46. Sydney
forty-six
sydney
I am more or less back to normal by the time Dad arrives at the gate. He’s accompanied by some guys on the team, but neither Penn or Oliver are with him.
He kisses Perri, then hugs me and plants a kiss on the top of my head.
“Glad you two are with us,” he says.
Perri gives him a look.
The we need to talk look.
My face heats. “I’m going to use the restroom.”
I move away before either of them can stop me, weaving through the rows of seats. I think I spot some hockey players coming from my right, so I head in the opposite direction.
It takes some time to find a restroom. I lock myself in a stall and plant my foot on the edge of the seat, carefully peeling down my sock and up the legging. The bandage is next, although I’m more gentle with it. I have some extras in my suitcase, but none on me.
The three lines are still very new. The skin around them is bright and angry, and there’s some dried blood smeared across them. They’re not going to truly scab over for another day, maybe.
For a very brief moment, I let myself consider Oliver. The fact that I’m going to see him today. I’m going to come face-to-face with him at least once this weekend—it now seems inevitable. I shudder, my stomach twisting. Before I can touch the cuts, my mouth waters.
It’s the only warning my body usually gives before I vomit.
I take my foot down and fall forward over the toilet just in time to throw up. It’s all yellow bile and water, and it burns in my mouth. I spit, then flush and put my foot up. Back to business, the only thing my mind can focus on. Because my body is clearly revolted at the thought of Oliver.
I dig my nail into the deeper one, nearly gagging again as pain flickers out from the spot. Unlike other pain, it doesn’t travel up my leg. It’s so localized, it’s easy to focus on my ankle instead of my brain. I add another nail and press harder, imagining this pain as a river that sweeps him away.
After a long minute, I stop. My fingernails are coated in blood, and I close the bandage over the cuts. I put everything back to normal and use the toilet, wash my hands, and eye myself in the mirror. My hair is piled on top of my head, I’m not wearing a speck of makeup. My face is sickly pale, minus the dark half-moon circles under my eyes.
The selfish part of me wants to run away. Leave the airport, catch a taxi home, hole up again.
I leave the restroom, and of course I can’t take the easy way out.
Penn waits for me. He’s across the hallway, leaning against a pillar with his feet crossed. He wears a backward ball cap paired with his suit.
His gaze drinks me in, from my toes upward. It finally reaches my face. My eyes.
He winces. I understand that. I, too, have been perpetually disgusted with my image.
I head back to the gate. He follows like a shadow. He doesn’t say anything—why would he? Shadows don’t talk—and keeps some space between us. But his attention sticks on me, and for the first time in a week, I’m too hot for my skin.
Penn is not the feature in my nightmares.
I make it to the gate without running into anyone else. Perri and Dad are in the same spot, but now they’re surrounded by the FSU hockey team. I stop short, and Penn pauses beside me.
“Have you been checking your phone?” he asks in a low voice.
Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him. Don’t ? —
My eyes automatically move sideways, taking in the sight of him without turning my head. I don’t want to see the little details, like that he’s freshly clean shaven, and his tie is the tiniest bit crooked.
“No.” I jerk my head toward our crowd. “It’s in my bag.”
“I meant?—”
“I know what you meant.” I cross my arms over my stomach. “I’m well aware of your intentions.”
Almost without meaning to, I pick Oliver out. He’s slouched in a far seat, head down, scrolling on his phone.
“Does he know I’m here?”
“No.”
“Really?”
“I saw the back of your head when we were coming up to the gate, but he’s been?—”
“I don’t care how he’s been,” I interrupt.
He stays silent.
“If you care at all about me, you won’t let him near me.” I face him fully. “Don’t make me beg, Penn.”
Green eyes meet mine, and a sad smile curves his lips. His expression is so fucking apologetic. I graze the inside of my ankle with my opposite heel. If I was alone, my face would scrunch up. I’d let out a sharp exhale. But since he’s here, I bottle that up and save it for later.
Not willing to see if he’ll actually do it, I lift my chin and head back to my father and stepmom. I keep my expression so blank, I could be mistaken for an ice rink. They smile at me, and I drop into the seat between them.
“Sorry,” I whisper to Perri.
She just shakes her head. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Better,” I lie.
“Our flight is boarding soon,” Dad says.
Penn takes a seat in the row of chairs facing us, diagonally to me. He’s between where I think Oliver sits in relation to us.
Dad stands.
“Guys,” he calls.
They all slowly stop what they’re doing and focus on him.
“You know the rules. No drinking on the flight. We’re going straight from the airport to the rink. Your bags will be transferred to the hotel. Any questions?”
No one speaks. Dad nods and grabs his bag just as the announcements for boarding start. Perri and I rise quickly and follow him, while the rest of the team trails.
At the gate, Dad steps aside. Perri and I are the first of our large group to get on, and I check my seat number. 9A, which is luckily a window seat. Although it’s a fast flight, only an hour and a half, I’d like the option to curl up and sleep.
We get on the plane, and I balk. It’s not that I don’t like flying or am afraid of it… this is just a really small plane.
Two seats on either side of the aisle.
While I stop at row nine, though, Perri keeps going.
“Where are you sitting?” I ask her.
She turns and frowns, coming back to look at my ticket. “You’re supposed to be with us in seventeen. I’m sorry, Sydney. I’m not sure how that happened. Sit there for now, and hopefully we can get someone to switch.”
Great.
I take my seat and watch as the hockey players start to come down the aisle. They have to bend slightly so they don’t knock their heads, which would be comical if I suddenly didn’t feel like throwing up again.
The other goalie boards, quickly followed by Penn. He spots me immediately.
Oliver is next.
I sink lower.
The other goalie stops at my row, glancing from his ticket to the little placard above the seats. And he starts to unfold, but Penn’s hand on his arm stops him.
“Switch with me,” he says. He shoves his ticket at the other goalie and ushers him along, dropping into the seat beside me.
Oliver’s gaze lifts, his brow furrowed.
Until he sees me.
He opens his mouth, but that’s all I see. Penn is suddenly standing, facing Oliver. They have a silent conversation. Oliver flashes his ticket at Penn, just the flutter of paper makes me cringe.
He’s sitting right behind me.
It’s like he’s breathing in my ear. As soon as he takes his seat, I can’t lean back. I sit straight as an arrow, my shoulder against the curved wall of the plane.
“Switch with me,” he says as soon as another player sits beside Oliver.
I nod. We swap, and he flips off Oliver through the space between the seats.
Great. Now he can see me.
I pull my hood up, buckle my seat belt, and slide lower.
“I hate seeing you like this,” Penn whispers. “But I don’t know how to fix it.”
That’s the problem, isn’t it? Neither do I.