28. Cole
COLE
The room is quiet except for the maddening ticking sound of my alarm clock. I scrub a hand down my face and stare at the ceiling, because I’m used to this.
Or I was.
Until last week.
One minute I was listening to her breathe, and the next I was waking up to light pushing through the blinds and feeling… rested.
It wasn’t until I looked down and found Aurora still curled into my side that I realized I had finally gotten real sleep.
I remember lying there staring at the ceiling, her still tucked against me, my arm half dead under her, and feeling panic hit my chest.
This is bad, my brain said. This is really fucking bad.
I don’t do that. I don’t fall asleep that easily. I don’t let myself relax like that. I don’t trust people enough for my body to just… shut down beside them.
It scared the absolute shit out of me.
So I did what I’m best at.
I shut down.
Slipped my arm out from under her without waking her, took a shower, got dressed, and left for the rink. She’s messaged me multiple times, but I haven’t replied. Because what am I supposed to do with the fact that my body suddenly seems to relax when she’s near?
I didn’t want to need anybody.
If there’s one thing my old man taught me, it’s that the second you get comfortable, that’s when everything goes to shit.
I think she finally took the hint, because she stopped texting two days ago, but I keep catching myself looking at my phone. I’ve missed seeing her name on my screen. Missed knowing she was thinking about me. Missed talking to her.
I thought I was doing the right thing. That if I pulled back now, I could put some space between us before this got any worse. Before all the lines we’d already blurred disappeared completely.
But lying here now, staring into the dark, I know I’ve been bullshitting myself for days.
Ignoring her didn’t fix a damn thing. Didn’t make this cleaner. Didn’t get her out of my head.
I shove myself upright and sit on the edge of the bed, scrubbing both hands down my face before reaching into the drawer for my cigarettes and lighter.
I tap one loose, spark it, and drag the smoke in deep, letting it burn on the way down.
Then I exhale slowly and watch the smoke disappear into the dark.
I grab my phone from the nightstand and unlock it, staring at her unanswered messages. They get shorter, spaced farther apart, like she lost hope, stopped expecting me to answer.
Something tugs at my chest, and I tap out a message.
Me:
Where are you?
I stare at the screen while I exhale smoke, and the second those three little dots pop up, my pulse kicks hard.
Aurora:
Suddenly you remember my number?
My mouth twitches. Fuck, I’ve missed her.
Me:
Stop being a brat and tell me where you are.
Aurora:
Getting fucked by your teammate. Busy. Sorry.
A laugh slips out of me as I stub the cigarette out.
God, she’s insufferable.
A brat. A pain in the ass. And somehow, every second I go without seeing her, my skin itches.
I drag my tongue over my teeth, pull up Ryan’s number, and fire off a text.
Me:
You guys at your place tonight?
Ryan:
Yeah, man. You want to come over? Aurora’s here, so…
I smirk at my phone.
Liar.
I don’t even bother changing. I stay in the T-shirt and gray sweats, grab my keys and helmet, shove my feet into the same boots from yesterday, and head out.
The second my bike starts up, the thought hits me that this might be a bad idea.
I go anyway.
Because I’m done fighting myself over something I want.
I pull up outside their place, kill the engine, set my helmet on the bike, and head up the stairs. I can hear voices from inside before I even reach the door, so instead of knocking, I grab the handle and walk in.
The hinges squeak when I push it open, and every head in the room turns.
My eyes sweep over the couch first, landing on Nathan and Logan sitting side by side. Those two came out in the most public way possible, kissing in the locker room in front of the whole team, but at least it happened how they wanted it to. On their terms.
I’ll take what I overheard in the shower to my grave.
As far as they’re concerned, nobody knew until they decided they were ready to let people know—if we disregard them walking in on us at the party—and I’m happy for them. Especially Nathan. He looks lighter. Happier than I think I’ve ever seen him.
I think I understand now how one person can shift something in you so completely that they change you.
That’s why I’m here.
Because I want her in my life, and I’m done pretending I don’t.
Logan’s hand stills on Nathan’s hair, the smile fading off his face the second he sees me, and I’m sure he’s wondering what I’m doing here.
I barely notice.
My gaze keeps moving until it lands on her, curled into the couch with her legs tucked under her, those blue eyes going wide the second they meet mine.
I’m sure everyone else is staring too, since I never usually come here. I wouldn’t know.
I’m not looking at any of them.
Her blonde hair spills around her face, that little line appears between her brows, and her mouth sets in a pout that makes me dizzy.
I walk straight across the room, ignoring every eye on me.
Aurora straightens in her chair, staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Uh. What the hell are you—?”
I don’t let her finish. I just bend, haul her up, and throw her over my shoulder.
“What the fuck?” she yelps, kicking her feet. “Cole. Are you actually serious right now? Put me the fuck down.”
I ignore her and head for the door. I feel every pair of eyes in the house on me, but I don’t give a shit.
I close the door behind us, set her down beside my bike, and she yanks her arm free the second her feet hit the ground, turning on me with her hair all over the place and murder in those viper eyes. It’d be more intimidating if she didn’t also look half asleep.
“Are you insane?” she snaps. “What the hell was that?”
I don’t fucking know.
“I can’t sleep,” I tell her.
She huffs out a breath and folds her arms over her chest. “And what exactly does that have to do with me?”
“I can when you’re there.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t say a word.
Just stares at me. She’s still staring when I set the helmet on her head, then swing back onto the bike.
My body relaxes when I feel her climb on behind me, and when her hands settle at my waist, something in me eases.
Again. Same way it did that first night she fell asleep on my chest, like my body’s already decided she means safe.
When we pull up to my place, I turn the engine off and climb off the bike, reaching for the helmet on her head. I smooth her hair back once it’s off, my hands lingering while I just… look at her.
What the hell has this girl done to me?
“I can’t go inside,” she blurts out, which makes me snap out of my thoughts.
My brows pull together. “Why not?”
A sigh leaves her lips. “I’m… out of commission.”
I lift a brow, tucking the helmet under my arm. “Didn’t realize I was paying.”
She gives me a flat look. “I’m on my period, asshole,” she says. “We can’t fuck.”
The first thing I feel is relief. Stupid, instant relief that she’s not saying no because she’s done with me.
But then I feel irritated because she thinks I only brought her here to have sex.
“Who said anything about fucking, Prescott? I need sleep. That’s it.”
She just looks at me, like she’s trying to figure out if I’m serious. Her lips part slightly, the wind pushing strands of hair across her face, and I want to kiss her so badly.
I grip the helmet a little tighter instead.
“C’mon,” I say. “It’s cold.”
I jam the key into the door and push it open, flicking on the lamp by my bed. When I turn back, she’s still standing by the doorway with her arms folded over herself.
I shrug out of my jacket. “You planning on standing there all night?”
She gives me a look, but pushes off the wall and sits on the edge of my bed. I grab a clean shirt and walk over, and the second I stop in front of her, she narrows her eyes.
“I can do it myself,” she says.
“I know.”
She holds my gaze for a second longer, then lets out a breath and lifts her arms so I can pull her hoodie over her head and slide my shirt down over her.
Part of it’s just wanting her comfortable, but mostly it’s just the much less noble fact that I like seeing her in my clothes way more than I should.
She kicks her shoes off, and climbs further onto the bed and pulls the covers over herself, but while I’m stripping off my own clothes, I catch the way she keeps shifting, her eyes squeezing shut every few seconds.
I tug off my hoodie, toss it aside, and head for the kitchen, opening the cabinet above the stove and grabbing the heating pad I use after games, when my shoulder’s wrecked or my back’s locked up so badly I can barely turn my head.
I plug it in on the counter, grab a bottle of water from the fridge, then dig through the drawer until I find some painkillers.
When I make my way to the bed, she’s curled on her side with the blanket pulled up to her waist, and her lips part a little as her gaze drops to the heating pad.
“Why do you have that?”
I glance down at it, suddenly feeling kind of stupid standing there holding all this shit like I have any idea what I’m doing. “I use it after games,” I mutter, lifting a shoulder. “Figured it might help. With the cramps.”
Her lips tug into the smallest smile as she takes the water and painkillers when I hand them over. She swallows the pills, takes another sip of water, and I peel the blanket back just enough to slide the heating pad underneath, settling it low on her stomach.
She sucks in a breath the second the heat hits her, a soft sound slipping out before she can stop it.
“That’s…” Her eyes drift shut. “Okay. Yeah. That’s really good.”
I climb in beside her and pull the blanket up over us. She turns onto her side to face me, her cheek pressed into my pillow, her eyes already heavy, and a smile pulls at my lips.