8. Kai #2
I turn back to my stall, trying like hell to wish him away. “I need you to stop talking.”
I yank one skate loose and let it hit the ground harder than I should. The sound cracks through the room, sharp enough that a couple of the guys look over.
No one jokes after that.
I stare at the floor between my feet and see Wren’s face when she said I ignored her text.
Not angry. Hurt.
She recovered quickly, but I know that cover. I watched her build it in high school, piece by piece, every time I took too long to call. Every time I was too busy. Every time I told myself she understood because she said she did.
Back then, I thought space would make things easier.
It didn’t.
It just taught her not to ask for what she actually needed from me.
Grayson’s voice is quieter when he speaks again. “Kai.”
I look up.
“She deserves better than you pretending not to see her.”
There’s no defense for that, because he’s right.
I nod once.
Weston stands and grabs his shower stuff, quieter than usual. “I’m headed in.”
“Take your manners with you,” Asher says.
Weston lifts one hand over his shoulder. “Always do.”
He makes it three steps before he stops and looks back. “Also, just so we’re clear, I’m not emotionally equipped for whatever is happening with you two. I have, like, two coping mechanisms, and one of them is making things worse.”
“You noticed?” Asher asks.
Weston points at him. “I’m growing.”
“Into what?”
“A better man. Maybe.”
Grayson rubs a hand over his mouth, fighting a smile.
Weston’s grin flickers, there and gone. “Well, at least someone’s invested. My parents weren’t.”
The locker room goes still.
Weston looks around the group, and for the first time since I’ve known him, he seems to realize he let something out he didn’t mean to.
His mouth pulls into a fast smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just kidding. Jesus, relax. Tough room.”
No one laughs.
He clears his throat and turns toward the showers. “Anyway. I’m going to go get naked if anyone wants to join.”
He disappears through the doorway before anyone can answer.
Asher watches him go, his expression unreadable.
Grayson rubs the back of his neck. “That was…”
“Yeah,” I say.
I don’t finish it either.
The room slowly starts moving again. Lockers open. Tape gets tossed. Someone mutters about being late to class. But the mood has changed, and I file that away, even though I don’t have room for it.
Weston. Later.
Coleson. Tomorrow.
Wren. Now.
I pull off my other skate.
Grayson stays beside me.
Of course he does.
“I’ll talk to her,” I say.
“When?”
I look toward the door she disappeared through.
“Now.”
His expression says he doesn’t fully trust that.
Fair.
I don’t fully trust myself either.
I strip out of the rest of my gear fast enough that Asher eyes me like he’s considering whether I’m about to sprint through the hallway half-dressed. I’m not. Barely.
I shower in record time, throw on sweats and a hoodie, and leave my hair wet because I cannot stand in front of a mirror and pretend this is a normal morning. My phone is still in my bag. The text is still unread.
That feels worse now.
I pull it out before I leave the locker room, finally opening her text.
The thread loads, and the old messages appear above the new one before I can stop them.
Sometimes things hold too much history to be deleted. At least, that’s what I’ve told myself over the years.
Wrenley Mae: I’ll probably be asleep but try anyway.
Kai: you say that like you won’t answer half-conscious and insult me.
Wrenley Mae: That’s my love language.
Kai: another reason why I love you.
My grip tightens around the phone, and I reread them again and again before deciding I should probably apologize in person.
The equipment hallway is colder than the locker room and quieter than it should be. The rubber floor muffles my steps. From somewhere farther down, I hear the low rumble of a laundry machine and the scrape of wheels.
I follow the sound.
Wren is in the equipment room with the cart parked beside a row of bins. She has her sleeves pushed up, and one hand braced on the edge of the cart while she reads labels under her breath.
“Practice towels. Game towels. Emergency towels,” she murmurs. “What the hell is an emergency towel?”
“Those are for blood,” I say from the doorway.
She jumps.
Then turns and glares at me. “Do not sneak up on a woman.”
“I didn’t sneak.”
“You arrived quietly, which I consider sneaking.”
I step inside but stop a few feet from her, leaving space because I am still painfully aware of just how affected I am by being in the same room as her.
She notices.
Her gaze drops to the space between us, then back to my face.
“Did Donnelly send you?” she asks.
“No.”
“Then are you here as the hockey captain or as Harlow’s brother?”
I deserve that too. “Neither.”
Her mouth tightens. “Kai.”
“I’m here because I should’ve answered your text.”
The room settles around us.
Laundry hums behind the wall. Wren looks down at the labels again, but she doesn’t move.
“I didn’t want to find out this way,” I say.
She laughs once without humor. “Yeah, well, I didn’t want to tell you by appearing in your locker room like a horror-movie reveal, which is why I texted you. But you didn’t reply, so really, this is your fault.”
I sigh. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Her eyes lift to mine. Some of the fight goes out of her face, which is almost worse. Anger is easier to deal with than disappointment.
“I saw it,” I admit.
Her expression changes, confusion taking the place of the remaining anger.
Clearing my throat, I continue. “In class. I saw the preview.”
“So you did ignore me.”
I wince. It sounds so much worse said out loud. “Yes.”
She crosses her arms, but it doesn’t feel sharp now. It feels like she’s holding herself together. “Why?”
I could tell her I was busy. I could point to class, treatment, film, practice, all the things that are true yet still not the real reason.
“Because it was you,” I say.
Her brows pull in.
I keep going before I can stop myself. “Because if I answered, I had to know what you needed. And if I knew what you needed, I’d have to figure out whether I was allowed to care.”
Wren goes still.
The words hang there between us, too honest, yet somehow not enough to bridge the divide between us.
I look down at the cart. Towels. Jerseys. A clipboard lying on top, with her handwriting on a sticky note.
She has always had messy handwriting, especially when she’s in a hurry. Big loops. Slanted lines. Words that seem to climb uphill.
“You can’t just ignore me because something feels awkward, Kai.”
That one lands cleaner.
“I know.”
Her eyes hold mine. “Do you?”
“I’m trying to.”
She studies me for a long second, then looks back at the bins. “That’s not an answer.”
“No,” I say. “But it’s the only honest one I have.”
A small breath leaves her that isn’t quite a laugh.
“I need this job,” she says, her eyes fierce, telling me this goes a lot deeper than she’s letting on.
“I know.” Her eyes cut to mine, and I correct myself. “Or I’m starting to understand.”
She accepts it with a tiny nod. “I don’t need you doing some captain thing where you warn everyone to behave around me.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Kai.” She rolls her eyes. “We might not be friends anymore, but I still know you.”
I pause, about to deny it again, then sigh. “Fine. I considered it.”
Her mouth twitches despite herself. “Please don’t.”
“I won’t.”
“And if someone gives me a hard time, I’ll tell Donnelly, or I’ll handle it myself.”
I look at her, about to argue, but she just lifts a brow.
Right, I’m supposed to be learning here. “I trust you to handle it.”
But I’ll still deal with anyone who gives you shit myself.
Something shifts in her face. Not much, but enough to tell me I chose the right words this time.
“Thank you.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The equipment room is cramped enough that I can smell her shampoo under the laundry detergent and cold-rink air. Familiar enough to hurt, even though it has probably changed since we were teenagers, but I can still smell the strawberries.
I keep my hands in the front pocket of my hoodie where they have a less likely chance of reaching for her.
Wren turns back to the cart and grabs a towel from the top. “I really do have work to do, and you should probably go do captain things or get to class, or whatever it is you have to do.”
“Probably,” I agree, but don’t move.
She looks at me over her shoulder. “That was your cue to leave.”
“I got that.”
“And yet you’re still standing there.”
“I’m leaving.” I take one step back, but stop. “Hey, Wren?”
She faces me again.
“I’m glad you got the job. You’ll be great.”
She looks down at the towel in her hands, trying and failing to hide the small smile on her lips. “Thanks.”
I bite my lip to hide my own smile as I turn on my heel and head out the door.
I just earned a smile.