13. Scott
CHAPTER 13
Scott
OCTOBER 2022
I ’m running on the treadmill in the gym, somewhere between the third and fifth mile. We have a few machines at home in the hockey house, not much, not a full gym by any means, but for those of us who like to do a lighter workout sometimes, there’s enough to keep us out of trouble.
Free weights and that kind of thing, but there’s no space for a treadmill. At least that’s what Justin keeps telling us. For those of us who like to run, we either have to run outside—my nipples pucker at the thought—come to the on-campus gym or hit the gym close to the rink.
We have options, we’re very lucky. And my money bags best friends have made sure the team has nothing but the best equipment at hand. They deny it was them, but whispers from the older guys on the team suggest that the gear they had before the twins came to UCR and the equipment we use now are very different. And the only thing that changed was the addition of three very rich kids to the team.
I find it hard to believe it’s a coincidence when I see how generous they are with their money.
My legs burn, sweat trickles down the slope of my nose and drips onto my bare chest. The gym’s empty so I’ve tossed my shirt over the handles of the treadmill to my left.
My phone’s playing some 80’s rock tunes making me want to burst into song, but I restrain myself—mostly because I can’t breathe, not because I’m too shy to perform in front of an empty gym.
I crank up the incline on the treadmill. Apparently, today I hate myself. Calves are starting to pulse, and even my butt cheeks are getting tired.
My phone vibrates in the cupholder in front of me. It’s Raffi. While we’re teammates, and housemates, I wouldn’t say we’re BFFs, so seeing his name on my screen has my feet slowing down while the belt keeps turning.
Narrowly missing falling on my face, I hit the emergency stop button and find my footing. It’s not graceful, and a snicker behind me tells me I’m no longer alone, and someone else witnessed my almost-facepalm.
“S’up?”
I press a hand to my chest, my heart’s racing and lungs burning from the whole running-like-a-T-rex-was-chasing-me thing. I feel accomplished, though admittedly exhausted. Legs wobbly, I grab my water bottle, and it’s empty. There’s a refill station in the corner, so as I wait for Raffi to tell me what’s wrong, I get my water on.
“Raffi?”
He’s silent, I don’t know if he butt-dialed me or what, but there’s no noise coming out of his face hole.
“Yeah, I’m here. I just… I don’t know how to put this.”
Something in his tone sends a bolt of ice down my spine. “What’s wrong?”
Suddenly the water doesn’t matter, the aching muscles don’t matter, the beads of sweat idly trickling down my back don’t matter.
“It’s Athena.”
My blood runs cold in my veins, and my racing heart splutters behind my ribs.
“She’s here at the hockey house.”
I release the breath I’d absently held while waiting for news of her demise, and a near-hysterical giggle escapes me. Damn near all of the books we read in book club have the heroine releasing a breath they didn’t know they were holding. I’ve always wondered how someone simply forgets to breathe, until now.
As I tune back in, Raffi’s still talking, and I’ve missed what he’s said.
“Go back. What’s she doing there?”
He clears his throat, but it sounds more nervous than anything. “I found her here, I swear.”
“I believe you. What’s wrong with her?” I’m already slipping my shirt on and making my way out into the parking lot to grab my car and get to her, but I need him to keep talking, to reassure me she’s okay so I don’t break the fuck down.
“I found her crying in the bathroom.”
I start the car. Crying? Athena? Have I ever seen her cry?
Closest I came was probably yesterday when she got glassy eyed on the couch texting me about her piece of shit, asshole father.
He goes quiet for a long moment, and I pick the phone up from the passenger seat to make sure the call is still connected. “Raf?”
“I’m here.” He heaves out a sigh like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. “Sorry. I… I think she has a bruise on her face, man. She locked herself in the bathroom so I can’t talk to her or check on her.” He sounds terrified, of me or her brothers, I’m not sure. “I wasn’t sure who to call.”
“You did the right thing, I’m almost there.” I cruise through an almost amber, okay so mostly red light and hope no blue lights appear behind me. Even if they did, I wouldn’t give a flying fuck.
For Athena, my bright eyes, I wouldn’t stop for red lights. Or blue lights. It would take an act of God to stop me from getting to her.
I abandon my car and haul ass into the hockey house, tossing my keys at the first warm body I see. “Can you fix my parking?”
They don’t ask questions or talk smack; my face must have that ‘don’t fuck with me’ look I’m told I get on the ice. Raffi stands guard at the downstairs bathroom door. He gives me a solemn nod as I approach.
“Still in there?”
He nods, holding up his palms to face me. “I didn’t do it. I swear.”
I grip his shoulder and give a reassuring squeeze. “I know, you don’t need to panic, I know it wasn’t you.” Are we really that terrifying?
Actually, I don’t need the answer to that question. I know we are, but not to our own. Raffi is family, he’d never, not in a bazillion years, hurt the guys’ sister. Never. It didn’t even enter my brain that he could have hurt her. Maybe he needs to hear that.
I pause before I reach to knock on the bathroom door, but Raffi’s already turning to head back into the kitchen.
“Raffi?”
He turns back to me.
“You did good, thank you. And it never even entered my mind that you might have hurt her. We’re family, man. Ride or die.”
His shoulders relax as he nods at me. “Thanks… I just… I dunno.” He rubs the back of his neck.
“Keep this between us for a bit, yeah?”
He nods.
There’s a reason she hasn’t called her brothers or gone to their apartments. There’s a reason she came here, and a tiny voice in my chest is screaming that she sought me out, but I smack it on the head because this isn’t about her and me, this isn’t about the love bubbling inside my body, this is about Athena.
Someone hurt her, and they’re going to die.
“Bright Eyes?” I knock gently on the door. “It’s me, Scott.”
She sniffs on the other side of the door and almost instantly, the lock clicks open. I let myself in, closing and locking the door behind me, not sure what I’m walking in to.
She’s wearing a hoodie, hood pulled up over her head, hair hanging down around her face, shoulders curled, body trembling.
My immediate urge is to pull her against my chest and hold her until we both feel better but not here, not now.
“What do you need? Do you want to stay here?”
Without looking up at me she shakes her head in silence. I doubt she wants to go back to her place, Savannah is there, probably with Justin. Too many ears. If she’d wanted to go there, she would have. And I’d bet every penny of the meager amount in my bank account that she doesn’t want to go to her brothers.
There’s only one place that comes to mind in this moment, quiet, private, and not likely to be walked in on by anyone we know.
“Can you make it out to the car, okay?”
She nods, still not talking.
“Is it okay to put my arm around you?”
Another nod.
As soon as we’re out of the bathroom, I curl an arm around her shoulders and guide her out of the house. Thankfully, no one’s around to ask questions or stop us on the way. I don’t know if that’s down to Raffi doing traffic control or what, but I pick my keys up from the table inside the door and get Athena to my 1983 Chevy Blazer, parked perfectly outside the house, without issue.
Once she’s got her seatbelt on, I pull away from the hockey house and drive into the darkness. My heart’s thrashing inside my body, ricocheting from rib to rib as I drive, the silence crippling me, but Athena works at her own pace, forcing her to talk won’t do either of us any good.
So, we sit, and I wait, and I drive.
About fifteen minutes into our adventure, she reaches across the center console and picks up my hand. I don’t react, don’t look at her, don’t crash the damn car in shock, but I let her plop my hand on her lap and let her hold onto it and idly stroke it as I drive.
I’m not sure if she’s trying to comfort me or draw comfort from me, but either way I can’t deny how nice it is to have one hand on the steering wheel, and one hand clasped between hers.
I find a gravel road to pull into on the way out home to Keystone. We’re near Newhall because I don’t want to wait a single minute longer to look into her eyes or give her the biggest hug of her life.
I cut the ignition, turn on the interior light, and wait some more.
Eventually, she looks up at me from under the hood of her sweater. Her eyes are sad, tear streaked cheeks are flushed pink, and her lip darker red toward the corner like she’s been chewing on it.
When I search her face in the dim light there’s a darkening bruise on her cheek like someone’s swiped a backhand at her.
Incandescent, white-hot rage vibrates through my body like I’ve jumped into an ice bath. It sears my body like an intense, fervid fire, and I can barely contain myself as I cautiously reach out to brush her hair out of her face to get a better look.
She doesn’t flinch or shirk away; she doesn’t drop her eyes from mine. My beautiful, strong, and stoic goddess Athena.
Her nostrils flare a split second before she opens her mouth to speak. “It was Mathias.”