Chapter Eighteen Skye
Chapter Eighteen
Skye
I wake up slowly.
Not the jump-out-of-bed kind of wake-up that I’m used to, but the kind where my body realizes it’s warm before my brain remembers why.
Violet is in my arms.
She’s curled into me as if she belongs here. Her back is against my chest, my arm is around her middle, and the other is bent awkwardly under the pillow.
Her sex-crazed hair is everywhere, tickling my neck as she breathes. She’s still asleep. I can tell by the rise and fall of her shoulders, deep and regular with no tension at all.
And then I smell it.
Coffee.
I don’t open my eyes right away. I breathe it in, letting it mix with the faint smell of Violet’s coconut shampoo, which I’ve come to love.
The realization hits me that she set the coffee pot timer after the talk had slowed and the darkness got thicker. She must have gotten out of bed just in time to think ahead, to think about the morning, and think about what I would want.
I stare at the ceiling, my jaw clenching and unclenching. This feeling of someone else doing something with me in mind isn’t something I’m used to.
I’m not sure how I feel about it.
Last night comes back to me in pieces. The dark room mixed with her soft voice. She never pushed or judged. I told her things I’ve never told anyone before. Things I’ve worked so hard not to feel. It’s been packed away for years now. I learned to skate around it without looking.
I told her anyway, and she stayed.
That’s probably the worst part.
Because now I’m lying here with her wrapped in my arms, and I regret nothing. Not even the smallest part. If anything, it feels like something has clicked into place. Maybe I’ve put something down that I didn’t even know I was carrying.
I shift slightly, making sure I don’t wake her. She murmurs something that doesn’t make sense and snuggles harder into me. My grip tightens around her instinctively, protectively, before I can stop myself.
Yeah. This is a problem.
A good one. But still.
Milan was supposed to be temporary. A break. A place that existed outside of the real world. And Violet, who somehow sees more than she lets on, was supposed to be a part of this temporary bubble. A week and a half of mornings, of shared silences, and late-night confessions does not equal a future.
Soon we’ll leave. Different flights that lead to different lives.
I make a mental note to not spoil the moment by bringing it up, but also not to forget about it. We’ll need to talk about what happens after Milan. Will she keep that leather choker around her neck once they put out the Olympic torch at the closing ceremonies?
But for now, I’ll remain still.
I breathe in the coffee and the quiet. And I let myself have this morning before the world asks for anything else.
The rink is noisy in a way that makes you shake from the inside out. Pucks are thundering, blades are cutting the ice, and someone is laughing too hard because there’s nowhere else for the tension to go.
Semifinals are tomorrow, so everyone is homed in and on edge. One bad bounce and suddenly everyone’s snapping at each other.
I line up with my stick gripped tightly in my hands. My chest feels the same way. Tight. I remind myself that it’s just practice, but I remind myself of a lot of things.
The pass is clean, and I line up my shot.
An open net.
The practice goalie is drifting along the outside of the rink, and everyone is already calling this shot a goal. I skate up, sliding side to side, and… miss.
The puck goes wide like it’s ashamed to be associated with me. Before I can even think of an appropriate curse word, there’s a flash of motion and a voice that crackles like a firework. Rissa swoops in, takes the puck with ease, and buries it in the net.
“Dang, Cappy.” Rissa flies out of the zone. “If the net were any more open, it’d be emotionally available.”
Laughter fills the rink, and I glare at the red line as if it betrayed me. It’s not that they’re disrespecting me as captain. It’s hockey. That means tough love and hard truths. If you can’t handle either of those, then you shouldn’t be on the ice.
“Head up, Skye.” Riley glides backward in front of me. “You’ve got this.”
“Tomorrow, no mercy goals from your assistant captain,” Coach Madsen yells out from the players’ bench.
“I had it,” I mutter to myself, tapping my stick on my skate before I let my head hang.
“Sure you did,” Paige skates up beside me. “In a parallel universe where gravity takes the day off.”
I can’t help but laugh at her. “You’re an ass.”
“I love it when you sweet-talk me, Cappy.” She winks and skates back toward the net.
We reset. My legs move, my body reacts, but my mind continues to wander to Violet. She was vague this morning. “Busy, stuff to do.” She said it as if she didn’t want to commit to a real answer. I try not to read into it, but I do anyway.
What is she doing right now?
Who is she with?
I hate how the questions multiply when I’m already tired.
The whistle blows through my thoughts. We switch ends. Paige skates past me, tapping my pad with her blocker.
“So.” Her tone is casual. “Where is your woman? Why isn’t she here watching you brick the open nets?”
I snort despite myself. “She’s busy.”
Paige stops in her crease and looks at me. The kind of look that lingers with thoughts she doesn’t want to say out loud. “Busy,” she repeats.
“Yeah.” I let my gaze drift away from hers. “Busy.”
She hums, her lips a thin line, and I skate away. For anyone else, it wouldn’t be a big deal. But because we’re in the skates we’re in, Paige gets territorial when someone tries to get close.
I make one last look toward Paige and watch her drop her stance in the net as the drills begin again. I can feel her burning a question mark into the gear on my back.
The next rep is quick. I shoot sooner this time, harder, and it dings off the post and out. The sound echoes. Coach whoops from the bench.
“Love the enthusiasm,” she calls. “Hate the execution.”
I skate to the corner, breathing hard. The ice has a sharp, cold smell. Tomorrow is important. Tonight is important. And somewhere outside these four walls, Violet is having an entire day that I don’t get to see.
I push back out onto the ice at the whistle, gritting my teeth, determined to skate past the feeling that I’m chasing more than a damn puck.
The Olympic hockey locker room always feels bigger after practice. Long rows of pale wood stalls stretch around the room, each one stamped with names and numbers that still don’t yet feel real to me, even now. Above the benches, hooks sag under the weight of the damp jerseys and shoulder pads.
It’s a different kind of loud as it echoes all around me. Gear thumps on the rubberized floor, tape tears from worn-out sticks, someone’s speaker blares to life, and they get yelled at to turn it down.
I drop onto the bench and begin unlacing my skates. My hands are stiff, and my legs throb with that post-practice ache that means tomorrow is going to hurt no matter what. Hopefully, the adrenaline will be strong enough to carry me past that.
Paige flops down across from me, her pads half-off, her hair sticking out from her bun like Medusa’s snakes. “Okay.” She gestures with her trapper. “We are all still on for tomorrow night, right?”
She’s referring to the exclusive concert Coach Madsen got us tickets to.
“Obviously,” Riley says from a few seats away. “Win or lose.”
“Especially lose,” Rissa adds, leaning against the doorway with a water bottle. “If you’re gonna cry, at least do it with good music.”
There’s a ripple of agreement that runs through the room.
“Celebration or coping mechanism,” I add my two cents to be active in their conversation.
Paige grins at me. “That’s the spirit, Cappy.”
Rochelle turns around on the bench. “And it’s a surprise show. Like, not even officially announced.”
“That’s the best part. We’re VIPs in our country and in the world of Solace. After interviews and treatments, we just go.”
“Late showing,” Rissa adds, counting on her fingers. “But not late, late. You all can duck out early if your precious routines start whining.”
I smirk. “You say that like you don’t ice bath religiously.”
“That’s different,” Riley says for Rissa. “She’s dramatic and responsible.”
I keep ripping into my gear, hanging it in the cubby behind me, and allowing my breathing to settle back to normal. I went super hard on the ice after missing those two open net shots.
Maybe Violet won’t mind sitting at the arena sometime, watching me practice.
I’m sure I can get her some skates and access to the rink, but I don’t know if I should be mixing my personal and professional lives more than I already have.
That could put a bad taste in the team’s mouth, and I’m not sure that’s something I’m willing to do.
Violet has my head so fucked up, but in the best possible way. I need to make sure I keep my boundaries clear with her and with myself. I told her that communication is important, and I need to make sure I’m doing the same.
Fuck.
Maybe I’ll give her some room in my dresser. Tell her she’s moving in with me, not ask, and we’ll go from there.
I shake those thoughts from my head and refocus on the locker room.
The name Solace is being tossed around left and right.
A free concert would have anyone buzzing, especially since it’s a top artist like her.
And her music is always so on point. It hits those feelings that you don’t know how to put into words.
Those feelings you want to talk about, but you’re afraid you’ll make a fool of yourself.
So, you keep the emotions in and just sing along with everyone around you, like you can’t feel it hitting deep.
I sit back against the bench, letting my gear hang behind me like I earned my right to be here. Like, I didn’t just miss two open net shots. Like, my brain isn’t filled with thoughts of a woman instead of the entire reason I’m in Milan.
I let the idea of the concert settle over me. Music, lights, something loud to block out all the other thoughts. And I’m doing it all with my team. I’d offer for Violet to go with us, but she isn’t an Olympian, so she probably wouldn’t get in.
Maybe I can threaten her ex to give up his spot. She said he was here playing on the men’s team.
No. Don’t be fucking stupid.
Paige kicks my knee with her foot. “You’re coming, right? No vanishing captain act?”
“I’ll be there.” And I mean it.
My phone buzzes in my bag, but I don’t bother checking it yet. I sit here, surrounded by the sounds of chaos. Letting the plan exist, and my team fill the room with their laughter and excitement for all the things coming our way.
Tomorrow’s game determines what vibe we’ll carry to the concert, but at least we are all in this together.
I slip my phone from my bag and check the message. It’s from Nora at Keisha’s care facility. She’s having a rough day, but started to perk up around lunch.
Sometimes you have to take the good news with the bad and hope the next day is better.
Unable to stop myself, I pull up the conversation between Violet and me, noticing she hasn’t said anything for a few hours.
Skye: Hey, just wanted to let you know I’ll be back at the hotel later tonight if you want to stop by.
When she doesn’t answer, I send a follow-up.
Skye: The team is going to the surprise Solace concert. Sssshhh, don’t say anything. But maybe you could find a way to sneak in, too?
The text status finally changes to read, and the little bubbles start rolling around the bottom of my screen to tell me she’s typing.
I get butterflies in my stomach. Actual butterflies. I find myself looking around the room to make sure nobody is paying attention to me.
Violet: I am touring the Teatro alla Scala opera house, or I’d say yes. I’d love to stay tonight! Let me know when you’re back at your hotel room. *water splash emoji
Well, I got half of what I wanted. I can’t fault her for wanting to explore more of Milan. I know she loves music, so the opera house is something she’ll enjoy. Honestly, I’m kind of glad she’s doing that without me. I was never really into the history of music or staring at old instruments.
I’m not even sure if that’s what you do at the opera house, but that’s why I’m not the one with the tour tickets.
I get to spend the night with her tonight, and that’s what counts in my book. I still have some things in my drawer that I’ve been dying to try with her, and with the emoji she used at the end of her text, I know she’s ready too.
Plus, the bruise inside her thigh looked a little faded the last time I saw it. Gonna have to reapply my mark.