38. Chapter Thirty-Eight #2
We stare at each other in the dark. I whisper, “Kiss me.”
He smiles and doesn’t move. “I need to brush my teeth first.”
“Me too.”
“You’re not going home right now.”
“Then how am I supposed to—”
“I’ll lend you mouthwash.”
I chuckle into the blanket. “I don’t think you can lend mouthwash, Ermington. I think that one’s just giving.”
He flicks his head toward the bathroom. I follow this man into the bathroom before the sun has risen.
He flicks the light on, and we crowd into the little bathroom.
It’s domestic and ridiculous and intimate in a way that undoes me harder than the kiss would have — him brushing his teeth in boxers with his hair wrecked, me gargling his mouthwash at his elbow in yesterday’s clothes, the two of us in one mirror like we’ve done it a thousand times and mean to do it a thousand more.
He spits, rinses, sets the brush down, and finds my eyes in the mirror.
“Tell me what you want, Linwood.”
I spit out the mouthwash while my heart races like I’ve just done cardio.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think about that,” I say. “And right now? Right now, I want to go back to your room.”
I turn off the light and walk back to his bedroom. He follows, and we shut the door on the rest of the house.
I look at the clock on his desk. “Why are we up at four in the morning?”
“We needed time to talk.”
“So you woke us up extra early?”
“Time is precious, Linwood.”
“Aren’t you exhausted? You’ve been on a plane half the night.”
“Nah.” He drops onto the bed and pulls me down with him, settling me into the crook of his arm. “I’m exhausted from other things.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He considers the ceiling, mournful. “Getting fake dumped. Very draining. Took years off me.”
I laugh, and he runs a few more — Channing the waiter, the lunatic who flew east, the whole rolling Stanley Ermington show — except it isn’t a show, and that’s the thing I understand lying here with his arm under my head.
The jokes aren’t aimed at a room anymore.
They’re aimed at me, and he isn’t performing, he’s just talking.
And then he goes quiet, which from Stanley is its own kind of loud.
“Hey,” he says. “I actually did want to talk. That wasn’t only a line.”
I nod, waiting.
He’s quiet for a second.
“Why’d you really do it? I need a real answer. An honest one.”
“My dad texted me at the game. He told me you turned Halifax down with your heart instead of your head, and it was going to cost you everything, and that I had your ear, so I should fix it.” I feel him go still.
“And I just — I believed it. I know what you told me, but I sat in that family section and watched you wink at me, and I thought if I left now, maybe you’ll sign.
” My throat tightens. “So I told myself walking away was the best thing for you. I thought it was the only good thing I had left to give you.”
“Aspen,” he whispers.
“I know.” I press on because he should hear all of it.
“I made it all about me. I know what you told me, and I believed you. But my dad got in my head. And you know all the stories about guys getting distracted. I didn’t want that to happen, Ermington—” My voice cracks.
“I’m sorry. I crashed something real to save you from a thing that was never even happening. ”
His arm tightens around me. “Can I tell you what my side of Friday looked like?”
I nod against his chest, enjoying his warmth against me. I would love to know.
“I played a really good game. We won. I came to find my girl, and she looked at me like I was the last person on earth she wanted to see, and then she said it was never real and walked off, and I had no idea what hit me.” His voice is steady, no blame in it, just truth.
“And I didn’t chase you. You know why I didn’t chase you? ”
I shiver. “Because of the porch.”
“I knew if I chased you and gave you a speech, I’d lose.
So I got on a plane instead.” A breath stirs my hair.
“You believed something all the way down where words can’t reach it.
I couldn’t argue you out of that. I had to tell your dad the truth and take the lie off the table for good — so there was nothing left for you to be scared of. ”
I whisper, “You flew all the way over there and back in one night.”
“I’d do it again tonight if I had to. I’m not a leaver, Linwood. I keep trying to tell you that.”
I lift my chin up to look at him. “So what are we, then?”
And for the first time in the entire history of knowing this man, Stanley Ermington doesn’t reach for a joke. The deflection just isn’t there, and it hasn’t been. Maybe he’s too tired right now, but it’s endearing to see him like this. He looks at me and grins.
“Ask me again when the sun’s up,” he says.
“Seriously?” I ask playfully.
“I know.” His thumb moves over my jaw. “It’s just — I flew to your dad’s house on no sleep, and I’m not about to do the bigger thing half-asleep, running on airport coffee and a granola bar.
You deserve the real version. The awake one.
” The corner of his mouth tips. “And in about ninety minutes I’ve got skate, and you’ve got a class, and the world’s going to insist on being Monday at us whether we like it or not. ”
“So you woke us up at four for nothing.”
“I woke us up at four because I’m selfish and I wanted the hour before the world started.” He kisses my forehead. “Give me till this afternoon. Let me get through practice and classes, let you get through your day, and then I’ll do it right. The way I have it planned.”
“You have it planned?”
“Linwood, I’ve always got a plan.”
My heart does something it has no business doing at four in the morning.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Okay?”
“Okay.” I lie back down against him, and his arm comes around me, and I let my eyes close. “But for the record. Whatever the daylight version is.” I feel him waiting. “The answer’s already yes.”
I feel him smile against the top of my head.
I hear his heartbeat under my ear, his breathing evening out, his bedroom door shut on the rest of the world, and a yes I’ve already given, waiting on the sun to rise.