Chapter 22
ZARIAH
YOU HAVE TO FUCK THAT BOY MORE OFTEN
Denali was drenched in sweat, heaving with hard breaths, as he led me down the hallway. We didn’t stop until he found an empty room.
“I’m playing like shit,” he said, closing the door behind him.
I had no idea why Denali was so agitated. “Two to two isn’t shit.”
“It is shit. Have you seen my stats?” He stopped himself, raking a hand through his damp hair. “Of course you haven’t. I bet you didn’t even know if I still played hockey. There’s no way you’ve seen my stats—I never play like this.”
“Denali—”
“I can’t focus. I can’t think about anything except you.”
The flush was undeniable. I waited for him to continue, to say something to make that insane statement make sense. Except he remained silent and I didn’t know what to say. “Oh. That’s not…good.”
“I used to have this idea that I’d become this big hockey star and you’d regret breaking up with me.” He rolled his eyes at his own admission. He was too upset about the game to be ashamed to tell me this. “I know it’s stupid. I know. But it fueled me to be better. I need that now.”
“I don’t understand—”
“I need you to tell me that you hate me,” he said, his voice firm.
“Hate you?” I blinked. “I—I never said I hate you—”
“I need something to prove, something personal.” Denali took a step closer, my heart flipping at the closeness. “This isn’t some reverse psychology bullshit, I’m not asking you to feel bad and say the opposite. This is what I need for the game. I need you to tell me that you hate me.”
I searched his face, but he was serious. “Denali…”
“Please.”
“I—I can’t say that.”
“Say whatever you want then, just something I can prove wrong.”
“This can’t be the only solution—”
“Say you never want to see me again, say you can’t stand me, say something. It’s what I’ve been using for years. I know it works.”
The words wouldn’t materialize, especially not now. His hair was slicked-back, his skin was gleaming, his broad shoulders took up my vision. And this was Denali—anxious from a game.
Butterflies fluttered inside, I couldn’t deny the tenderness that’d always be there when it came to him. Maybe I had a soft spot for outcasts, but like it or not, I’d always have a weakness for Denali.
I didn’t hate him. I couldn’t.
But…this was what he wanted, wasn’t it?
I didn’t give a shit about a single hockey game in Lubbock. It didn't matter—not to me. But it was clearly important to Denali and that was important to me.
I didn’t want to see Denali anxious.
They were only words. Just words.
“I—I hate you and I never want to see you again,” I tried. The lie was sandpaper on the roof of my mouth, so rough, I internally winced.
Denali stared. His eyes darted to the wall, confused. “I don’t feel anything.”
“Feel anything?”
“I mean, I feel like shit, but that didn’t do anything. I don’t feel adrenaline.”
“Oh.”
“Nothing,” he finally said. “Fuck, I thought this would work.”
“I don’t know what you want from me,” I admitted.
“No, Zariah…forget it. I’m sorry. Again. It’s shitty to put this on you.” He reached for the door. “I have people depending on me, I have an entire team depending on me, and I’m fucking this up. I can’t stop fucking up.”
Denali disappeared into the hallway, muttering to himself. I didn’t know what was going on, but I couldn’t let him leave like that.
“Denali!”
“I don’t know what the fuck to do,” he muttered, still walking away.
“It won’t kill you to calm down—”
“I don’t have time—”
“How are you supposed to play like this?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out—”
“Obviously, your brain needs a break and it’s forcing you to take one—Denali. Denali!”
I quickly walked in front of him and put a hand out, but he didn’t stop in time. He bumped against my hand, immediately coming to a halt, stumbling on his feet until we were frozen, my hand on his chest.
His eyes dropped to my hand, the hard edge to his features disappearing.
Denali was so much taller than before, he had to tilt his head just to gaze down at me. And his chest felt…different. It wasn’t just the thick hockey gear, I could definitely feel his muscles tense under my palm.
A beat passed.
“Your defense is evenly matched,” I said, struggling to keep my tone intact. “Their only advantage is an overly-eager offense—you know this. If you match their energy, you’ll be fine. This isn’t your BTTU game, this isn’t Michigan versus North Dakota, this is WTU—”
His eyebrows furrowed. “What?”
“It’s WTU. In the big picture, it doesn’t matter—”
“BTTU?” He opened his mouth and closed it twice. “You looked up my stats?”
My slip of the tongue exposed me, and my face burned. I couldn’t deny it. I’d scoured through every article I could find about him, about his rise in the ranks at Michigan, until the sportscasters couldn’t understand why he’d plateaued.
His voice was soft. “Zariah?”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “I did. The moment I saw you at Marrs, I did.”
“Oh,” he whispered.
I drew my hand from his chest to stop touching him. That was my intention anyway. But I lingered before reaching up in an all too familiar move. During our summer together, I’d done it so many times.
I touched his cheek. Denali drew in a slow breath.
“It’s two to two,” I whispered. “One point. That’s all you need.”
Denali raised a hand. He wanted to touch mine or touch my face or do something to match my movement, but I stiffened.
This wasn’t like the alumni night, or five years ago, because I was the one deciding where I wanted this to go.
I was the one to stop him in the hallway, I forced him to slow down and listen to me.
Letting Denali touch me was different. But that put us into territory I didn’t want to tread through just yet.
And I didn’t want to lose the control in this conversation because I was afraid I wouldn’t get it back.
Denali watched my expression. Something came over his face and he inhaled.
But he dropped his hand, letting me take charge.
The effect was immediate, my shoulders relaxed.
We weren’t in the past, we were in the here and now. And now, Denali had to calm down. If he restructured his priorities, he’d realize everything would be fine.
“It’s the first game of the season,” I continued. “It’s not the end of your career. Two to two, and you still have two periods left, plenty of time to recover. Honestly? This game’s beneath you.”
Maybe Denali didn’t feel the adrenaline, but I did, it was a shot to my veins. I was lightheaded with it because he understood I wanted us to be on a level playing field, one where he wouldn’t push me into doing whatever he wanted.
Our situation had never been about sex, it was about respect.
Trust. Communication. The lightning strike was close again, but it wasn’t something that’d happen to me, like Denali telling me we needed to get married and ignoring me saying ‘no.’ This was different.
I relished the feeling of it, the goosebumps spreading across my body.
This lightning strike was something I crossed my fingers for.
I leaned up on my tiptoes and took his face in my hands. “It’s okay.”
His voice was husky. “It’s okay.”
“It’s one point.”
“It’s one point.”
Before the lightning strike consumed me, I pressed my lips to his cheek. It was a comfort thing, a familiar thing. An olive branch, a promise, a reset of the boundaries and parameters. It nudged us to new places.
I drew away, and Denali’s eyes were wide. He stared down at me, unmoving.
We were so close, but this time, I didn’t move.
“Wooooah,” Montoya’s voice interrupted down the hall. Denali’s head swiveled towards the noise, but I didn’t need to.
“Hi, Montoya,” I said, breathless.
“I—uh—Coach is looking for you.” With a glance over my shoulder, I saw Montoya burning bright red. “Captain, are you—uh—ready?”
I untangled myself from Denali and he nodded without looking away from me. “Yeah. I’m ready.”
It took me a few minutes to calm down in the hallway. My heart was racing so fast, I had to collect myself. Cleo couldn’t see me like this. But honestly, I should’ve just returned to my seat. From her frown, it was pretty obvious she could tell something happened.
Cleo peered at me like I was a bug under a microscope. “Why are you so red?”
“Huh?”
“Why are you breathing so hard?”
“Uh—”
Her mouth fell open. “Did you make out?”
I couldn’t hide the blush. “Hm?”
“Zariah! Hockey is an intense sport, he needs to rest between periods—”
“We didn’t make out,” I groaned.
She carefully lowered her voice. Above all else, Cleo believed in keeping it clean in the stands. “Did you have sex with Denali?!”
“Look!” I motioned towards the teams heading out to begin the next period. “The game’s starting!”
“If you had a quickie with him upstairs, I’m banning you from future games. I mean it. Even at the Colo. I’ll implement security and—”
Face burning, I watched the refs skate out. Cleo didn’t stop threatening me as I watched the game, on the edge of my seat.
The puck hit the ice and the other team’s forward slammed into Denali. I sucked in a breath, ready for him to flounder, but Denali took the clip to the shoulder without breaking his glide, heading towards WTU’s net.
His stick flashed across the ice.
The goal horn roared.
“What?!” I clapped my hands to my mouth, jumping out of my seat. “OH MY GOD!”
“What?” Cleo asked. “What happened?”
The audience was seconds behind the goal. Everyone was so shocked, the booing was delayed. Shouts of indignation passed between the arena, nobody could believe what happened, and down below, the Gladiators screamed for Denali, surrounding him en masse.
Cleo shot to her feet too. “Was that a goal?!”
The time flashed, and I stared at the numbers, dumbfounded. “That was a seven-second goal. A seven-second goal?!”
The Gladiators cheered when Denali returned after his shift, they grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him while Denali grinned.
Cleo sat again, eyes on me. “Zariah.”
“Yeah?”
“You have to fuck that boy more often.”
Eight to two.