Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
CONNOR
I feel like shit by the time I finally drag myself through the front door.
I stayed long after the kids left, running drills until I was soaked in sweat and my muscles aching.
It still wasn’t enough to expel the tight feeling under my skin.
So, I did what every sensible person would have done—I showered and then I punched the crumbling concrete wall in the locker room.
Twice.
I busted my knuckles in the process, but at least the pain gave me something else to focus on. Until I spent the entire ride home from the arena trying to come up with a good way to tell the kids about the rink closing and finding none. Now all I want to do is crash on my bed and not resurface.
I hang my keys next to Daisy’s on the small board in the hallway and toe out of my boots. The sound of the TV pulls my attention toward the living room and out from the cloak of misery I’ve been stewing in for the last hour.
I peek inside on my way past and stop in my tracks.
Daisy is curled up on the couch, the dark blue blanket my sister got me for Christmas wrapped around her like a burrito and her feet tucked up under her, an abandoned popcorn bowl beside her.
The scene is so domestic it tugs at my heart.
We’ve managed to miss each other lately—I’ve only managed to catch glimpses of her this week, rushing from the kitchen to her room with the plate of grilled cheese sandwiches she calls dinner or leaving the apartment cradling the notebook she’s always writing in.
But here she is, sprawled on my couch like she’s feeling perfectly at home.
I find myself hovering in the doorway instead of heading straight for my room like I had planned.
It’s stupid—I’ve lived here longer than she has, but I find myself waiting for her to want me around rather than just force myself into her space.
“What are you watching?”
“Grey’s Anatomy,” she says, only briefly looking away from the screen to acknowledge my presence. Whatever she sees on my face has her doing a double take. I knew I looked rough, but I didn’t think it was that bad. “Are you okay?”
I shrug and push off the doorframe, finally deciding on just joining her on the fucking couch. It’s my home too.
“Did something happen?” she asks again when I drop down on the cushion beside her.
“It’s been a long day,” I admit, keeping my eyes on the screen. “Why is there a bomb squad in that operating room?”
She ignores my question, her eyes stuck somewhere on my knuckles where the split skin still tingles. Maybe I’m going mad, because it feels like it intensifies under her gaze. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m a hockey player.”
She rolls her eyes, tucking her feet closer to her on the cushion so they’re no longer touching my thigh. I almost yank them back. “Contrary to what you might believe, that doesn’t make you any less human.”
“If I cried every time I got an injury we would be having this conversation in a swimming pool,” I tell her, running a hand through my hair.
“The other guy better look worse than you do.”
I can’t help the gruff laugh that spills out of me. “It was a wall, and it definitely looks worse than I do.”
She blinks at me, confused. “Why were you punching a wall?”
“Do you always ask so many questions?”
“Do you always refuse to answer?” she counters. When I don’t say anything else, she huffs and turns her attention back on the screen. “Fine, sulk away. But stop ruining my marathon with your moody vibes.”
“I’m not sulking.”
She rolls her eyes. “Sure.”
I consider telling her the truth when an explosion breaks out on the screen in the middle of the ER.
It’s the perfect representation of how I’ve been feeling lately.
Everything has been piling up inside of me, building until it feels like I might burst at the seams or crumble into pieces if I don’t let it out.
“They’re closing the rink.” It sounds strange, saying it like that. For a second I want to take the words back, too scared that it will actually make it real.
She stills beside me. “I thought your team was doing well this season? Aren’t you on track to win?”
“Hardly,” I scoff. We’re far off from making the top of the league, even with our recent winning streak.
She hasn’t been to another game, but the fact that she’s been paying enough attention to know that we’re not scraping the bottom of the barrel any longer does something weird to me. “It’s the old rink downtown.”
She blinks at me, clearly confused. I scratch the back of my head, realizing that the only time I’ve mentioned this to her she was probably too drunk to remember. But then her face falls, the dots seeming to connect, and I feel my heart sinking in my chest right with it. “What about the kids?”
I pull the decorative pillow between us against my chest, hoping that if I squeeze it hard enough, I won’t be able to feel the lump that’s lodged itself in my throat.
I haven’t cried yet, nor do I want to, especially not with her pretty eyes on me.
“That’ll be the end of it. No rink means no ice time. ”
“Is there anything you can do?”
“The repairs are extensive. I could try to fix some of it myself, but I wouldn’t even know where to start,” I admit.
Coach is right—it’s a lost cause.
I rake both hands over my face, wincing when the movement pulls at the bust skin on my knuckles.
“What can I do?”
My head rolls against the back of the couch until I’m looking at her. She holds my stare, waiting as the silence passes between us.
There are a million things I could ask her for right now, but for some reason the only thought running through my mind is leaning across and running my thumb over her plump bottom lip.
Bad idea—definitely not doing that.
“Distract me?”
Her eyes flicker between mine, and she must realize the sincerity in my request, because she nods resolutely then picks the remote back up and starts to press buttons.
“What are you doing?” I ask when the episode list on the streaming service appears.
“I’m restarting so you can keep up.”
“You can just fill me in on what’s happened,” I tell her when I realize she’s about to go back three seasons just for me.
She shakes her head, pulling up season one. “It’ll be better if you watch it from the start anyway.”
She pulls up the pilot episode and fans her legs out until her feet are pressed against me again. Without thinking, I tug at the blanket until it’s covering me too.
When the opening credits start and I feel her toes wiggle against my thigh, my shoulders drop, the tension slowly easing. The problem isn’t fixed, it won’t go away, but at least I don’t have to be alone with it tonight.