Chapter Three
Minerva
I wake up to the sound of footsteps padding across the floor above me, and the distant hiss of pipes. As soon as the sound registers, I bolt upright in bed.
A real bed. Like, with a mattress. And sheets. And sunlight spilling through curtains. This isn’t my room, and it isn’t my car. Did Luca find me? Did I only dream the part where I ran away?
I rub my eyes and shift toward the side, prepared to flee, when I spot the furry body at the foot of my bed. Kepler’s down there, snoring gently, with his paws twitching in his sleep.
I relax immediately. Luca would never let Kepler sleep in the bed. I scoot up to the headboard, hug my knees to my chest, and focus on my breathing. It takes me far too long to orient myself, but when I do, the footsteps upstairs make sense.
Right. Tristan Dubois, NHL power forward. I’m sleeping in a stranger’s house.
What was I thinking? I don’t know this man. I do know men in general, though, and I’m pretty sure this isn’t a free ride. He’s going to want something from me eventually. Everyone always does.
Although…
I peek over my crossed arms toward the bolt on the inside of the bedroom door.
Tristan wasn’t joking about that part. He really put screws in his guest bedroom door for me so that I can lock him out, but he can’t lock me in.
I checked before I stepped inside, but the handle is a plain interior knob, with no holes for keys.
As long as I’m in this room, I’m the only one who can decide who comes and goes.
Nobody’s ever changed their world to make room for me. Maybe I’m allowed to take up a corner of someone’s life without earning it first. Tristan thought of that, and he followed through without prompting. That, more than anything, is the reason I agreed to stay.
I didn’t mean to fall asleep so early. Yesterday afternoon, I unpacked my things, set up Kepler’s food, water, and litter pan, and then…
apparently, I sacked out. I missed dinner, and I desperately need a shower.
I take a clean set of clothes, unlock the door, and venture into the hallway in search of the guest bathroom.
The door is right across the hall from mine.
I flick on the lights, but when I try to force myself to step inside, I panic.
The bathroom is pristine. The hand towel looks untouched.
There’s a fluffy white towel draped over the handle of the shower’s sliding glass door, which has been polished so that there’s not a hint of soap scum or droplets in sight.
The roll of toilet paper is brand new, the soap is still in its plastic wrapping, and there’s a fresh tube of toothpaste laid out alongside an unopened toothbrush aligned with the edge of the sink.
Even the mirror of the medicine cabinet is pristine.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to put my hairbrush. I don’t know what I’m allowed to touch or open, or if the towel’s for me, or if I’ll get in trouble for getting hard water on the shower stall—
I’m going to mess it up, and I’ll have to leave, but Dante took my car, and nobody else wants me, and I don’t know where else to go.
The realization, and the accompanying sense of helplessness, blasts through me with the force of a runaway train.
I drop into a crouch and pull the hem of my shirt up in the faint hopes of calming my breathing.
Then I’m reminded of how much I need a shower, because I stink, which only makes it worse.
I hiccup out a sob and squeeze my eyes closed. I need air.
I need rules.
I need a routine.
I need to get out of here.
“Whoa, hey.” A large, warm presence settles down beside me. “Hey, Minnie, deep breaths. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“N-no?” Shit, shit, I’m going to cry. Don’t be mad, Tristan.
Don’t explode. Luca always hated it when I cried.
Dad hated it more. Frankie, of course, relished any hint of weakness.
Mom would pretend it wasn’t happening. Now Tristan is going to know that I’m weak and weird and unable to regulate, if he didn’t already.
He sits down in the hall beside me. “Damn, they really did a number on you, huh?” His voice is gentle and kind, not at all what I was expecting.
“What?” I open one eye.
“Your family. I’m guessing that’s why… Never mind, you don’t have to talk about it.” Tristan sighs. “Can I touch you?”
I nod, because I don’t have it in me to argue. Luca would use this chance to hurt me. I imagine his hand closing around the back of my neck, grabbing me, moving me like a doll.
Tristan’s hand settles between my shoulder blades, and he rubs steady circles there. I realize that he’s deliberately breathing deep and slow, which is the same thing I do when I’m trying to calm Kepler down after another family blowup.
“Want to tell me what happened just now?” he asks. “I don’t need to know anything you don’t want to share. Did I buy the wrong kind of shampoo?”
I lower my hands to stare at him.
He sighs. “Sorry, I was trying to be funny. I can tell it’s more than that, but you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”
“I just, um.” I don’t know how to explain why I panicked. I’m pretty sure normal people don’t cry because of packaged soap and fresh toilet paper. “I need to know the rules. Gimme a minute. So I can take notes.”
Tristan smiles. “It’s just some hockey player’s bachelor condo. There are no rules.”
My voice drops an octave. “There are always rules.”
“Then how about this one—you don’t have to impress me. Just be you. That’s all I want. And I’m barely here anyway. You’ll have the place to yourself most of the time. You and Kepler.”
That sounds too good to be true. Rather than opening that particular Pandora’s box, I nod toward the bathroom. “What am I allowed to touch?”
“Whatever you need?” Tristan cocks his head, sounding as uncertain as I do.
“But it’s so clean.” I know I’m not making sense, not in this new world with unfamiliar rules.
“Because I cleaned it.” He chuckles and lets his hand drop.
I already miss the warmth of his touch, which is strange, both because I usually hate to be touched, and because everyone else in my life is so cold.
“Last night, you’d have been horrified. Most of my friends are hockey players, and the toilet alone would have given you nightmares.
And the stuff is new because I bought it for you. ”
“When?”
“After you fell asleep. Speaking of which, I bet you’re starving.
I need to get going soon. Why don’t you get ready, and then we can grab breakfast on the way out?
My treat. And we can pick up some new clothes on the way back, if you want.
And stuff for Kepler. Will he be okay here for a few hours? ”
I nod slowly. “I’ll put him in his crate while we’re gone. He’ll be fine.”
“Oh, and your other clothes are in the dryer. I washed everything in your suitcase. I’ll grab them while you get ready, okay?”
I nod and shuffle into the bathroom in a fugue state.
The hot water feels incredible. The bottles of shampoo, like everything else, are new.
Tristan bought an organic shampoo and conditioner set, and even though I’m sensitive to a lot of artificial smells, I don’t mind this one.
The mixture of mint and orange peel smells like safety.
I release my fear and confusion as my muscles relax, and let the water wash it all away.
* * *
Huddled up in the assistants’ box, I clutch my tablet as I stare out over the ice.
This space has a great view of the rink, if you like that sort of thing.
I can mostly hear shouting and the thunk of pucks hitting…
whatever pucks are supposed to hit. Hockey is not my sport.
Sports are not my sport. My mother thinks hockey is vulgar.
I have no idea what my father thinks about anything besides the fact that I’m apparently doing my whole life wrong.
At least from up here, I can study Tristan without making him uncomfortable. He was so intense yesterday, and I could barely meet his eyes. This morning, I was too caught up in crying.
He’s tall, but not as broad as some of the other guys.
He’s all lean muscle, with strong legs and…
well, he’s got an attractive body, anyway.
I didn’t notice until he was so kind this morning, because people can have nice bodies without being attractive.
Luca does. But he’s awful, so how could I be attracted to him? How could anyone?
Tristan, though, could easily be considered attractive.
He has a little bit of scruff along his cheeks and jaw, and his dark blond hair is long enough to fall in waves around his face.
His hands are gentle, I know that from earlier.
The corded muscle in his arms is strong, but he doesn’t feel the need to remind me of that at every turn.
Yes, I can see why someone might theoretically find Tristan appealing. My stomach flips, and I tell myself it’s only hunger.
“Ogling your boss?” The woman beside me tsks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. I shriek and nearly claw my way out of my skin. “Yup. That tracks. Hazard of the job.”
“When did you…?”
“When you were checking out Tristan Dubois. He’s single, by the way, though I don’t recommend sleeping with clients. You are the new girl, right?”
Single. The word lands somewhere I pretend not to feel.
“Under duress.” I give this newcomer a once-over.
Her style is very different from Julie’s, but she still has that pristine, polished glow.
Her floral blouse billows around her arms, while her dark-wash skinny jeans plunge into high boots.
Her makeup is bright and flashy, color-coordinated with her top.
“I’m Marley.” She flips her black hair over one shoulder, then extends a hand to me. Her nails are freshly manicured, with strawberry decals embedded in the polish. “Marley Park. I run Knight’s life so he doesn’t get arrested or accidentally buy a llama.”