Chapter 13 #3
This was the best possible outcome I could have expected after the events of his birthday party.
There was no scene in front of the coaches or attempts to expose our moonlit kiss.
But even as I told myself this, I couldn’t ignore the tightening in my chest or the rush of disappointment that followed.
For whatever twisted reason, I much preferred his relentless teasing to this cold indifference.
It didn’t make sense; nothing ever did when it came to Sebastian.
I’d lost the plot and was descending straight into madness.
There was no other explanation, no way to make sense of my feelings.
How could I both want Sebastian’s attention and detest his very existence?
“Hey, Grace, can I talk to you?”
I was already frowning when I turned to face Landon. At the sight of my scowl, his eyes fell to the ice. Good, I thought. At least he had the decency to look ashamed.
“I want to apologize about this weekend.”
“Are you always so handsy?” I asked.
Landon’s throat bobbed. “No, I promise. That wasn’t me. And if my sister were here, she would smack me upside the head for acting like such a loser. I’m truly sorry I made you uncomfortable.”
“Apology accepted,” I said, sensing that he was entirely sincere—or absolutely terrified of me. I liked to think it was a little of both. “But don’t think I can’t stick up for myself. Sebastian might have beaten me to the punch, but I’m just as capable of saying no.”
Landon smiled. “I’ll never make that mistake, not after watching you take down the golden boy in a matter of weeks.”
It was as if Sebastian could sense we were talking about him.
Over Landon’s shoulder, our eyes connected for the first time all morning.
It looked as though Sebastian had smelled something truly foul from the way his upper lip was curled in disgust. I had no idea what to make of him or of the way he’d been acting all practice.
Clearly, he was mad. That much made sense.
But there was something else in his expression that set me on edge.
All I knew was that it couldn’t bode well for me.
>> <<
Sebastian
“I hate dressing up for Thanksgiving.” I pulled at the collar of my shirt. It felt like a trap. What was the point of wearing a button-up and nice pants when the entire goal of the controversial holiday was to eat yourself into a coma?
“But everyone looks so nice.”
Kent sounded far off, like he was on another planet.
Caroline was standing in his line of vision, dressed in her usual shade of pink and sipping a glass of cider next to the refreshment table.
Shocker. If he ever worked up the courage to ask her out in a way that she couldn’t interpret as joking, I’d buy him a round of shots and a lottery ticket.
Today felt weird. Spending Thanksgiving in a barn on the edge of Coach Riley’s property was not how I’d expected to celebrate.
At least she’d had the foresight to station heaters throughout the drafty building.
In the last few days, the temperature had dropped significantly. Winter was just around the corner.
“Why does it feel like this is a wedding?” Kent mused, looking up at the lights dangling from the ceiling. “Do you think Dawson and Riley hit it off?”
“Coach Riley is married. To a woman,” came a familiar voice from beside me. Coach Dawson had appeared out of nowhere, wearing the same exact button-down and dress pants from the gala. “And I’m also married. Thought you’d know that after four years on my team.”
I held back a snort of laughter as Kent’s ears reddened.
“I need to speak with Sebastian. Give us a moment, will you?” Kent was gone in the blink of an eye, leaving us in an isolated spot near the back of the barn.
“Everything okay, Coach?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine. I just wanted to check in with you. Has Duncan sent in his usual progress report?”
Shock stole my breath in an instant. How could I have forgotten?
Since being drafted, my scout from the Red Wings always sent a mid-season summary.
The report provided an overview of my strengths and instructions on how to improve or further develop certain skills.
Given my injury last season, the only time we’d communicated in the past year had been to discuss my recovery process.
“Sebastian?”
I grabbed my phone and started frantically scrolling though my email, desperate to find something from Duncan. But there was nothing in the last few weeks. I went back to the top of my inbox and searched for his email address. Nothing at all.
“Son, it’s nothing to worry about,” Coach Dawson said, setting a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll come in the next few weeks.”
I could barely hear his voice over the ringing in my ears. What if it wasn’t coming? I tried to recall when exactly the report had come in my freshman and sophomore years. It was always before Thanksgiving. I was sure of that.
“I’m going to get some air.”
Dawson nodded and said, “Take some deep breaths. You have nothing to worry about. I’m your coach, so I can say that with one hundred percent certainty.”
I wanted him to be right, but as I tore out of the barn and into the brisk evening air, there was no mistaking the panic crawling up my throat.
I veered to the left and rounded the side of the barn, my foot catching on a discarded box of supplies.
As I stumbled around the corner, I nearly fell head-first into the side of the barn.
Instead, I caught myself against the wooden structure, and cold seeped through the skin of my palms. Calm down, I thought, desperate to ease the sudden nausea building in my stomach.
Coach was right. There was nothing to worry about, right?
“Are you okay?”
I spun around, breathing shallow, heart seizing within the confines of my chest. Grace was bathed in orange hues from the setting sun, arms wrapped around herself protectively despite the long sleeves of her purple dress.
A strange sensation moved through me as she took a hesitant step forward.
I no longer felt in danger of asphyxiation; my panic was subsiding.
Even my hands felt more steady as I wiped them across the front of my pants and straightened up.
It was pretty fucking obvious by now that I couldn’t escape this absurd force pulling me toward Grace, not even if it jeopardized the future I’d been planning since I was twelve years old.
From the moment I’d seen her and Landon together at practice, I was done for.
I’d tried to drive her away—done everything in my power to make her hate me.
And maybe Grace did hate me, but that hadn’t stopped her from kissing me back on the night of my birthday, and it didn’t change how frustratingly right she felt in my arms. I could pretend all I wanted, but there was no driving her out of my mind.
Grace was too far under my skin; the infection had already taken root.
I needed her like I needed hockey, and that was a terrifying realization.
“Sebastian, what’s wrong?”
Grace took another slow step forward, until she was nearly close enough for me to reach out and touch her.
In less than a second, I had her pressed against the barn, my arms on either side of her head, face buried in the corner of her neck.
I took a long drag of her cherry perfume, my eyes fluttering closed at the intoxicating smell.
Grace held herself deathly still, as if she were fighting the very same instinct that drove me to pin her against the barn.
I lifted my head slowly and placed my lips along the shell of her ear.
She shivered, but I knew it had nothing to do with the cold.
“Is this wrong?” I asked in a low whisper. “Am I scaring you?”
She didn’t respond immediately. Only after a painfully long moment, one that I spent convincing myself that I had completely terrified her, did Grace shake her head. Her admission came as a relief, but it was short-lived. As I leaned forward to press my lips to her jaw, someone called out her name.
“Grace, where’d you go?”
A growl rumbled in the back of my throat, and I tore myself away just as Lydia turned the corner. She stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of us standing close, Grace’s back pressed to the exterior of the building. There was no mistaking the hint of concern in her eyes as she surveyed the scene.
“Is everything okay?” Lydia asked.
I didn’t miss the accusation in her tone.
“Yeah, everything is okay,” Grace said with a shaky breath.
I gave myself one brief moment to take her in, wanting one last look at golden hour reflected in her stare. I’d worship at her feet if she let me, no matter our past. All she had to do was ask. But then she turned and headed back into the barn with her teammate.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Grace.”