22. Wren
WREN
Trying again should come with instructions.
A packet, maybe. One of those stapled things professors hand out on the first day of class with attendance policies and grade breakdowns and warnings about plagiarism.
Except this one would say things like: Do not kiss your ex-boyfriend in kitchens while your siblings sleep upstairs unless prepared for emotional consequences.
I wake up the morning after Kai stands in my kitchen and tells me he wants to try again with absolutely no idea what to do with myself.
This is not helped by the fact that my phone already has a text from him.
Kai: morning, freckles. how’s lily’s fever?
There is something so thoughtful about him checking on my sister before seven in the morning.
Wren: Down to 99.9.
His response comes fast.
Kai: that’s good. she had you taking great care of her, so it’s not surprising that she’s on the mend
I smile at my phone like an idiot.
“Ew,” Holden says from the kitchen doorway.
I drop the phone facedown on the counter. “Excuse you.”
He’s in pajama pants and a hoodie, hair sticking up on one side. “You’re smiling at your phone.”
“I’m allowed joy.”
“Normally, you’re kind of moody before coffee. And by kinda, I mean very.”
“First of all, rude,” I say, turning back to the coffee pot. “Second, I’m making coffee as we speak. Maybe it’s just the aroma that does it for me.”
“Sure it is.” Holden studies me for one second too long.
Before we continue our conversation, Lily coughs from the couch and calls, “Wren, Daisy is breathing near me.”
Daisy shouts back, “I don’t want to go to school!”
I point toward the living room. “See? I have real problems.”
Holden’s mouth twitches, but he lets me escape.
I let Daisy stay home, and by that afternoon, Lily is better enough to return to school and complain about the injustice of no longer controlling the remote.
By Wednesday, my life returns to its regular level of chaos, except now Kai is threaded through it in little pockets of my day that make me happy that life brought me back here.
I’m swapping the laundry at the rink when I feel my phone vibrate in the pocket of my shorts. Pulling it out, I see a text from Kai.
Kai: should be illegal to bend over in those shorts.
My head snaps in his direction. He bites his lip and sends me a wink from his locker, and I quickly shut the laundry room door as my face heats.
We made a deal. At the rink, we behave.
Mostly.
That’s the official version. The one I would present if questioned by Donnelly, Coach, Harlow, or whoever else decides to ask. Kai and I are professional. Respectful. Maybe a little extra careful around each other, but not suspiciously so.
Except careful has started to blur a lot faster than I thought.
Careful is his hand brushing my lower back for half a second when he passes me near the equipment room, there and gone so quickly I almost think I imagined it.
Careful is him standing close enough at the tape shelf that his shoulder touches mine while he murmurs a random compliment and then walks away like he hasn’t just rearranged my entire nervous system.
I’m checking our first aid bins in the back hallway when Kai finds me.
“Need help?” he asks.
I don’t turn around. “You ask me that a lot.”
“You refuse a lot.”
“And yet you persist.”
“I’m consistent.”
“You’re stubborn; there’s a difference.” I reach for the top shelf, but the box has been shoved too far back. My fingers brush cardboard, not enough to grip. Before I can try again, Kai steps behind me and gets it easily, his chest warm against my back for just a second.
Neither of us move.
The hallway is empty, but not private. Someone could round the corner at any second. Kai sets the box in my hands.
His fingers linger over mine.
“You’re doing the thing again,” I whisper.
“What thing?”
“Standing too close like you don’t know exactly what it does.”
“Did you ever think…” His breath touches the side of my neck. “That I know what it does, which is exactly why I do it?”
My grip tightens on the box. “Kai.”
He chuckles, lowering his head and pressing a kiss to my hair.
By the time he steps back, I’m positive that my face looks like a close relative of a tomato.
“You can’t do that,” I say.
“I just did.”
I glare over my shoulder. “Don’t sound so pleased.”
“I’m trying.”
“You’re failing.” I look away fast, cheeks hot. “Go do hockey things.”
“I’m going.”
“You’re still standing here.”
“What can I say?” He shrugs, putting his hands into the pockets of his pants. “I like it when you boss me around.”
I nearly drop the box.
He walks away before I can answer, which is good because I don’t have one. Not a safe one, anyway.
By Thursday, Harlow knows something is up.
She corners me after class with a coffee in each hand, and a lot of questions in her eyes.
“Oh good,” I say. “At least you brought caffeine to fuel your interrogation."
She hands me one of the cups. “Drink.”
We sit on a bench near the quad, as students move around us in clusters, laughing, rushing, complaining about midterms. Harlow watches them for a moment, then looks at me.
“So,” she starts, “you and Kai. You’re either boning my brother again or at least on the path that leads to that.”
I choke. I didn’t expect her to be so direct. Dating Grayson has changed my bestie, not that I’m complaining.
“Subtle,” she says.
“I hate you.”
“You love me. Also, that answered my question.”
“You didn’t ask a question.”
“Because you answered with choking.”
I stare into the coffee cup.
For once, I don’t have a joke ready fast enough.
Harlow goes quiet beside me.
When she speaks again, her voice is softer. “Wren.”
“We’re figuring it out or at least trying to,” I admit. “With me working with the team, it’s a little complicated, but we both know we want to at least try again. A lot of time has passed; the feelings haven’t, though.”
She ponders that for a moment. “Are you happy?”
“I’m scared,” I admit because it’s the truth. “Being around him makes me feel whole in a way I didn’t know I could feel again. Whenever I get time with him, it feels like maybe there’s a bright light at the end of my very, very rainy tunnel of life.”
Harlow squeezes my hand once. “I’m happy for you, both of you. I knew it was only a matter of time once you were back in town, and your need for a job simply moved up the timeline.”
She stands, and apparently we are done sitting. “But if you hurt him, I’ll have to bring you decaf from now on. And if he hurts you…” Her face scrunches. “Well, I’ll have to come up with something new, because I don’t really want to kick my own brother in the balls.”
I laugh, and she pulls me into a hug that smells like coffee and vanilla lip balm.
Friday night becomes chaos at Kai and Grayson’s apartment.
Harlow says it isn’t a group hangout, then invites me, Weston, Asher, and six pizzas, which feels like evidence to the contrary.
Grayson opens the door with a resigned expression and a shirt that says PCU Hockey.
Harlow is already inside wearing his hoodie and organizing snacks like she lives there.
Weston arrives ten minutes after me with a grocery bag full of candy and a single orange.
Asher stares at it. “Why?”
“Health.”
“That does not balance the candy.”
“It’s symbolic.”
Asher rolls his eyes. “You’re so weird, man.”
Weston beams. “Thank you.”
I end up on the floor between the coffee table and the couch because Weston takes up an entire cushion “for recovery reasons,” and Harlow claims Grayson’s lap. Asher takes the armchair, and Kai sits behind me on the couch.
Not touching.
We haven’t had a chance to talk about how we’re going to act around our friends. Which should probably happen sooner rather than later.
The movie starts, and it’s not long until Kai’s knee brushes my shoulder.
Once.
Then again.
I glance back at him over my shoulder.
His eyes are on the TV, face neutral. I shift slightly, leaning back just enough that my shoulder rests against his leg.
Harlow clears her throat, and when I look her way, she wiggles her eyebrows at me. I send her a scowl, and her mouth twitches like she’s trying not to laugh.
I swat at her foot, and she grins into her popcorn.
After the movie, the group dissolves into the kitchen.
Weston tries to make everyone vote on the best fictional getaway vehicle.
Asher says a normal car with a full tank of gas.
Grayson says anything with four tires and seat belts.
Harlow says she wouldn’t be in a situation where it was needed, so she doesn’t give an answer.
“You’re dating a hockey player,” Weston says. “Your standards are already compromised.”
Asher looks at him. “Do you want to walk home?”
Kai stands beside me near the sink, hip against the counter, close enough that his sleeve brushes mine. Everyone is laughing. Talking. Moving around us.
He leans down like he’s reaching for a paper towel.
His mouth grazes my hair.
Again.
I turn to look at him and find myself getting lost in those brown eyes of his.
“Hi,” I breathe, taking in the smell of his soap, the hint of mint instantly letting butterflies loose in my stomach.
He grins. “Hi.”
A throat clears, and looking back across the kitchen, four pairs of eyes are on us. Grayson smirking, Harlow hiding a smile behind her hand, Asher and Weston both doing their best not to grin.
“You know,” Weston starts, “I support whatever unnamed, sexual tension-fueled weather system is occurring in this kitchen.”
“Good,” Asher says. “Now stop talking about it.”
“Can’t stop the weather, goalie.”
“You can stop speaking.”
Weston considers that. “That has been proven false many times, my dude.”
Everyone laughs, and the moment passes.
Kai’s hand finds mine under the edge of the counter.
Just for a second. A secret squeeze.
A promise or a question or both.
I squeeze back.
Later, Harlow walks me to the door while the guys argue about whether Weston should be allowed to take leftover pizza.
“He shouldn’t,” Asher says from the kitchen.
“I’m literally an athlete,” Weston argues. “I need carbs to fuel my amazingness.”
“You’re more like a raccoon with quads.”
Harlow pauses with me near the entryway, her shoulder against mine.
“I’m okay with it,” she says quietly.
My throat tightens. “You already said that.”
“I know. I’m saying it again because you look like you’re waiting for the floor to drop.”
I glance back toward the kitchen.
Kai is watching me over Grayson’s shoulder.
Not hiding it.
Not flaunting it.
Just watching me like I’m someone he gets to look for now.
“I don’t know how to do this without being scared,” I admit.
Harlow’s expression softens. “Then do it scared.”
“That sounds like something from a motivational mug.”
“Fine. Do it while emotionally unstable and surrounded by idiots.”
I laugh.
She smiles. “Better?”
“Much.”
She hugs me again, quick and tight. “Just don’t disappear inside your own head, okay? Talk to me, him, whoever you need to talk to.”
“I will.”
She lets me go right as Kai comes over with a hoodie in his hands, but I don’t remember bringing one over.
Harlow looks at him, then at me. “I’m going to go stop Weston from stealing my pizza.”
She quickly disappears into the kitchen.
“Can I at least walk you to your car?” he asks. “I’m pretty sure they won’t care.”
I nod, reaching my hand out for him to take. He does so instantly, intertwining his fingers with mine as we head for the parking lot. We make it to my car, and I reach into my bag to find my keys to unlock the door.
“Did you think it would be cooler out here? What’s with the hoodie?”
He’s silent for a moment, and when I look up at him, he’s blushing. Kai Mercer, captain of the PCU hockey team, blushes—actually blushes.
He clears his throat. “I thought you might want something newer to wear to bed, or really wherever, instead of a fraying T-shirt.”
He brought it for me and is leaving it as a wide-open invitation to wear whenever I feel comfortable.
I don’t really know what to do with the emotions suddenly clogging my throat, so I step closer and rise on my toes, intending to kiss his cheek.
Kai turns his head at the last second, and my mouth lands on his.
His hands come to my waist, and mine curl in the front of his shirt, and the whole week of almosts presses into that single point of contact.
We definitely need to make more time for this.
He kisses me like he’s been wanting to all night, and maybe he has. I know I have.
He deepens the kiss, and when his tongue asks for entrance, I don’t deny him.
When we finally come up for air, I don’t pull back far, his forehead resting on mine.
“You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to do that this week,” he says, his voice a rough whisper that I can feel clear to my toes. “You also don’t know how badly I want to ask you to stay.”
My heart stumbles.
“But I’m not going to.”
“Why?” I ask, disappointment evident in my tone.
“We aren’t in a rush, Freckles.” He presses a kiss to my forehead before continuing.
“I want to do this right, and as much as I want you back in my bed, I don’t want to do things before you’re ready.
Before we’re ready. Plus, I know your mom works tomorrow, and you have to be up early to take care of the twins. ”
The words hit low and deep.
I love him for that.
I should not be thinking that yet.
But I am absolutely thinking that.
“You’re annoyingly good at this,” I say, voice softer than I mean it to be.
His thumb brushes once over my waist. “Good.”
I place another quick kiss on his lips before he opens my car door for me, leaning down for one more.
He braces one arm on the roof of my car. “Text me when you make it home, okay?”
“Always so bossy.” I playfully roll my eyes.
He smirks at that. “Pretty sure you love it.”
My mouth drops open, and he bites his bottom lip before closing my car door and walking back toward his apartment.
I drive home the same way I used to when I was seventeen—a huge smile taking over my face.