Chapter 22
Sven
twenty-two
. . .
Giving Vanessa space may be the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done. We go on a road trip and she sits with the other staffers at the back of the plane, and she doesn’t so much as look at me during meals, and?—
Pope notices. Other guys do, too, I’m sure. It’s just that Pope is the only one to say anything about it.
“Trouble in paradise?” He mocks as we get ready for practice on the third day of our road trip.
I’m going to beat his face in.
“Easy,” MacGregor says quietly. “He’s not worth getting suspended over.”
On that we can agree, at least.
From a distance, I watch—and as I watch her, I see Andrews watching her, too. And she’s looking back at him.
Does she want him back? Would she rather be with him than with me?
I respect that he doesn’t have feelings for her. But that doesn’t mean she feels the same way. She was so broken up over him, going so far as to concoct this insane plot when he first joined the team, and again last week when we talked after the kiss; she acted like they’d broken up last week rather than years ago. People aren’t that broken up over someone they don’t have feelings for. There is a part of her that still has feelings for him, whether she knows it or not.
So I guess the question is, what do I do about it?
When the plane lands later that night in Boston, I’m exhausted from the travel and the intensity of the game. The only thing I want to do is curl up in my bed and crash. As I fish my car keys out of my bag, I see my teammates headed for their cars, intent on heading home.
Vanessa lingers on the tarmac, her scarf blowing in the wind. Her blonde hair is loose, whipping around her in a maelstrom of waves. She looks like an angel, a sea of yellow and gold nestled amongst the darkness of the night.
“You okay, Nessie?” Andrews shouts to be heard, stopping in front of her.
Our eyes meet.
“I’m good, thanks,” she says, giving him a smile.
Andrews looks back at me over his shoulder, and I nod in passing. He tips his chin.
“I’m here if you need anything. K?” He sets his hand on her shoulder.
My blood boils over. That motherfucker. Is he trying to steal her out from under me? I’m going to?—
“Thanks, Robby,” she says. “I’ll be fine.”
Her eyes flick to mine.
“Do you need a ride home?” I ask lightly, half expecting her to tell me to fuck off and leave her alone.
“I’d love that, thanks,” Vanessa says in that same light tone, like it hasn’t been a week since she said she needed space and we haven’t talked since.
I take her small wheeled suitcase from her hand, rolling it over to my car as she and Andrews exchange another few words before she jogs after me, falling into step beside me.
“Hi,” she says.
Glancing down at her from the corner of my eye, I see her smile and then hide it.
“Hi?”
“We should talk,” she says. She bites her lip. “Um…”
As we reach the car, I open her door, then haul the bags into the trunk and get in on my side, automatically cranking the heat and her seat warmer.
She’s going to break up with me. She doesn’t want to do this anymore. She wants to get back with Andrews. She’s?—
“Sven, I...” She stops, looking down at her hands.
“I don’t want to break up,” I blurt.
She blinks. “Um…”
“I gave you space. I gave you time to get acclimated,” I push on. “I don’t want to break up. However the fuck this started, I’m in this, and you don’t get to avoid me for a week and a half and then dump me in a fucking parking lot.”
Vanessa clears her throat. “I wasn’t breaking up with you,” she says quietly.
“What?”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” she says.
“Isn’t that what ‘we need to talk’ means? I know I don’t always pick up social cues, but?—”
She shakes her head. “I just… I needed some space to regroup, to think about what I want outside of what I want for you and for us.”
“And?”
“And I found out some things, and I’ve done a lot of soul searching, and… well, breaking up is the last thing I want,” she says. “I’m not ready for marriage, I don’t really even want to consider it right now. It should be out of the equation.”
“Okay…”
“I’m okay with causal. I’m even okay with feelings. I just can’t think about forever, at least not yet.” Vanessa’s eyes meet mine, hesitant. “I like you. I do. And I’m working on my shit. Robby and I—we talked, and I’m working on it,” she says. “I just know I’m not in a place yet where I can think about forever. I want to. It’s just not something I can do right now.”
It feels like I’ve been punched in the solar plexus. The breath has been knocked out of me, but I can keep going.
“That’s okay. We don’t need to…”
“I want to date,” Vanessa declares. She gestures between us. “We went from zero to sixty and then to a hundred in the blink of an eye. I want to pause. I want dates. I want to get to know you, the person, and not just as the hot hockey player. We need to get to know each other.”
“I agree,” I tell her evenly.
She pauses. “You do?”
“Yes. We don’t have a game tomorrow. Can I take you out?”
To my surprise, Vanessa smiles. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”
My answering smile stretches from ear to ear.
“Excellent.” I shift the car into gear. “It is a date.”
When I pull up in front of Vanessa’s apartment in Cambridge the next night, I’m a bundle of nerves. It has been a long time since I’ve been out romantically with a woman, and even longer since I cared about dating.
She’s right. We should have been doing this all along.
She lives in a newer building in the trendy part of Cambridge, on the sixth floor of a seven-story building. Taking the elevator up, I knock on the door of number 613 and wipe my sweaty palms on my coat.
The door swings open almost immediately, revealing a tall, curvy redhead wearing a Philly team sweatshirt.
Right. This must be Whitney’s sister.
“Hey, I’m Bex,” she says, holding out her hand, and it takes me a minute to realize she wants to shake mine. “You must be Sven.”
Clearing my throat, I nod. “Yes. Hi. We—You were at Jackson’s wedding. Nine years ago.”
Surprise sketches over her features. “Yes. You and Vanessa… well, I’m sure you remember, considering you’re together now,” she says with an awkward laugh. “Come in. She’s almost ready.”
The apartment is light and airy, bright with white walls covered in framed prints, watercolors and acrylics. There’s a squishy yellow couch and a vibrant forest green armchair, and the small dining table is covered in baby blue enamel.
Shifting my weight, I move the bouquet of winter roses from one hand to the other. “I—um?—”
“Oh, those are gorgeous,” Bex says, spotting the flowers. “She’s going to love them.”
I let out a soft sigh. Good. I rather hoped so.
The front door bangs open, followed by a litany of curses.
“Motherfucking asshole fucker fucking bullshit,” comes from the mouth of a brunette that looks like she could be Bex’s sister – except for the hair.
“You okay, babe?” Bex asks.
“Mitch is a fucking asshole,” the woman snarls. “He—” She stops in her tracks. “You’re Sven. You play for Boston.”
Guarded, I nod.
“Hi. I’m Elsy. I’m Van’s roommate. My best friend Mitch plays for New Orleans,” she says, like that’s an explanation.
I do recall Vanessa mentioning her friend being connected to a hockey player, though…
“What did Mitch do now?” Bex asks soothingly.
“The fucker went and caught that stupid stomach flu that’s been going around,” Elsy groans. “Now he won’t be on the road trip to Boston this weekend.”
That’s right. We’re playing New Orleans on Sunday.
“So you don’t get to see your bestie.” Bex nods. “That does suck. He is an asshole for that.” She winks at me.
“Why don’t you go to him?” I ask, before I can think better of it.
Elsy tilts her head at me. “What do you mean?”
“He’s sick, he can’t travel, so go to New Orleans to see him instead,” I tell her.
“I’ve got work,” she says. “And also, gross, I don’t want his germs.”
“True. Stay far away, don’t bring that nonsense back here,” Bex grins.
“He’s my best friend, we’re not dating,” Elsy says with a kind smile. “I only get to see him once or twice a year because his offseason is my busy season at the symphony. This weekend was supposed to be my chance. I’ve only seen him once since I moved to Boston a year and a half ago.”
“That must be hard,” I comment hollowly, mentally calculating how long it’s been since I saw my parents.
It’s been about a year and a half for me as well. Longer since I’ve seen any of my siblings. I know they’ve been stateside in the last few years for conferences and work obligations, but they haven’t called me up once. Then again, the United States is quite different in size from Sweden, and I travel so frequently…
A door snicks open, and my heart pounds as I hear footsteps down the hallway.
“Hey, have you seen?—”
Vanessa stops in her tracks.
Her mouth drops open.
“Hi,” I say, like an absolute fucking idiot.
“Hi,” she whispers.
She looks like she could be on the cover of a fashion magazine. Her hair is down in loose blonde waves, makeup making her face intense and dramatic while still looking like herself. She’s wearing a long-sleeved lavender dress that skims a few inches above her knees, dark tights, and silvery pumps with a delicate strap around her ankle. The dress’s neckline is fitted to her collarbone, but when she turns, I see the back dips low to her mid back, and my heart thumps at the sight of her smooth, creamy skin on display.
My mouth dries suddenly, and I swallow and lick my lips. “You… you look… Wow.”
A flush spreads over her face. “You like?” Vanessa asks, lifting the hem of her skirt and twirling, showing me the back of her dress again. There’s a little strap connecting the sides of the dress, a simple string so innocent I could probably rip it with my teeth.
I want to.
Need floods my body, overriding my senses. I want to pull her into my arms and kiss her senseless, but my feet are rooted to the spot. I’ve had feelings for her for a long time. I’ve seen her nearly every day for the last four years. But I haven’t needed her like I need her now, like my very breath has been stolen and won’t be returned until she bestows it upon me.
Nodding emphatically several times until I’m sure I look like a bobblehead toy, I hope to convey what my words can’t.
“Yes. Very much. Yes.”
Vanessa makes her way over to me, and as I reach for her, I find the flowers in my hand.
“For you,” I tell her, handing over the bouquet.
“They’re lovely,” she says, taking the cellophane-wrapped bundle and bringing it to her nose to inhale the roses’ scent.
The sound of the plastic wrapper makes me cringe a little inside—it is not my favorite sound, it is right on the list with styrofoam and cardboard scrapes of DO NOT LIKE—but I do my best to hide my reaction.
She pauses, adjusting her grip and making the plastic rustle more, and I die a little.
“What’s wrong?” Vanessa asks.
My shoulders go up around my ears and I shake my head several times. “Nothing.”
“Something is wrong.”
“The—I don’t like the noise. The crinkles.” I give a whole body shiver. “It’s not a good noise.”
“Here, I’ll take that,” Bex cuts in. I almost forgot she and Elsy were still there. “We’ll get rid of the cellophane and put the flowers in water for you.”
Robotically, Vanessa hands over the bouquet, and I do my best to block out the sound of the crinkling plastic as it shifts hands.
This means Vanessa has her hands free, and she places one on my upper arm, rubbing soothingly. “It’s okay,” she says. “It’s gone.”
Swallowing thickly, I bring my eyes to hers. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?” She cocks her head, watching me intently.
“I should be able to—I need to?—”
“You don’t need to do anything, Sven,” she says, and her usage of my name grounds me. “Misophonia is no joke.”
My eyes water. “You—you know what that is?”
“Extreme sensitivity to particular sounds.” She nods. “Noise sensitivity is common among autistic people, but they don’t all have misophonia. Researchers are still looking for a link, though.”
“How…”
Vanessa squeezes my arm. “When you first told me… I started researching. I want to help you, support you. The last thing I want is to be a burden to you or trigger you by accident. I didn’t know enough about autism, and I know it’s all highly relative to each person, but I needed to know the basics, and it isn’t your job to educate me. That’s putting more emotional labor on you, whether you want to do it or not.”
I marvel at this woman. How does she just…
I love you. The words are on the tip of my lips. I want to blurt them out, I want to scream them from the rooftops.
But I don’t. Because if she’s not ready for marriage to be on the table, then I highly doubt she’ll be okay with me definitively declaring my feelings for her, either.
Cupping her cheek with my palm, her skin feels silky soft beneath my fingertips, and her light floral perfume washes over me in a tidal wave of familiarity and comfort.
My eyes on hers, I give her every chance to pull away as I lean down and slowly brush my lips over hers. Her mouth parts on a gasp, though I’m careful to keep the kiss light and sweet, an innocent whisper of lips on lips. Her taste sends a burst of want ricocheting through me, ping-ponging off all my internal organs and coalescing deep in my gut.
Her fingers tighten on my bicep, squeezing me as tightly as a blood pressure cuff. Panic wells within me. Oh no. No, no. She doesn’t like this. I need to?—
I pull back.
My vision blurs, and her eyes are hazy, her lips parted as she stares up at me.
And then she sighs, relinquishing her intense hold and relaxing her grip. Vanessa moves her hand up to my shoulder, then wraps the other arm around my neck, bringing my body flush to hers.
“Hi,” she whispers.
“Hi?”
I think I messed up, but her reaction doesn’t seem to go along with that theory. What do I do now? How do I?—
She crashes her mouth into mine, rough and needy. A wild noise escapes my throat as she licks into my mouth, her tongue tangling with mine. Tilting her head back for a better angle, I deepen the kiss. She lets out a soft pant against my mouth.
“More,” she breathes.
There’s a cough behind me, and slowly, I pull back. Dazed and disoriented, I see her roommates standing on opposite sides of the room, watching us with what seems to be amusement on their faces.
“As much as I’m happy you guys like each other and everything,” Elsy says, “We have a strict rule, no hooking up in the common areas of the apartment.”
Vanessa glares at her roommate, even as a pretty pink blush stains her cheeks. “We weren’t…”
“Girl, you were ten seconds away from climbing him like a tree,” Bex cuts in. “And hey, I get it. He’s hot. But Els is right. We don’t need to see it happen. I’m not a voyeur, and I don’t think you’re really all that into exhibitionism.”
My eyebrow arches up at her casual mention of kink in everyday conversation. Most people I meet in this country are far too repressed to admit to being interested in kink, much less knowledgeable about it.
Bex shrugs. “I’ve been re-reading some of Madison’s books. I forgot how spicy he writes them.”
“We’re leaving now,” Vanessa declares, before I can inquire who this Madison person is, and why he’s writing spicy things. She removes her arms from my body, reaching down to clasp my hand.“You ready?”
“For you?” I link our fingers together and squeeze her hand. She smiles up at me. “Always.”