Chapter Thirty-Four Sadie
For a moment, I think Rhys will deny me and shut down the conversation.
But he only breathes a little heavier and asks if he can put clothes on. I want to say no, because covering his body feels like a crime. But his skin is also distracting, so he dresses in gray sweatpants and a shirt just like the one I stole and returns to his spot across from me on the bed.
“Everything hurt. But I don’t really remember the hit. I remember seeing him coming, then the panic of not being able to see anything. I thought I was dying.” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “And then, I thought I was dying every night .”
I wonder if I’ll pass out from how hard my heart is hammering, like I’m absorbing his anxiety and fear from those days.
“I couldn’t sleep. At first, it was just the flashbacks keeping me from even fading off.
Then, when I did fall asleep, I’d wake up—or my mom would shake me awake—because I was screaming face down in a pillow and I couldn’t breathe.
” He huffs, closing his eyes tightly and pulling on his shirt. “I really scared her the first month.”
God .
“So I just… stopped.”
“Stopped what?”
“Sleeping.”
My chest burns at the nonchalant shrug that accompanies the heartbreaking confession. “F-for how long?”
“I could go about ten days in a row before I passed out somewhere, but because I was recovering at home, my mom realized something was wrong. So I got some sleeping pills in addition to the pain pills, and a very irritating therapist.”
“Like, for your recovery? A sports therapist?”
He shakes his head. “No. I had one of those, too, but my parents insisted on a therapist who focused on mental health for athletes. I can’t imagine how much she cost them, but…” He shrugs again, and his fingers start a pattern across my exposed thigh, just brushing up beneath the pooled fabric.
It’s distracting, but it’s more comforting than anything else.
“Rhys.”
“And then, after that… I just felt numb . Like there was this dark shadow where everything good was and I couldn’t reach it anymore.
” He laughs, a real one this time, and raises his eyes to mine.
“And then. ” He stretches out the word and kisses my nose.
“This little punk figure skater grabbed my wrist and told me not to touch her, and I felt something . I was scared I’d never see her again. ”
“Oh?” I’m dizzy, spinning in the well of his brown eyes. I think I’ll drown in his dimples if they grow any deeper. “And then?”
I probably sound like an idiot, but as long as he’s looking at me like that, I don’t care.
Rhys nuzzles my cheek with his, a slight scrape from the stubble that he hasn’t shaved yet, and then his mouth is at my ear.
“And then, she was there with me. Again and again.” But he pulls back with a serious look as he keeps his grip on my jaw and draws my eyes to his. “And then, I started to use her like a crutch.”
I wince at the harsh truth. “It’s okay—”
“It’s not,” he cuts me off. But he smiles lightly, and continues, “I’m back in therapy. I shouldn’t have stopped—and I should not have used you like that.”
I want to tell him that I want him to use me forever, but I know he’s confessing something deep. Showing me that this thing between us isn’t just shared pain anymore; it isn’t emotional release. It’s something real. Something precious.
Rhys kisses my cheek and tangles my hair around his fingers, bracing my head. “Being with you—hell, just being around you, was the only time I felt anything for a long time.”
I open to him, our mouths meeting as he holds me completely at his mercy.
Because of how small I am—even though I’m pretty sure I could kill a guy with my thigh muscles if I really needed to—I’ve always maintained control when it comes to hookups.
Being on top, making it solely about my pleasure, keeping strict boundaries about what they could touch. But with Rhys, I don’t need to.
Because I trust him .
I say it aloud as soon as I realize it, basking in the light that ignites in his eyes.
He looks like he wants to say something, but shakes his head and kisses me through endless smiles and laughter, until we tumble back beneath the sheets together.
We emerge from his room in the midmorning when our stomachs are both growling and we’ve run out of the expensive protein bars stashed in Rhys’s mini fridge.
He goes down before me so that I can freshen up—again, since we’ve been unable to remove our hands from each other—and call Ro to check on the boys.
She dropped them at school this morning, happy and fed, and I know they both have after-school programs until late.
I also know, from the very well-maintained whiteboard calendar above Rhys’s desk, that he has to get on a bus in two hours for his away game.
It’s at Union College tonight, and to complete the little picture of Waterfell Hockey Captain Rhys, I see a printout of the opposing team’s stats with scribbled notes about different players.
Smirking, I grab a pen from the holder and scrawl a quick Good luck, hotshot with a winky face across the bottom.
I find my leggings from the night before, as well as my bra and underwear, but I do wear the shirt with Rhys’s name on the back for my trek to the kitchen.
Only, when I step out of his bedroom, there’s a shuffling noise.
A leggy blonde is bouncing on the balls of her tall-sock-clad feet and shoving a very large black Lab away from one of the bedroom doors.
She finally gets the whining animal back, murmuring softly to it before closing the door as quietly as possible.
Her hair is in a high, messy bun and a massive threadbare shirt covers her like a dress.
It’s clear she’s trying to leave without getting caught.
“You okay?” I ask, walking toward her.
But I freeze completely when she spins to me, a set of anxious, wide brown eyes locking on to me. Eyes that belong to none other than Paloma Blake.
We gape at each other, frozen and unsure.
She straightens first, pulling her back tight so her posture is more confident.
“Slept over, did you?” I say, sounding snarky, then step past her to lumber down the stairs.
“Seems you did too, huh?” She smiles, stepping with me. “I guess I should just disregard our little conversation, huh?”
My temper flares, but I don’t know how amendable the team would be to me pushing their precious puck bunny down the stairs. Or clawing her eyes out—though I don’t think my short nails will hold up to her sharp ones.
We’ve nearly reached the bottom when a booming laugh echoes from nearby and Paloma grabs my arm tight .
“Jesus, Blake,” I snap, but her other hand slaps over my mouth.
“Can you just…” She sighs, and I swear if I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was going to cry. “Can you not say anything about me? Just go in there and keep all of them distracted?”
I don’t want to help her. I can’t stand her. But she looks remarkably desperate.
“What the hell is your problem?” I whisper, my words barely audible over her firm hand.
Her eyes flare. “God, Sadie, don’t be such a bitch.”
“Takes one to know one,” I say, pulling her hand off. “Now get out of here before I change my mind and decide to announce your presence like we’re at medieval court.”
She’s gone faster than the words come out, but still manages to close the door carefully.
Just as she does, the player I recognize from when he answered the door last night appears around the corner. He looks like a sweeter version of Freddy, like an innocent, handsome boy instead of the cat that caught the canary.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He smiles disarmingly. The pet name doesn’t seem to be a flirt, more like manners from somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon. “Lost?”
“Looking for your captain, actually.”
He laughs and points over his shoulder. “He seems in a good mood. I think this might be his new pregame ritual.” I walk past him with a smile, but I know my cheeks are turning bright red and I curse myself again for being so pale.
The kitchen, much like the rest of the house, is fairly spotless.
Rhys is standing at the bar top, Freddy sitting on the stool on his farthest side.
And there’s a magnificent smell permeating the air—bacon grease and maple syrup—all coming from the hulking goalie hunched over the stove with a towel over his shoulder.
Bennett looks at me with a chin lift and not even a slight hint of a smile. Rhys tracks his friend’s movement, cutting himself off mid-sentence and smiling at me like we haven’t seen each other in weeks.
If I wasn’t already blushing, I’m full-on cherry red now.
I walk toward him, letting him decide how to play this because it’s his team and we haven’t talked about what exactly this is between us. All I know is that he’s never going to be just my friend—with or without benefits. He’s always going to be more.
He loops an arm around me, kisses the top of my head, and continues his game conversation with the boys in the kitchen. He doesn’t stop talking, even as he lifts me to sit on the barstool in front of him and rests his arms on the counter, caging me in between them.
I listen, sort of, but perk up fully when a steaming plate of bacon strips, scrambled egg whites, avocado on expensive-looking toasted sourdough, and diced fruit lands in front of me.
“Oh, I don’t have to eat first.”
Rhys shakes his head. “We have very specific pregame meals, Gray. That’s all yours.”
My mouth is watering as I look up at Bennett. “Are you sure?”
He grunts and nods, flicking the stove off a little angrily. “There’s plenty more if you want. You can have it.” He smiles a little brittlely before excusing himself back upstairs.
“He’s always like that,” Freddy says, stealing a piece of bacon off my plate before Rhys can slap his hand. “It’s his headspace before games. Sooo,” he drags out, shuffling his shoulder into mine as Rhys heads over to a fancy-looking coffee machine. “What’s going on here?”
“Freddy,” Rhys warns above the whirl of espresso. “Leave her alone.”
“C’mon, Cap. I need the juicy details.” His brows wiggle exaggeratedly.
I roll my eyes before returning to chewing and watching Rhys move around the kitchen like a scene from my favorite comfort movie. He plays with a frother for a moment and my eyes light up at his concentrated face; I wish I had my phone to take a picture of it.
“Are you two dating now?” Freddy asks. He whines like a kid when Rhys reprimands him again.
I swallow every hesitation, every moment I’ve doubted, because I know Rhys wants more. And, for the first time, I do too.
“Yeah,” I say, trying to ignore the pinch of discomfort when they both go silent. “I’m his girlfriend.”
The word might feel foreign on my tongue, but the sparkling glint in Rhys’s eyes and his unabashed smile—with both dimples—make it taste sweeter. He doesn’t correct me, which I realize only after I’ve blurted the title that he absolutely could.
Oh God . My stomach cramps. Does he want that? Or was last night just a breaking point for him?
My thoughts start to spiral, ignoring whatever it is Freddy is saying as he stands up from his stool.
“My girlfriend?” Rhys asks, smugly hovering over my shoulder.
I can’t look at him, terrified that I’ve made up everything in my head and that this wasn’t what he wanted.
But a green mug of coffee with some sort of slightly misshapen design in the foam slides in front of me.
“What’s this?”
“It’s… ah, latte foam art. It’s supposed to be a flower.” He says it sheepishly, quiet.
“I love it.”
Rhys kisses my neck, tucking my hair up in his hands, and I have the ridiculous urge to cut the brown strands off so he constantly has better access to my skin there.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been happier, Gray,” he whispers. Another kiss to the corner of my mouth. “My girl.”
Like a balm to a wound I didn’t know I carried, Rhys holds me close. And that’s more than enough.