Chapter 7 #2
In that moment, he was very much a hockey player. The only thing missing was him pouring it into his mouth and then spitting it at his feet.
“Better?”
His lips went all thin again, and then he huffed a short breath. “Yes. Thank you.”
Yeah, it was obvious he did not want to utter those last two words. I couldn’t help a small smirk, though in reality, I didn’t want him to feel bad. I’d never had to rely on people the way he did. I never had to trust strangers or reporters who wrote articles about me. It had to suck.
A lot.
“Will you let me help you back inside?”
His face went stony.
Against my better judgment, I dropped into a crouch and grabbed the arm of his chair, startling him again. “Sorry,” I told him quickly, “but I’m not trying to be an asshole here, okay? You’re obviously traveling alone, and it’s hot as fuck, and…”
He waited. “And?”
I was pretty sure what I was about to say was offensive, but whatever. It wasn’t like he was my friend anyway. “And clearly, asking for help is a kick in the pride nuts.”
His cheeks were already rosy with an impending sunburn, but they went even darker. “Listen—”
“I know, I know. I’m an ableist dickhead who doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. It’s my biggest flaw, and I’m working on it. I didn’t know how to say that more politely.”
Tiago swallowed slowly and heavily, then let out a very long sigh. “You’re not wrong.”
Wow, okay. Not what I was expecting him to say.
He cleared his throat again. “The last time I came out here, I was able to manage just fine, but that was years ago. It’s…
harder now. And half of it is probably psychosomatic because my family kind of sucks and I’m anxious about being with them, but the last thing I want right now is to have a bunch of people watching me stumble around and taking videos of me for the fucking internet. ”
I wanted to tell him no one would do that, but I couldn’t, because they probably would. Some jackass who told themselves they were well-meaning would get up to help him in spite of him not asking, then post it like a feel-good story on their fucking TikTok.
“I booked a private nook in the back. We can go sit there, and you can let some of that pasty skin try and turn that pink into melanin.”
He blinked rapidly, then burst into laughter. “My ancestors who were not French were Irish. Trust me, there’s not a single gene in my line that could produce melanin outside of a tanning booth, and we both know how that would look.”
I grinned as I pushed myself up to stand, then touched the back of his wrist with my fingers. “Is that a yes?”
He hesitated, then stood up and tucked his folded cane into his back pocket before taking the back of my elbow. “Do you know how to do this without walking me into a wall?”
“If you hit a wall, know it was a thousand percent deliberate,” I told him. When he tensed, I groaned. “Tiago. I’m joking. I swear on my father’s life I will get you inside without letting you get hurt.”
He didn’t look entirely convinced, but he did hold my arm a little tighter, and his slow footsteps forced me to keep his pace. Which was fair.
I opened the door, then held it with my foot as he stepped in ahead of me, and offered him my elbow again.
“It smells like cinnamon and pretzels,” he murmured as we began the slow trek down the narrow pathway between dining tables.
“There’s cinnamon pretzels. And salted ones. And I think cheesy ones with jalapenos, but I wouldn’t recommend that since you have delicate Canadian genetics.”
“Fuck off,” he murmured, but he didn’t argue with me, and I grinned as we passed by the food section and took a hard right. He pulled me to a stop after a few steps. “Is there a bathroom nearby?”
“Like five feet from my nook-thingie.”
He let out a breath and nodded, then made a gesture for me to go on.
The rented space was in the very back, and I was pretty sure no one else bothered to spend that kind of money since it was a relatively short journey, and the corridor was very empty. But it was nice to have a space to get away, and I pulled back the heavy curtain before pausing.
“How, uh…” I stopped and glanced around. “What do you need me to do so you’re comfortable in here?”
I hadn’t noticed, but Tiago had taken out a thick pair of glasses and had shoved them high up on his nose. “Nothing. Unless you have a bunch of crap on the floor you didn’t warn me about.”
“All my bags are in the overhead. Oh shit, where are yours?”
“Checked,” he said. “My brother’s coming to pick me up, so it was easier that way.” There was tension in his voice again, but I wasn’t about to ask.
I was probably the last person in the world he was going to vent to, and honestly, I was the last person in the world who wanted to know more about him.
“So, uh…I’m going to go get a pretzel. You want one?”
His brows lifted. “Oh. Hmm…”
“If you say nutrition plan to me, I’m going to throw you off the boat,” I warned him.
He did a little laugh-cough and shook his head. “Yeah, fine. The one with jalapenos.”
“Whoa there, House Hippo. Are you sure?”
He looked stunned. “How do you know about the House Hippo.”
“My dad’s a hockey player,” I reminded him. “He played for Ontario until I was five.”
He blinked rapidly, then shook his head. “Come up with a better insult. It doesn’t have to be cute. Just not that.”
“Okay, Montreal Bagel. Be right back. There’s Tums at the medicine counter if you need them, by the way.”
“Fuck off!”
I grinned as I hurried away, and I did everything in my power to ignore the sensation now spreading rapidly through my veins.