25. Maya
Maya
By the time we’ve reached his house, Jamie is asleep. At least, I hope he’s asleep and didn’t black out.
Watching what happened with his dad was the single most horrifying thing I’ve ever experienced. I had an idea of what kind of person Ross Booker was, but it doesn’t compare to seeing his violence first hand. The way his expressions shifted…it was sociopathic; there’s no other word to describe it.
And the worst part? Jamie didn’t even try to fight back. He’s more fit, more muscular than Ross, and yet he did nothing to stop his father from nearly killing him. It makes me sick to wonder how many times the same scenario played out over the years without someone intervening.
After pulling into the driveway, I shake his shoulder gently, and his eyes crack open with a groan.
“Hey,” I say gently. “We’re here. Can you walk, or should I go get Drew?”
He rubs the drowsiness from his face and shakes his head. “No, don’t get him. I’m fine.” Opening the door, Jamie hauls himself from the car, and I rush around, catching him under the arm.
Once he’s more stable on his feet, we walk into the house, him leaning heavily on me. Traversing the stairs is a feat, but we manage without causing further injury.
“I really think you should see a doctor,” I suggest, lowering him down onto his bed.
Jamie shakes his head again, kicking off his shoes and tearing off his shirt. “I don’t need a doctor. I’m just a little dizzy. It’ll be better in the morning.” He climbs up into bed, laying on his stomach, and I see that he’s already blossoming a fresh bruise over his ribs.
Deciding I’m not going to leave him like this, I remove my shoes and jacket, climbing in bed next to him. When he feels my weight dip the mattress, Jamie squints his eyes open just enough to look at me beside him.
“What are you doing?” he asks softly, mumbling into the pillow.
“Staying with you,” I answer matter-of-factly, pulling the blankets over myself and lying on my side to face him.
Jamie doesn’t respond, having fallen back to sleep too quickly to not be concerning. I brush a stray curl from his face, letting my fingers flutter over his cheekbone, down his jaw, unable to tear my eyes away from this poor, broken boy, as if I’m truly seeing him for the very first time.
I wake up with strong arms around my waist and a hard, hot body pressing into my back. It takes me a moment to get my bearings and remember where I am: Jamie’s room.
Jamie’s extremely dark, pitch black room.
Slowly, I lift my arm and feel around for my phone to check the time. Almost six in the morning.
I sent my dad a message last night after everything that happened, telling him I was going to stay at a friend’s house.
He probably thinks I meant Chloe, and I’m not going to correct that assumption; at least, not yet.
My friendship with Jamie is tenuous at best. He could regress at any moment and go back to giving me the silent treatment.
Telling my dad I’ve gotten close to him and then Jamie potentially not sticking around? I don’t think I can put Dad through that again.
Movement from behind me pulls me from my thoughts, and Jamie nuzzles his face into my shoulder while nuzzling something else into my backside.
“Jamie? Are you awake?” I ask.
“Five more minutes,” he mutters, and I can’t tell if he’s serious, delirious, or making a joke.
I wiggle in attempt to turn in his hold, but it backfires immediately when Jamie moans gruffly in my ear, pulling my body closer to his. Definitely delirious.
“As fun as this is, I think you’re going to feel guilty about it when you actually wake up,” I say, trying to get free one more time.
“Never,” he says, grinding into me while gliding his fingertips across the skin of my stomach where my shirt has ridden up. “I could never regret you.”
His words combined with the soft kisses he presses behind my ear sends a shiver down my spine and heat directly between my legs.
My breath hitches as he grinds his erection into me again, only this time the noise he lets out is full of pain rather than pleasure.
His arms fall away from me as he rolls over to his back.
Like I’ve been doused in cold water, I sit up and reach for the bedside lamp.
Jamie lays with one arm thrown over his eyes, blocking out the light, and the other hand pressing into his side.
The bruise that peeks out from under his fingers is dark and splotchy, and I immediately lean in for a closer look.
“Jamie, you might have a broken rib,” I speculate, worried.
“It’s not broken,” he says, breathing heavily.
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve had a broken rib before. This doesn’t hurt as bad.”
His confession clogs my throat, the way he so easily accepts pain and bruises and broken bones as if they’re an inevitable part of life.
“How’s your throat? Your head?” I ask, knowing I’m not strong enough to go down the rabbit hole of his past injuries.
“I’ll be fine with some ibuprofen and a shower, baby. Just give me a second.” I know he says the nickname in a slightly sarcastic way, in attempt to lighten the mood, but it sends my heart racing regardless.
“Okay,” I whisper, “Do you—?” Before I can ask if he needs anything else, a sharp knock sounds on the door, followed by Drew letting himself in without giving enough time for a reply.
“Hey, Book—” he starts, but when his eyes find me, sitting in Jamie’s bed, under the covers, a slow, amused, knowing grin spreads across his face. He sticks his tongue in his cheek, presumably to stop himself from saying something inappropriate. “Good morning, Maya.”
I flop back onto the pillow with a groan, causing Drew to laugh, but he doesn’t leave.
“I hate to interrupt whatever’s going on here,” he says, gesturing to the bed, “but Book, you’re going to be late for morning skate. Although, now I understand why.”
Typically, my dad doesn’t have the team practice the morning after a game; he gives them a break and has afternoon practice. But, since today’s New Year’s Eve, I guess he’s decided to give them the afternoon off.
“Jamie, you can’t practice like this,” I say, sitting back up and facing him. Jamie removes his arm from his face and tosses off the covers, standing while gritting his teeth.
“Dude, what the fuck happened to you?” Drew asks, spotting the large bruise on Jamie’s flank.
“Guess I took a pretty hard hit at the game,” Jamie responds, walking toward the en suite bathroom.
“I don’t remember you getting hit,” Drew says, a wrinkle forming between his brows. Jamie waves noncommittally and shuts the bathroom door, blocking us out.
When he hears the shower start running, Drew turns to me. “He didn’t take a hit in the game. I saw him in the locker room and he was fine.”
I bite my lip. Jamie lied to him, meaning Drew doesn’t know about Ross or the abuse. Apparently, Jamie told exactly zero people about what kind of person his father is.
“Maya,” Drew prods, stepping closer, and I shake my head, not able to meet his eyes. I’m a terrible liar, and the moment my eyes meet Drew’s pleading brown ones, I know I’ll cave.
Drew stands in the middle of the room, silent for a moment, and then he asks , “It was Ross, wasn’t it?”
I don’t reply, still avoiding his gaze, and he comes to sit at the foot of the bed.
“He came back with a black eye after Thanksgiving, and that’s not the first time.
He’s come back from California beat up in the past, too.
A split lip or whatever else. It’s the only thing that makes sense.
I suspected, but… Also, you have a terrible poker face, Maya. ”
I release the breath I’ve been holding and finally look at him. I don’t even have to say anything, and Drew knows he’s right.
“Fuck!” he says angrily under his breath. “Why wouldn’t he tell me? Why would he keep going back?!”
I shake my head, viscerally understanding what he’s feeling in this moment. “I don’t know. We didn’t get the chance to talk. I drove him home and he just passed out for the night.”
“I’m calling Coach, telling him Booker’s sick.
Food poisoning or something. But you tell Book that this conversation isn’t over, okay?
” Drew gets up, walking to the door, phone in hand while the other runs through his hair.
“We’re also supposed to have a party here tonight. Do you think I should cancel?”
“He’d probably be mad if you did,” I answer honestly. “He doesn’t want anyone to know, and he doesn’t want special treatment.”
Drew nods, looking unhappy but conceding that I’m probably right. Without another word, he pulls up my dad’s contact information and heads downstairs.
When Jamie finishes showering, he comes out to find me leaning against the headboard.
I tell him that Drew called my dad with an excuse for him to miss practice, and I don’t miss the way his shoulders visibly relax.
“Are we going to talk now?” I ask, patting the bed beside me.
Jamie crawls back across the bed, laying his head in my lap over the blankets. I run my hands through his damp waves, not pressuring him too respond.
“It’s bad, Maya. So fucking bad.”
“What is?”
“The way I grew up. The things I’ve seen; the things I’ve done.”
He’s quiet for a long time, so long I almost think he fell back asleep. But when he speaks, the words that pour from his lips shatter my heart into a million tiny pieces.