Chapter 16 #2
She looks down at our hands as I thread my fingers through hers, stroking my thumb along the back of her thumb. Her eyes fall shut once more, and her shoulders droop, almost like she’s waving her white flag.
A lesser man would capitalize on her state, but not me.
I’m here for her.
In a low voice, I ask, “What else happened?”
Her lips tremble, and in the smallest voice I think I’ve ever heard come out of her, she tells me, “She said that with my issues, I’ll never make it on the air.” She hiccups. “That no one would be able to trust me to memorize everything and say it perfectly on air.”
Okay, so I’ve lost my fair share of championships, play-offs, and tournaments.
I didn’t get picked for Team USA the first year I was eligible, and I only made it as an alternate when Louis made the team my second time.
All that to say, the anger and disappointment I felt then have nothing on the hellfire that is burning through me now.
I have to internally tell myself to breathe in and out.
To not go on a rampage to make this professional—I use that term loosely—take back everything she said about Ambrosia.
“I know it’s been, like, three days,” she insists, her voice breaking with each word and sending me deeper into a fit of fucking rage. “But it—”
“It’s fucking bullshit,” I grit out, and her wide eyes cut to mine. “Who the hell is she to say anything like that to you? Just because it’s called a disability doesn’t mean it holds you back. Yeah, it may be harder, but fuck if you don’t work for it. How dare she?”
Ambrosia’s eyes burn into mine, hesitation and fear in her whiskey eyes. “She’s my professor. What if she’s right?”
“She’s not,” I say simply, my hand tightening around hers. “She’s being a fucking cunt because your adviser probably called her on her shit. Have you had issues with her before?”
She hesitates but then nods. “She didn’t think I was good enough to go for my master’s, but I thought it was because—” She pauses once more, and I wait with bated breath.
She looks everywhere but at me, and I hate that she doesn’t just speak freely.
I want her to trust me, to know I have her.
I feel like I have done so much to prove that to her.
I could take this as a learning moment and walk away, knowing I tried, but I can’t.
I physically can’t.
Not until I know in my soul she’s not interested.
I know she doesn’t like pretty words, but I say them anyway. “Ambrosia, talk to me. Lean on me, trust me.”
She blinks, her tears flicking from her long lashes. “I’m scared.”
I nod. “I am too.” A tear falls, and I catch it. “I care for you, a lot, and I want to be there for you.”
“But—”
“But nothing,” I say, cutting her off. “Let’s figure this out. Together.”
Her eyes hold my gaze, so dark, so glossy, leaving me breathless. To the point that I feel helpless because I don’t know if she’ll trust me. If she’ll let me help her. As her eyes search mine, I hope she sees how much I care. How deeply I care and that I’m not just bullshitting her.
This isn’t about her body.
This isn’t about my cock.
My history or hers.
This is about making sure she never doubts who she is.
Her sweet little lip trembles, and she whispers, “I dated her son.”
The relief I feel is short-lived before my brows basically touch, and then I remember Dillon Poncy. He graduated two years ago and played for the Bellevue Bullies for four years. He rode the bench most of the time, but he acted like he was the star player.
I had to remind him a few times who owned the spot, and now, I may call up his bitch ass and tell him to come get his fucking mom.
“Dillon?”
She won’t look at me but nods her confirmation. “It was well over two years ago, but we dated for like three months. I don’t know why I am telling you this. I am so embarrassed.”
“Why? He ain’t shit.”
Ambrosia snorts. “He really wasn’t,” she agrees. “I just don’t want you to think less of me.”
Her eyes are so full of fear and sadness that it leaves me breathless. “For dating a guy? Ambrosia, I’ve never dated anyone, only slept with them. At least you tried for the connection.”
Her eyes search mine, and a smile plays on her lips. “Tell me more about that.”
I shake my head. “Good try. Tell me why you’re embarrassed about dating him.”
She chuckles, but it’s empty and soulless.
A sound I don’t like at all. With a long exhale, she admits, “I was enamored with him since he played hockey and enjoyed talking game. At first, that is. Then, when he learned about my dyslexia, he started to treat me like I couldn’t think for myself.
He started talking over me and telling me that I was wrong when I knew I wasn’t.
When I’d go to look it up to prove it to him, he’d laugh at me and start singing the Jeopardy theme song like I was on the clock to get the right answer. I’d get so overwhelmed, I’d just stop.”
If she weren’t beside me and I had my phone, I’d be Googling how to kill Dillon Poncy without getting caught. Maybe instead of Ambrosia’s podcasts, I should start listening to some true crime ones.
I swallow around the lump in my throat and try not to lose my temper as she continues, “His mom showed up at his apartment when I was there, and that’s when I knew things weren’t good between his mom and me.
She always looked down her nose at me during class, and I never understood why.
She never called me Ambrosia, only Ms. Mercer, and I heard her tell Dillon, I was ‘rather lumpy.’” She lets out a self-deprecating laugh, and I squeeze her hand, willing her to know that isn’t the truth at all.
“You’re not lumpy at all, heart-stopper.”
Her lips quirk up in a dazzling grin. “You just want to see my lumpy bits.”
I flash an equally dazzling grin in return. “I do, but first, I want to know if you kicked him in the dick for what his mom said.”
She snorts, shaking her head. “I didn’t.”
“Tragic.”
“True,” she says with a laugh, and it’s finally her normal one.
The one that warms me from the inside out.
“When I confronted him about it, he told me he didn’t care what she said.
That he liked my body. But then when we got intimate, I felt really off and shut it down.
I felt like he was judging me or focusing on my lumpy parts, and it fucked with my head.
He accused me of being a tease and tried to pressure me into going further, and I got pissed. I broke up with him right there.”
Yeah, so I was pissed about what Dr. Fucking Cuntbag Bitch said, but now, I don’t care if I go to jail for murder.
I run my tongue along my teeth and nod, trying to will my heart to slow down in my chest. I clear my throat and watch as another tear trails along her cheek.
“I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself.
” She gradually moves her gaze to mine, her whiskey eyes a little lighter than before.
“As much as I want to believe that a professor at the University of Bellevue would be ethically correct, I am not na?ve. Besides all that, she’s wrong.
” Ambrosia’s lips press together, her eyes never leaving mine.
“Dillon Poncy was an idiot to make you feel anything but perfect. You knew your worth and let his ass go. So don’t let his idiot mother, who raised the idiot Dillon Poncy, have any kind of opinion on your brilliance.
She is a washed-up Channel 5 newscaster.
I know she won an Emmy, but then she became too big for her pantsuits and lost her spot on the channel.
She is angry that you’re going to go so much further than she ever did, and that you knew her son was trash and you dumped him.
” Her lips twitch again, and I smile, squeezing her hand.
“You will reach your goals because you won’t accept anything else.
If you have to memorize every single thing, then I know you will. ”
She blinks, her eyes never wavering from mine as she nods. “I will—hell, I have.”
“I know,” I say softly. “And not that you’re hiding your dyslexia, but Ambrosia, it doesn’t hold you back. I didn’t even know. Fuck, baby, you’re so confident, mesmerizing, and wildly smart.”
Her lips curve a bit, and I feel as if I’ve won a damn medal. She swallows, still looking into my eyes. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
I don’t look away. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I haven’t been nice to you,” she says almost shyly, and she’s so cute, I want to squish her.
I shrug. “I think you’ve been cautious, and I get it.
I don’t have the best reputation, and while you say I’m not your type, I know I am.
But unlike the fools before me, I’ll treat you the way you deserve.
” Her eyes dance with mine, moving back and forth, looking for a lie that isn’t there.
Feeling my confidence flow through me, I declare, “Just waiting for you to give me a chance, heart-stopper.”
Her other hand comes up, and I almost think it’s to touch my face, but instead, she wipes her face.
She looks out at the ice, but before I can follow her gaze, I feel her other hand envelop both of ours.
I look down to see her small hands around my big one before she scoots closer to me, her thigh and arm touching mine.
She looks up at me, and I swear it takes everything in me not to kiss her sweet mouth.
It’s right there.
Mere inches away. But I don’t move.
“Do you need to hit the ice?”
I’m shaking my head before she even finishes her sentence. “Nope.”
“Then why do you have skates on?”
I smile awkwardly. “I had planned on skating to clear my head.”
“Do you need to talk about it?”
I shake my head. “I’m all good now. Just my dad interfering with playing time. It’ll all work out the way it’s supposed to.”
She nods. “It’s your choice.” Before I can react, she flashes me a little smile. Not a full one, but one that says she feels better, which is a win in my book. “But the fact that you came to skate means you’re meant to play hockey, Mr. Sinclair.”
It wasn’t the ice, though. It was you. I can’t say that yet. She’ll run, and I have her so fucking close. I clear my throat. “You haven’t seen me play football, though.”
She holds my gaze, her smile growing just a fraction. “Maybe I should.” I’m fully grinning at this point, but before I can get another word out on the matter, her lips turn down, and she asks, “Can you sit with me for a little bit?”
“I’d love to.”
Ambrosia gives me another small smile before, to my utter surprise, she rests her head on my shoulder.
My eyes fall shut as I lean my head into hers, her coconut scent making me breathless.
My heart kicks up, my stomach does more flips than a gold-medal-winning gymnast, but more than that, a sense of calmness fills me from the inside out.
“Is this okay?” she whispers, and I can’t stop the wide grin that spreads across my lips. I can actually feel my dimples deep in my cheeks.
“More than okay.”
“Thank you, Dawson.”
“Always, Ambrosia,” I say softly, my voice gravelly and full of emotion.
“You can call me Ro.”
My heart skips, trips, and falls right over itself as I squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t know if this is real, but I can see her, feel her, smell her, and it has to be, right? My voice is rough as I say, “Cool, but I want to call you mine.”
She shakes with laughter. “Your confidence knows no bounds, huh, hotshot?”
“When it comes to you? Not at all, heart-stopper.”
She snuggles closer, and I lean in, wanting to become one with her.
Together, we sit.
Quietly.
In the cool air of the rink with nothing on my mind but her.