31. LANE
LANE
I wanted to talk with Coach before he left. Even though we won, and I feel like I had a decent showing, I knew I’d be anxious unless I got his honest, real-time opinion on my play. Especially after he basically had an intervention with me this week and got me back on track.
Instead of finding Coach Banks, Cora is sitting in his chair with her head in a trashcan. I asked what she was doing but she didn’t respond or move. Her body moves with her breaths so I know she’s alive.
“Were you drunk on the bench tonight? Because that would be fucking stupid…”
Before the words are out of my mouth, she lifts her head. Her eyes are squinted and she’s peering at me through only one of them.
“I—” She tries to talk but breathes through whatever must be happening before she finishes her sentence. “I have a migraine. I need to wait it out. I’ll be fine.” She tries to wave me off and almost falls out of the chair.
“Woah, watch it.” Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m dropping my hockey bag on the office floor and kneeling next to her. Last thing I need is for her to fall and crack her head open.
Her skin is clammy and pale—her white knuckles grip the trash can as the sound of her breaths are the only thing between us. I know the rest of the team is already gone, I was the last one. I didn’t want to try and have this conversation with Coach and risk them overhearing.
Lightly, I put my hand on Cora’s back. “What do you need?”
She’s almost panting when her voice cracks, “My bag. Left it behind the bench. I have meds in there.” Part of me thought she’d try to tell me she didn’t need my help, but it looks like she’s struggling enough to accept it.
I’m practically jogging to the bench, the Zamboni already working the ice. Part of me wonders if someone will ask why I’m here, but I push the thought back and keep the task front and center.
Behind the bench is her bag, which I grab and then run back to Coach’s office.
Once I’m next to her again, she says, “There’s this blue pill container. I need one of the white ones and two of the blue.”
Putting her bag on the desk, I look around until I find it. Popping it open, I give her what she asked for. Her water bottle sits on the desk but it’s empty. I take it and run to fill it up.
“Here,” I pant when I return, putting the pills and her freshly filled water bottle right in front of her on the corner of the desk.
Slowly, she sets the trash can down and grabs the pills, popping them in her mouth before taking a drink of water. Her eyes are closed as soon as she has what she needs in her hand.
“I need to lay on the floor. The room is spinning.”
She tries to stand but is wobbly—my hand immediately guides her, holding on to her elbow. She lays down on the floor, right behind her dad’s desk. I go to my hockey bag, unzip it, and pull out the hoodie I wore to the rink. Bunching it together, I gently lift her head and place it underneath.
Cora takes one of the sleeves and pulls it over her eyes, then throws one of her arms over it like she’s trying to block out the light. “I can leave this in your locker. You don’t have to stay.”
I sit, leaning back on the wall, and insist, “I’m not leaving you here. You can’t even keep your eyes open.”
“It’s a migraine. Not a stab wound.” She tries to joke with me but it falls flat. Her voice is quiet and I can hear the fringes of pain seeping though.
“Cora. Quit it.” I roll my eyes even though she can’t see me. I’m not trying to be a dick, but this isn’t something I necessarily want to argue about.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, making sure the ringer and vibration are off.
The only messages I have are in the team group chat—they’re all partying at the hockey house.
Obviously, I was invited, but I can’t leave Cora like this.
I text the guys, letting them know I’ll be over a little later, and put my phone away.
Resting my head against the wall, I try to focus on the game and not the girl on the floor. The one I’m pretending I don’t want to fucking swoop up and carry her back to my apartment. Keep her safe.
Luckily, no one bothers us or pokes their head in. It’s just her and me. The blue of my Great Lakes University hoodie is a sharp contrast against her fair skin.
She’s still on the floor, taking slow breaths in and out. Something clicks as I sit next to her—she’d rather suffer in silence than ask anyone for help. That’s one area we’re really similar in. Not sure what that says about either of us, but it’s hard not to clock the detail.
Thirty minutes goes by and then out of nowhere, she sits up, slowly opening her eyes. Cora looks around the room, seemingly afraid to look me in the eyes, and her shoulders move down in relief.
“Meds kicked in. I’m good.” The color painting her cheeks shows me she’s definitely feeling better. “Thanks for getting my bag. For staying.” She finally looks at me and it’s the first time I realize her eyes match the blue of my sweatshirt—Great Lakes U blue.
“You’re welcome.” The words are scratchy in my throat. “Does that happen a lot?”
Cora stands and rests her hands on the desk once she’s upright. “Umm, I’ve had them since I was in high school. But it’s not an everyday occurrence. Mine are driven by certain triggers and sometimes weather systems.”
“Fuck. That’s brutal. Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want me to call someone?”
She looks past me for a minute, and I bet if someone would’ve asked her this last year, she’d have said Freddy.
“No, I’m good. I’ll just go home.” Her voice is quiet.
She might be thinking the same thing I am.
I grab my hockey bag and stand in the doorway. “Grab what you need. I’ll walk you to your car.” Cora opens her mouth to argue with me, but I jump in before she can even start. “Coach would kick my ass if he knew I didn’t.”
Cora sighs, grabs her things, and turns the lights off in the office. We walk, shoulder to shoulder, no words or looks to exchange.
I open the door for her and she walks me to her car, pulling out her keys and using the fob to unlock her doors as we get close enough. It’s early October but it’s fucking cold, like the wind is carrying it from the lakes.
“Get home safe, ok?” I urge as she opens her driver side door.
She nods and offers, “Hey, you were on tonight. Much better than last week. Didn’t mean to bring down the winning vibes.” Cora tries to laugh through the self-deprecating comment.
I know why she says it. I understand it, but that doesn’t mean I like it. There’s not a whole lot someone could say to me if I was in her situation, so I leave that part alone. For now.
“Thanks. The team is fucking strong. I’m glad I could contribute.”
The corner of her mouth lifts and it’s like I’m fighting a magnet, pulling me to her and her perfect mouth. Fuck, already knowing the way she tastes, the way she feels in my hands, is doing me no favors.
Cora waves, shuts the door, and starts her car. I watch her pull out of the parking lot before I start my walk back to my apartment.
I pull my phone out to text her. I know I shouldn’t, but I do it anyway.
Lane: text me when you’re home