22. Ash
How do you tell someone important to you about the worst part of yourself? The pieces you wish you could gouge out and burn or bury.
The answer: you don’t.
I didn’t tell anyone about the things that made me want to vomit. Scrub my skin until it bled.
Of my teammates, I was sure some would, if not understand, at least be understanding. But enough of them would laugh it off, say it was all part of the job. Navigating off the ice was hard. Sure, I cultivated the playboy persona, but it wrecked me in the end, and it seemed about to do so again.
Olivia’s downturned face as she apologized cut me deeply, and the hurt only exacerbated the bees swarming in my gut.
Beside me, her solid warmth was a grounding presence as I drove through the city on autopilot in silence.
Even when we arrived at the house, I couldn’t speak. Nana’s car was in the garage, so I braced to speak to her. But she left a note on the counter beside a carafe of hot chocolate. It explained she went to bed early and would leave early in the morning, so we should have as much fun as we wanted.
I filled the two mugs Nana left out and pulled the lid off the cookie jar to peer inside.
On second thought, I tucked the jar under my arm and grabbed the mugs.
Olivia followed me down the hallway into the library.
I didn’t know why, but it always felt like a safe space.
Maybe it was from books so familiar they’d become more like family in the hours of my youth not spent practicing or studying.
Maybe it was from spending so much free time with my grandparents here. Outside the kitchen, anyway.
Whatever it was, its magic slid over me, helping steel my bones for what was to come.
The old, colorful glass lamps projected patterns on the walls with dim light, making the space more intimate.
Olivia waited, looking at me as she sipped from her mug. I waited to take in the contemplative look on her face before I dropped a metaphorical bomb on her.
“So,” I began. Olivia leaned forward, cupping the mug in both hands.
“I kind of alluded to how I went through a… wild phase. But I didn’t tell you everything.
” I closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the floral upholstered back of the chair.
“It was after my first big season. I started getting brand deals, bulked up a lot with the trainer. I started getting… attention.”
One of Olivia’s eyebrows lifted, but she didn’t say anything.
“You should’ve seen me before. Tall and gawky with a bad haircut and the worst eyebrows you’ve ever seen. I’m surprised I could see through those things.” I shuddered dramatically, and she let out a tiny laugh. It was enough to keep me going.
For a few moments, Olivia stared blankly while I gathered my thoughts.
“I don’t… I don’t know how to say it other than to spit it out.
Most of the people I slept with were only there for a night with Asher ‘The Basher’, not…
just Ash. Using me for my notoriety and fifteen minutes of being the next person I slept with, or tickets, or meeting someone else.
” With a clink, I set my mug down and rested my head in my hands.
“You’re not ‘Just Ash.’” The slight weight of her hand against my knee nearly made me flinch, it was so unlike her. “Ash. You’re so much more. More than the skates, and muscles, and the stupid cocky grin. And if someone used you, it’s not your fault.”
“I know. And I’m mostly over it now. But tonight, with?—”
“With Brad.” Realization dawned in her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I thought maybe if I got more face time with them, or if I told them you were involved, maybe they’d fucking listen.
But I couldn’t get a word in edgewise.” A long, defeated sigh left her sagging against the arm of the chair.
“I wasn’t thinking of how it might look to you. So, I’m sorry. Again.”
My hand found hers on the small, ornate table. “Once I had a minute to process, I realized. How could you have known if I didn’t tell you? It… brought up a lot. And I started the game off mad. And then fucking Brad.”
“Fucking Brad,” she agreed.
It was gratifying, but there was still one thing I couldn’t wrap my head around. “I still don’t understand why you let him get away with so much. Why do you let him touch you?”
She let her hair fall over her face as her head tipped forward. The lines of her body shrank inward. Somehow, she folded herself like an Origami shape into the chair.
“Every time, I freeze. I hate having this response. But he’s so… casual with it. It’s a lot like—like Alex. Even the cologne he wears. It does something to my brain, and I can’t move. Believe me, I hate it.”
“Thank you for tolerating me.” The words were bitter, though the tone wasn’t. I understood what she meant even if the delivery was… off. “But why haven’t you told him about us?” I gestured between us, though she didn’t look up.
Wrapping her arms around her knees, she squeezed even tighter into the chair.
“For a few reasons. One, I didn’t think he’d believe me, like a Canadian girlfriend situation.
Two, if he did believe me, I thought he’d be gross about it, which he was.
Three, this is so new, I didn’t want to jinx it.
I wanted to keep it to myself for a while.
Or keep it just us.” Her forehead pressed to the top of her knees, muffling her voice.
“I did tell him, though. After… you skated off.”
I winced. “I’m sorry.”
“You startled both of us. The look on his face was priceless though.”
“I still wanna punch that guy,” I mumbled.
“You and me both.”
Silence fell. Not uncomfortable, but full of unsaid things dangling heavily between us.
For a while, I enjoyed it, taking in the sight of her in one of my favorite places, the scent of chocolate and cinnamon permeating the air.
The whole night had a weight to it, the magnetic pull of polar opposites dragging us together.
Eventually, it became too much, and Olivia set her mug down slowly and took my hand between hers.
“Do you want to talk about whatever is still bothering you?”
Unbidden, Nora popped in my head. My erstwhile agent only ever appeared in my mind when I didn't want her there. Even now, nearly five years later, my mouth went dry, and my palms grew damp.
“Not really, but I want you to know. Before all the shit with the calendar before I was.
.. this," I gestured at my body. The implication was there if I couldn't speak the words.
"My agent started coming to games my senior year of college, before I signed with her. That’s common, but she was really…
attentive . And I don't think it meant anything at first. She was young, starting out, trying to make her mark.
I don't know how it happened, but somehow, we started dating. Sort of. Or I thought we were. I should've realized when we only ever went out in cities where we traveled. Where no one would know who either of us was.” My finger followed the line of a foxglove curving along the outside of my forearm. Its poisonous nature wasn’t lost on me.
"And I still don't understand, but I try not to think about it now. "
Thoughtfulness stole over her features, so different from what I expected. Derision, maybe. Pity. Not... understanding.
When she didn’t say anything, I continued.
“We were whatever we were for a couple of years.
Long enough to get attached but not long enough for it to be anything else.
" A spike of old memories prodded me, bringing up a million little things lost to time and hurt.
The scent of her perfume, one I'd never be able to smell again without hating it.
The fall of the blunt, blonde bob she never let me run my fingers through.
"Did something happen? Or..." Olivia's voice cut across the memories gripping me.
"Yeah." It wasn't something I talked about; the wounds cut too deep.
My teammates knew. Hell, anyone who followed sports five years ago probably knew.
Telling her now was like overusing an already sore muscle.
An ache, deeper than maybe it should have been, settled in the center of my chest. "When you Googled me, before, what did you find? "
"A lot of statistics I don't understand. Something about hat tricks and assists."
"Anything else?" The angle of her head as she met my eyes told me enough. "The photoshoot, or..." I trailed off at the familiar furrowing of her brow. "Just the photoshoot then." I almost wished she knew about the rest. It would make it easier.
But what would she think of me once I told her? “Nora was... well... do you want to see it? There are tons of videos of that game.”
“See …?”
“My grandmother told me my agent went out with one of my teammates. Someone caught them making out in a club and it blew up because she was his agent too. I asked her about it, and she said it was a one-time thing, a mistake. And I couldn't even be mad at my teammate because Nora wanted to keep our relationship secret. But a guy on another team punched me out during a game, and we found out how many of us there were. Worst game of my life, too. We all fought over this person who did nothing but hurt us all and we chose to go after each other instead. And that’s when I got the name Basher. It was messed up.”
A slow dawning horror crept over Olivia’s face, the blue of her eyes growing stormy as it spread. Until anger overtook the horror, the crimson spread over her cheeks like a slow-burning fire. At least she didn't interrupt, remaining silent to allow me to finish it all in one fell swoop.
"And I still don't know what her goal was, or if she even had one. But after everything came out, I felt, I don't know, used, I guess. Dirty. In the end, when I confronted her, she said all I was good for was my body—for hockey and a good lay. She never had faith I'd make it far."
Olivia's sharp inhale hissed through her teeth.
"I lost it. I took everything she said to heart and did nothing but prove her right. It's when I did the photo shoot. I wanted to own the new, negative image. Once I got the fame and notoriety, Nora somehow took credit. It’s like I tried to create this thing for myself, to own an incredibly deep hurt she'd caused and…” I took a deep breath, inhaling the faint hint of Olivia’s perfume mingled with the scent of my cologne.
“I realized I was going about it the wrong way, and that was when I started getting the tattoos. The new version of myself no one else had seen. Taking it back, having something for myself.”
I didn’t know what to expect from Olivia, but her palm resting on my jaw to gently lift my face to meet her gaze wasn’t it.
“Ash. I’m proud of you. And I know I said it already, but you are so much more than,” she mimicked my earlier gesture, “the muscles. I hope she got what was coming to her.”
“The agency let her go, but that’s the last I heard. I didn’t want to know more. Distanced myself from the whole… situation.”
“That’s probably smart.” The trace of her thumb across my cheekbone was so comforting, and I let my eyes close as she slid her hand around to cup the back of my neck and press her forehead to mine. “Are you okay? Do you need to process more?”
I knew what she meant. But talking about it brought it too near the surface, and it was best if I let it drift away.
“Let’s go to bed. If you want to stay?” Asking her when I really wanted to beg her not to leave sliced through me like the time I cut my palm on a skate and watched the blood drip red onto fresh ice.
“Of course, I want to stay. If you want me to.”
Thank fuck. If she left, I wasn’t sure what I’d do.
Together, we went through the motions of getting ready for bed, and it was so nice to be silent, not to have to keep up the bravado for once.
Watching her scrub off the makeup I’d watched her put on so meticulously was a revelation.
Seeing her triumphantly pull a toothbrush from her purse made me want to learn every tiny aspect of her; every minute detail making her…
her . Brushing my teeth with her doing the same beside me was a study in parallels and angles, the way our eyes kept meeting and darting away.
At first, I thought she pitied me, but then she winked and stuck out her tongue. And I realized something had shifted. Everything I threw at her, she just…took it. She didn’t run away, hadn’t looked at me differently.
She stayed.