxiety and being allowed to help her manage it. When we were thrown together in this situation, she was forced to rely on me, but now she’s choosing to.
I’m past the locked gate she puts up to protect herself, and it makes me want to throw my own gate open and let her see me, too.
Dalton’s face appears in my mind, and I imagine myself having to tell him the team captain and friend he trusts like a brother fucked his younger sister when she was in a vulnerable place.
Many times. Because it definitely wouldn’t just be once.
I can’t do it. I mean, I could , but I won’t. I’m a better man than that.
I’ll just have to find a way to resist my primal urges toward Trinity while we’re trapped together in a one-room cabin. With one bed. And a bathtub she likes to soak naked in.
Fuck.