Chapter 15
DENALI
SECONDHAND EMBARRASSMENT
Holy fuck—I almost kissed Zariah.
Head pounding, I put space between us, heading to my room. What the hell was I supposed to do? What the hell was I supposed to think?
Elijah was already asleep, but I wanted to shake him awake. I wanted to talk to someone about this. I was strung out, pacing beside my bed, only that stemmed from his sister, so I couldn't go to him for advice.
I didn’t mean to move to kiss her, it just happened. And then…she didn’t move away. She didn’t. If anything, she shifted closer.
Was it because of the tension in the moment? Was it because Zariah felt sorry for us? Was it some muscle memory from five years ago? I had no idea, I just knew I wanted to kiss her more than anything else in the world, and I couldn’t.
Because I didn’t want those reasons to factor into Zariah kissing me.
Five years ago, I wanted us to get married.
I knew my parents wouldn’t go for it, so I started working night shifts at my dad’s company to get enough money for a lawyer.
I wanted to emancipate. I thought if I could pay someone to forge my paperwork, I could join the military.
If I could do that, my parents wouldn’t get a say in what I did with Zariah.
And Zariah said no. Like a million times she said no to getting married. I figured she didn’t understand how serious this was, and when she broke up with me, I thought we only had to talk it out because then she’d realize I was right.
I thought I was being romantic, I thought I was going above and beyond.
I didn’t care how uncomfortable she was, because in our future together, it wouldn’t matter.
But I’d never do anything like that again.
I’d never want Zariah to feel cornered or forced into anything. I wanted her eyes to light up when I walked in the room, I wanted her to smile when I said her name. I wanted her to ask if I was coming around because she genuinely wanted me there.
It was more than a want, it was a deep ache inside. A need. Something to fix the wound that never properly healed.
Above all else, I wanted her to want me too. How selfish was that? After everything that happened, how could I still want that? How could I expect that she’d ever want me like that again?
I was restless. The tension refused to ebb away, and it took more than an hour for an uneasy sleep to take me.
One moment, I was staring at the curtains, and then…I was dreaming.
Dreaming about a memory. It wasn’t as sharp as it’d been in real life, but it teetered on the edge, too substantial for me to remember I wasn’t living it. My brain cycled through the events, bringing me up to speed with what I had to remember…
Zariah’s hand was in mine, tugging me towards the grimy bathroom between the rinks, hidden from the rest of practice. She sat me down on the colorful seats just outside of the bathrooms.
Blood dripped from my mouth. It was a dream, but I could taste it.
The bullying had gotten worse and I refused to put up with it anymore.
My biggest bully, Ross, confronted me during one of our weekly games.
For the first time, I didn’t let him fuck with me.
I shoved him back and we went at each other, our teammates jeering us on.
He punched me so hard, I lost a tooth, but this fight was different.
We both knew it. I slammed him against the ice.
It’d been the first fight where they had to separate us, not drag someone off of me.
Zariah left for the bathroom and came out with bunched-up paper towels and toilet paper.
Something was…different.
The dream transformed her. She’d walked into the bathroom as Raya and left as Zariah.
She wasn’t the fifteen-year-old girl in my memory, she was the woman I couldn’t stop staring at.
There were new lines, new shadows. Her lips had a deeper bow, her cheekbones were sharper.
She’d always been pretty but now pretty didn’t cover it.
Zariah was gorgeous. Her body had changed, there were new curves to explore.
Her hips, her waist, her breasts—my fingers ached to touch, to discover those differences.
Zariah cleaned up the blood on my face. “When are your parents coming?”
The coaches made me call my parents on the camp’s landline since Ross knocked out my tooth and all my dad cared about was the dental bill.
“Any minute now. They’re so mad.”
“How are they mad?!” Her mouth twisted. “At least I’m mad for a good reason. Those hockey prick assholes—I hope they stab themselves with their skates.”
I nodded, watching her, thinking about something very different than the bullies who made my life hell.
I was thinking about the hand-holding problem.
Zariah and I had held hands eleven separate times in the last four days. I’d kept a careful count and made a promise to myself. On the tenth time we held hands, I was supposed to do something different. But when the tenth time came around, I choked.
It came and went and I said nothing. I needed to say something now. Had to say something.
I swallowed, ignoring the sharp taste of blood, and her real name slipped out of me, dream and memory bleeding into each other. “Zariah?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I was—I wanted to ask…”
“Ask what?”
“Uh—if I can kiss you…but I—I don’t know how to ask right.”
Her cheeks flushed, but the details were so different. This wasn’t Raya, this was Zariah, and my dream-addled brain was so happy for the update. Her curls brushed against my shoulder—that was new. She smelled like coconut now. She was taller, older, a woman. Everything I wanted.
“I was waiting for you to kiss me.” Zariah blushed harder. “I’ve been wearing lip gloss every day—”
“Really? I thought your lips just looked like that.”
“You thought my lips looked like strawberry-raspberry lip gloss?” She quickly shook her head. “Okay—um—we’re doing this. For real. Kissing.”
I tried to stand up, but Zariah put a hand on my shoulder, keeping me down. I settled back, pulse racing so fast, I could hear the blood roaring in my ears.
“I—I haven’t done this before,” she admitted. “Not even once.”
“Me either.”
“You swear? You’re not just saying that?”
“I promise,” I whispered. “I—I haven’t done any of this before. You’re so pretty—”
Her eyes widened. “You think I’m pretty?”
“I think you’re beautiful. My stomach hurts when you’re around and I’ve never…”
“Me too,” she whispered back.
Zariah gulped. She was so close, her breath washed over me…
I jolted awake in the darkness, heart pounding. I was breathing so hard, I couldn’t tell if those were black spots in my vision or if it was just that dark.
The dream was over. I was in Atlanta, Georgia. I was twenty years old. My jaw didn’t ache anymore, the toothache was gone.
I fumbled for my glasses, checking the time on my phone.
Three in the morning.
Jesus.
Elijah groaned from the other side of the room. “Heeugh? Denali?” he mumbled, his words thick with sleep. “What, you have a nightmare or something?”
I splayed my hand across my chest. “No.”
“Game wasn’t that bad.”
“The game. Right.” My breathing finally evened, and I bowed over, mind whirling. Because that was the most important thing about this trip to everyone else, the game we’d fucked up in front of everyone. I’d completely forgotten about it. The poolside conversation wiped it from my brain.
Clenching the blankets in my hands, I forced myself to calm down. “Elijah?”
“Huh?”
“If time’s passed, aren’t you supposed to fall out of love with people?”
“What?”
“Isn’t that supposed to happen?”
“I swear—I’m going to kick your fucking ass if you don’t go to sleep.”
With a nod, I slumped back, exhausted. I touched my chest again, pressing into my sternum until I could only feel my heartbeat.
“Shit, I hope humans can fall out of love,” Elijah mumbled after a moment of silence. “Or we’re so fucked.”
I tossed and turned the rest of the night, muscles aching from the game, and when I finally woke, Elijah was gone.
Things didn’t feel normal, but sleep provided some clarity. Turning on the shower, I thought about yesterday, about the conversation at the pool. Not the almost-kissing Zariah part, but what she was actually talking about. The reason she wanted to talk to me in the first place.
I dunked my head under the water, really considering it.
A captain is someone who brings the team together, who keeps everyone in line, especially after shit like last night’s game. Montoya fucked up, yes, but I needed to get over it. That would undoubtedly be the right thing to do.
After I dried off, I grabbed my glasses and my phone from the nightstand. I started to type a message.
But I didn’t know what to say.
Because I’d been at that party when Elijah almost killed that football player.
I saw Elijah’s face firsthand at the hospital, when he found out how bad he’d hurt that guy.
I’d been with Elijah when he discovered his girlfriend had blocked him on everything and his friends dropped him.
Elijah had been devastated. He still was.
Except Zariah was right, Montoya wasn’t at fault for everything that happened. But I still couldn’t let it go.
I couldn’t text Montoya.
Instead, I opened our team’s group chat—Snapshot Sluts! I’d send a message to that. It was the best I could do.
me
Last night’s game was just a game that wasn’t an accurate reflection of who we are we have our first real game next week everyone better be ready for it
NickyK
cap said hold off on transfer paperwork for two weeks
Instantly, both of our messages received over twenty thumbs-up signs. I put a hand on my face. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
Stowing my glasses in my backpack, I headed downstairs for breakfast. The lobby was already full of my teammates, but the chatter was unnaturally quiet. I scanned the room, checking on who was eating and who was ready for the bus when I spotted Zariah and Elijah sitting together.
Zariah had her elbow on his shoulder while they talked in low voices. Her dark curls were partly pulled back, two thin braids framing her face—the design was pretty.
Her eyes slid my way and her face brightened.
Brightened seeing me?
Because of…last night? Really? Her lips curved for a smile and my heart skipped a beat. She gave a little wave and motioned me over.
Zariah wanted me at their table?
I raised my hand a little to wave back when someone else headed in from behind me—Montoya.
Holy shit, she was trying to get Montoya’s attention.
Neck burning, I dropped my hand, pretending like I was sliding my backpack off for the pile of bags in the corner.
“That was painful, Captain,” Nick muttered, tossing his bag with mine.
“Shut up.” I muttered back.
Fridge passed by, peeling an orange. “I hate how secondhand embarrassment physically hurts.”
“Shut the hell up,” I muttered.
“Hypocrite.” Nick snickered. “All three of us laughed at Bear and you were cool with that. But when it comes to you and your hard-on for your best friend’s little sister—”
“Why do you keep calling her that?” I gritted out.
“Because you’re the palest dude on this team—you could compete with a sheet of paper—and saying that makes you look like a cartoon crab. Look at you!” Nick elbowed Fridge. “Look at him!”
“It’s bad,” Fridge confirmed.
“It’s fucking hilarious is what it is.” Nick smirked.
“Denali!” Elijah called.
I ignored my teammates and discretely flipped them off on my way to Elijah’s table. Montoya was silent, a splint over his nose. This was my opportunity to clear the air with him.
I drew in a slow breath, taking my chair.
I had to say something. “Morning.”
Montoya glanced my way before quickly returning to his previous position. “Morning.”
“Did you sleep okay?” Zariah asked.
It took me a moment to realize the question was directed to me, and I paused. “Are you talking to me?”
“Yes?”
“Oh.” I cleared my throat. “Okay. I guess.”
“He slept like crap,” Elijah complained. “I had to bear the brunt of it.”
I shot him a look and almost said something, but Zariah interjected, her voice soft. “Yeah, I didn’t sleep well either.”
She took a long sip of her latte, and I watched her. It was too long to stare at her, but the brief words made me warm inside like I was drinking the coffee too.
Cleo strode in, her high heels clicking against the floor. “As your PR director, my word is law. So I’m not joking when I say none of you are allowed to retaliate against this.”
Another hockey player, Sully, frowned. “Mom, what are you talking about?”
“I’m saying if anyone retaliates against this, I’ll be confiscating phones.”
Everyone brought out their phone, disgruntled comments following.
Elijah placed his phone on the table, his volume loud enough for me to hear. A couple of hockey players for Wagner Texas University flashed their ‘W’ signs, skating across the rink, shouting at the camera.
“Gladiators! We have the penalty box ready for you!”
They flashed a shot of their penalty box with papers that said ‘reserved—GLADIATORS’ on them.
WTU was the team we’d compete against for our first official game next Saturday.
It was a stupid video their coaches would no doubt make them take down in an hour, but that stupid video would travel to every college hockey group chat across the country.
Which meant footage of our delightful performance at Selick had broken quarantine.
“What kind of balls does WTU think they have?” Pickles snapped from the buffet. “These guys are fucking losers.”
“Hey, Pickles?” Nick said, his head in his hands. “Newsflash: we’re also fucking losers.”
Impossible as it seemed, the mood in the room soured even more.
I rubbed my temple. “We have thirty minutes until the bus.” I knew Sémajuste was on the phone with his daughter upstairs, and I had to say something before he joined us. “If you have any negative shit to say, say it now. I don’t want Coach to hear it.”
“This isn’t good,” Fridge muttered, his voice dry.
Charlie, a forward, cursed. “We’re the fucking laughingstock of every conference.”
“Might as well say goodbye to the Gulf Coast Cup,” Pickles shot out.
“It was one game,” Zariah interjected. “It wasn’t even part of the season!”
“Oh my god.” Nick slumped to the table. “We still have the rest of the season.”