11. You have that effect on me
11
You have that effect on me
Electra
Warm. I’m too warm and too comfortable as if a huge wall is supporting my back, making it so easy to sleep on my side while something else is holding me tightly in this position, making sure I don’t fall over. I didn’t sleep this good in a long, long time and I feel a content sigh push past my lips.
My fingers trail over the thing that is holding me in place, across my ribcage, and I feel it tightening around me. Mmm, that feels so good. My body is relaxed and my muscles don’t feel fatigued as if someone magically took all of it away. Maybe it’s finally a dream instead of a nightmare. I arch deeper into the feeling, rubbing myself against the wall until I hear a soft groan.
Wait.
My eyes fly open. The wall behind me is moving. Oh, no.
Shock and mortification steal all air from my lungs as my hands freeze.
This is not a wall, or at least not the kind I was imagining. It’s a six-foot-five asshole of a hockey player kind of wall and he is wrapped around me like a koala bear. His bare, chiseled-to-perfection tattooed piece of art normal people call chest is pressed tightly against me and my lower back is pressed into something long and hard. Fuck…it’s his cock, isn’t it?
Of course it is, because the rest of this situation wasn’t bad enough. I can’t feel what’s going on down around my legs but I’m assuming his are tangled with mine.
Oh hell, how do I get out of this situation without waking him up because the asshole will surely make it all my fault somehow.
“For the record, it wasn’t me who came onto you,” Exton mumbles into my neck, his warm breath tickling the small hairs around it, and to my mortification, I shiver.
But…case in point.
I slap his hand away to release me and he does so too fast, making me fall face first into the mattress without his support. I brace myself on my hands and pull up into a somewhat seating position.
“Seeing as you were the one spooning me , I’d say the evidence is against you.”
Exton pushes his sleepy eyes open, and a slow but very much satisfied grin takes over his face. “Well, if I’ll be greeted like that every morning, I guess I’ll take all the blame.” I furrow my eyebrows. Trying to understand what he means when he lowers his eyes to my chest and his tongue peeks out to lick his bottom lip.
“Oh my God!” I squeal when my own eyes drop down. Somehow my tank top got tangled and twisted because my left breast is hanging out of it completely. “Stop staring at my boobs, pervert.” I quickly fix the mortifying disaster.
“What are you going to do about it, cripple?” He tucks his arms underneath his head, spreading those strong muscles for my eyes.
God, he’s so hot. Every single inch of him is honed to perfection.
Even his slightly curly hair looks like a hot mess in the morning. Yep, hot.
“Will you stop already?” I ask through gritted teeth, more irritated with the train of my own thoughts than the names he calls me.
Leave it to him to ruin my perfect mood this morning before I even make it out of this bed.
“Why would I when you love it so much.”
“Did you fall of the bed at any point during the night? It’s not that high but I guess that very small amount of brain in your head could still get tossed up.”
“Ha-ha, your morning humor is unmatched, Electra.” He gives me a flat look.
“Good, maybe you’ll stick to the couch tonight then.”
“Yeah, no. You missed your sunrise.”
“What?” The sudden change of subject gives me a little whiplash.
“The sun? It’s already up.” Exton points to the window above our heads where sure enough the day has started and by the looks of it, a while ago too.
I blink and blink again. How did I manage to sleep so long? My usual nights consist of at most three to four hours of restless sleep, yet last night not only did I fall asleep quickly, but I slept in this morning.
But it’s only when I’m at the safety of my shower, do I realize that there is no cold sweat covering my body. There are no remnants of my nightmares that need to be washed off.
“When do you have your physical therapy?” Exton asks as soon as I emerge from the bathroom.
He already has some sort of breakfast going on and it takes me by surprise that he even knows how to turn on the stove or that he looks so at home in my small but adorable kitchen. The flowery backslash is especially cute next to this huge hockey guy.
“Today. In an hour, to be exact.”
“They come here?”
“Yeah, so your babysitting duties are suspended for today.”
“Why? Do they take the whole day?”
“Oh no, I’m just usually either too drained afterward or too pissed off to do anything else. And more often than not, it’s a good combination of both. And I guess it’s safe to say that you already know how difficult I can get when I’m in a mood. So, I’m sparing you ahead of time.”
“My”—he clutches the wooden spatula—the one I poked him with on that first day—to his chest, acting like he was touched by my gesture—“aren’t you the sweetheart this morning. Sleeping with me must’ve really been good for you.” He winks, and I feel my cheeks heat up.
“I didn’t. That’s not…you know what…whatever,” I huff out, and he full on laughs. A real, deep kind of laugh.
“Relax, little star, I appreciate the warning. I’m just messing with you.” The smile he sends me is blinding and very much disarming, leaving me flustered because I’m not used to this charming version of Exton Quinn. And I think I prefer the asshole one to whatever this is. Because with the asshole, I’m safe.
“Mm-hmm, maybe it’s you who enjoyed sleeping with me a little too much based on your good mood?” I try to goad him to get back into our normal sparing routine.
“Oh, no doubt,” He winks again, and that blush is now spreading to my insides, liquefying them. Did he just really say what I think he said? Where is some snarky comment I’ve come to expect?
“Now, if you are done blushing over me, please roll your royal pain in my ass to the table and eat before your therapist gets here.”
Oh, never mind, here it is. I roll my eyes at him but do roll my royal pain in his ass to the small round table in front of another picturesque window where he set out a plate with an omelet, sausage, hash browns and fresh veggies and fruits on my side and a much bigger portion of essentially the same thing on his.
I look at the food then at him and repeat the process a few times before he clucks his tongue with impatience. “What? What’s wrong this time? And before you ask, no I did not spit in your food.”
“You cook?” I ask with a healthy dose of surprise.
He sits across from me. “Can you believe it? I’m not only a god on the ice but in the kitchen too. And…” Axe lifts his eyes to meet mine. “I’m phenomenal at other things too.” He winks and I feel something kick inside my stomach.
And for some reason, I don’t think it’s a wave of nausea like I’m hoping.
“Is everything okay with your eye?”
“Yeah, why?”
“It keeps twitching.”
“Hmm, yes, you do seem to have that effect on me,” Exton says as some weird emotion passes over his face, and he shoves some food into his mouth as if he needs it to stop talking and I don’t mind it one bit.
I look at my own place and must admit for someone who hasn’t had a full meal in over a month—nor did I have a single desire for one—it does look appetizing. I appreciate the gesture, but after just two small bites of the omelet and a few berries, I take the plate and wheel myself over to the sink.
Thankfully, Exton is too engrossed in his own meal to see that I’ve barely touched mine and I shove the plate in the sink as fast as I can.
An hour later my physical therapist arrives and from the moment he comes inside, I count the seconds until he leaves. I hate his presence here. I hate the sound of his voice as he recalls my glory days from before the injury, but I grit my teeth and go through it every time. Because if I don’t, Stella will come here and sit through the session with me.
Been there, done that, and have zero desire for a repeat.
I turn my head toward the big window, trying to escape my current reality in the peacefulness of the frozen Iris Lake. But instead, when my head turns, my eyes fall on the hulking hockey player sitting on the chair right in front of that window, watching my therapist with hawkish eyes and undeniable sneer.
I thought the poor guy would piss his pants when Exton opened the door and greeted him with his usual charming self and the sight of my therapist’s face paling almost made me laugh.
Somehow, having him here makes this pointless torture a bit more bearable. Maybe because he doesn’t really give a shit about me and that takes the pressure off me, or maybe it’s his non-judgmental eyes when he sees me fail at one exercise or the other.
Finally, the session is almost over but that also means that the therapist is about to bring out the most dreaded part of this. The stupid walker.
“You can put it away,” I tell him as I see him approaching me with it. “I’m not using it.”
“Miss Monroe, we need to start practicing getting you up on your feet. Your muscles are already atrophying and that can only mean that you are not doing the exercises that I left for you.”
“I’m not using that thing.” My voice leaves no room for negotiation, and I see him purse his lips into a fine line.
“Let’s try it just for a little bit.”
“No. Haven’t you heard, I didn’t even feel it when a flying puck hit my legs.”
“Miss Monroe, if you want to be back on that ice, you need to start taking this seriously.”
The laugh that escapes me is not a kind one. It’s not funny or light. It’s downright chilling as if it’s coming from the depth of that frozen lake in front of us. And all too soon it borders unhealthy levels of unhinged.
If you want to be back on that ice, you need to start taking this seriously…he said that. He really did.
And he either doesn’t notice the tremble in my fingers or he doesn’t care because he keeps going.
“I mean, seriously, how can you be so uninterested? Erik won’t wait for you forever you know? You need to start putting in an actual effort here too!” He sighs as if he’s dealing with a child.
Putting in an actual effort? What the hell does he know about putting in an actual effort!
I must be too lost in my own anger to hear the wood of the chair Exton was sitting in splintering as he sends it flying behind him, and it’s only when my eyes catch him gripping the physician’s scrub top that I take a deep, full breath.
“Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. Here,” he hisses out slowly, punctuating every single word.
“But…but we have therapy to do. She needs to stay on course.”
“She will. But you’ll have nothing to do with it. Now, get out of my sight before I make a nice punching bag out of you.” Exton’s tone is low and threatening and causes my body to hum.
The incompetent therapist casts one look my way and erases and trace of the warmth Exton put into my chest with four damning words. “You will never walk.”
I don’t stay to hear Exton’s growl or the crunch of the nose he evidently punched. No, I wheel myself into my room, shutting the door behind me with a little too much force.
Only once I’m inside the safety of my own room do I take notice of how badly my hands are shaking. My heart, once again, pounding out of my chest as it heaves, not catching enough of the suffocating air around me. My vision is becoming spotty, and I start clawing at my shirt, my throat, anywhere I can reach.
I know it’s a panic attack. I know I need to try and calm down but once I get into this stage, there is no way out. I’m trapped under that ice and no matter how hard I beat against the thick, cold wall, no one can hear me on the outside.
I don’t want to be reminded of my glory days or what I'll never be again. I’ve put those memories under a lock with no key after every dream I had was shattered beyond repair. I don’t need it anymore. I can’t stand the simple thought of being on the ice and that alone makes me feel like death already took over me.
Because I lived on that ice. I thrived and bloomed on it and now it’s all gone, and this is yet another reminder of all I’ve lost. Of the love that was never there. Of my mother’s sacrifices that could have saved her life, and I wasted with one single moment.
And yesterday was proof enough that it’s all truly dead.
I…I can’t…my hands are clutching my throat…that’s it. Th-that’s all…
“Electra, be ready in five.” Somewhere in the distance, on the other side of that ice I hear Axe’s voice. “Fine, I’m feeling generous today and I’ll give you seven, but that’s it. After that, I don’t give a shit. We’re going for a ride.”
I almost want to laugh, but instead, tears come out. The slide down my face because I realize that I’m no longer shaking or suffocating. Somehow, he pulled me out. He brought me back to the surface and I’m trying to understand if these tears are happy and grateful ones or full of anger and despair that he couldn’t leave me to go in peace.