Chapter 12 #2
“You did.”
He shrugs. “I just think it's convenient.”
The words are measured. Controlled. “Funny how Hayes suddenly gets sick today.”
The protective instinct that rises inside me is so immediate it almost surprises me.
Heat rushes through my chest. Every muscle in my body tightens. “You don't know a damn thing about him.”
Noah's expression hardens. “I know my brother's dead.”
The sentence lands like a body check.
He continues, “I know it was his skate.”
Silence fills the locker room. Players stop talking. Nobody moves.
“And now I know that he can't even face me.”
I take one step forward. “He's sick. Give him a break.”
Noah doesn't back away. His jaw tightens. “Honestly, I think he's been given enough breaks.”
I don't remember deciding to move. One second I'm standing beside Kai's locker. The next I'm halfway across the room. Dante catches me before I reach him.
Large hands grab both of my shoulders. “Ash.”
I barely hear him. “Ash.”
My eyes never leave Noah.
“You don't know what you're talking about,” I say, my voice dangerously quiet.
“And you don't know what my family lived through.”
“I'm not arguing that.”
“No?”
“No. What happened to you and your family was awful. But it wasn't Kai's fault.”
Noah meets my stare without flinching. “All I'm saying is if Hayes couldn't face me today, then maybe that tells me everything I need to know about him.”
Something inside me snaps.
Dante immediately steps fully between us. “Nope.”
“Dante.”
“No.”
“He doesn't get to—”
“No.”
He plants both hands against my chest and starts forcing me backward. “Outside. Now.”
The room remains completely silent as he marches me toward the hallway.
Nobody tries to stop him.
Nobody tries to follow.
The locker room doors swing shut behind us with a heavy metallic thud. Only then does Dante finally let go.
He exhales slowly. “You were about three seconds away from getting suspended.”
I rake both hands through my hair.
“He called him a coward.”
“I know.”
“I wanna fucking kill him.”
“I know.”
I turn toward the hallway leading back to the parking lot.
My phone feels impossibly heavy in my pocket. Kai still hasn't answered. For the first time all day, the anger gives way to something much worse. Fear. Because if Noah's first words about Kai are already filled with resentment, I can't imagine what happens when they finally stand in the same room.
By the time Dante finally lets me leave, the anger has burned itself down into something colder. Worry. It settles in my chest like wet concrete.
I don't remember deciding to drive to Kai's apartment. One moment I'm pulling out of the arena parking lot. The next I'm halfway across downtown, gripping the steering wheel hard enough that my knuckles ache.
He never answered my texts.
He never answered my calls.
He never came to practice.
That isn't Kai. Kai shows up. Even when he shouldn't. Even when he's exhausted. Even when he's carrying the weight of the world around his shoulders, he still drags himself to the rink because hockey is the one promise he never breaks.
Today he disappeared. That scares me more than Noah Grove ever could.
Twenty minutes later, I pull into the parking lot outside Kai's building. Then I realize something painfully obvious. I have absolutely no idea which apartment is his.
“Great.” I cut the engine and sit there for a second.
I climb out and head inside. The lobby is quiet except for the steady hum of fluorescent lights. A wall of mailboxes lines one side of the entrance.
I scan the names.
Hayes.
Apartment 612.
Lucky break for me.
I press the elevator button. Just before the doors close, someone wedges a cardboard box between them. The doors immediately slide back open. A woman stumbles inside behind it. The box is taller than she is.
She tries lifting one side. It doesn't move.
I step forward. “Here.”
She blinks up at me. “Oh.”
“I've got it.” Without waiting for permission, I lift the box.
It's heavier than it looks.
“Oh my God.” She laughs. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
The elevator doors close.
She studies me for a second. Then her eyes suddenly widen. “Wait.”
I look over.
“I know you.”
Uh-oh.
“You play for the Wizards.”
“Yeah.”
She points accusingly. “You're the guy who body-checked that asshole that jumped Kai.”
I can't help laughing. “That's me.”
“I knew it.” She sticks out her hand then pulls it back when she realizes my hands are full with her box.
“I'm Angela.”
“Ash.”
“I know.” She grins.
“Kai talks about hockey enough that I recognize half the team.”
Interesting.
She glances down at the box resting effortlessly in my hands. “Wow.”
“What?”
“Those muscles really aren't just for decoration.”
I snort. “I'd hope not.”
The elevator dings. Angela steps out first.
“So.” She glances sideways. “What brings you here?”
“I'm looking for Kai.”
Her smile fades immediately. “Is he okay?”
I grimace. “You've seen him today?”
“No.”
“He missed practice.”
She stops walking. “What?”
“He never showed.”
Her forehead creases. “That's…not like him.”
“I know.”
“Kai's basically the human equivalent of a hall monitor.”
Despite everything, I smile. “That's surprisingly accurate.”
“He goes to dentist appointments early.”
I laugh.
“He alphabetized my spice cabinet once because he got bored.”
“I completely believe that.”
Angela shakes her head. “Maybe he's just sick?”
The concern in her voice matches my own.
She points toward the apartment next to hers.
“I'm 610.” Then toward the next door. “He's 612.”
She hesitates. “Follow me. Our patios connect.”
I blink. “What?”
“We keep the doors unlocked.”
“Seriously?”
She shrugs. “Emergencies.”
Apparently, today counts as one.
She unlocks her apartment. “Come on.”
I carry the box inside, dropping it gently in the entryway.
The place is warm and lived in. Plants cover nearly every available surface. An enormous orange cat lifts his head from the couch, judges me silently, then decides I'm not worth the effort.
“Cleveland.” Angela points. “Don't be rude.”
The cat immediately ignores her.
“I like him already.”
“You shouldn't.” She laughs.
“Back there.” She gestures toward the sliding glass door.
“Thanks.”
“Let me know if you need anything.”
I nod once, then step through the patio door. The two balconies are separated only by a waist-high divider. Kai's sliding door is unlocked.
I knock anyway. “Kai?”
Nothing. I slide the door open and step inside. The apartment is silent.
My eyes immediately travel across the room. Protein shake bottles sit abandoned on the coffee table.
Three takeout containers are stacked beside the couch. Several crumpled bloody tissues litter the floor. A towel lies crumpled on the floor in the kitchen. The sink is full.
My first instinct is to start straightening everything. Years of living alone have made clutter feel physically uncomfortable. I shove the urge aside. Later. Find Kai first.
“Kai?”
Still nothing. The apartment feels…wrong. Neglected. Like someone simply stopped caring halfway through the week.
My stomach tightens. I follow the short hallway toward the bedroom. The door stands partially open.
I push it open gently, and relief and heartbreak flood me all at once.
Kai is asleep, curled on top of the blankets, still wearing my old college hockey t-shirt. The oversized gray fabric hangs loosely from his shoulders, making him look even smaller than he already is.
His face is turned toward the window. His eyes are swollen. The pillow beneath his head is scattered with used tissues. More lie on the floor beside the bed.
It doesn't take much imagination to figure out how he spent the morning.
I walk over quietly. He looks exhausted, not the kind of tired an afternoon nap fixes. The kind that settles into someone's bones.
Carefully, I kneel beside the mattress. My hand finds his hair almost on instinct.
I brush the messy blond strands away from his forehead. “So this is where you disappeared.”
He doesn't wake. His breathing remains slow.
Only when my thumb lightly grazes his temple do I notice his hands. My chest tightens.
The skin around several fingernails is raw and bleeding, where he's picked at them until they split.
Some of the dried blood has stained the edge of the blanket.
An anxious habit.
One bad enough to leave him injured without him seeming to notice.
“Kai…”
His eyelids slowly flutter open. For a second, they're unfocused. Then they find me.
“Ash? What are you doing here?” His voice is rough from sleep and crying.
“I…” I was worried sick about you. I missed you. I needed to make sure you were okay. I needed to lay my eyes on you. I wanted to hold you and never let go.
But none of those words come out.
He blinks once. Twice. Like he's making sure I'm real.
“I missed practice.”
“I know.”
“I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I really thought I was going to go and then…” The apology barely reaches a whisper.
I smooth another strand of hair away from his forehead. “Fuck practice. You can take a day off whenever you want.”
“I…” His eyes begin drifting closed again. “You came.”
The words are so quiet I almost miss them.
“Yeah. I was worried,” I admit.
“You didn't have to.”
“I know.”
A faint crease appears between his eyebrows, like he's trying to stay awake. Trying to apologize again.
I gently run my fingers through his hair. “Go back to sleep.”
“But—”
“I've got you.” His breathing slows.
Within seconds, he's asleep again. I stay there for another minute, listening to him breathe. Only when I'm certain he's really sleeping do I stand.
The bedroom is almost as messy as the living room. Laundry spills from a basket. Books are stacked haphazardly on the floor. Water glasses sit forgotten on the nightstand.
Quietly, I begin picking things up. Not because the apartment bothers me.
Because I know what it feels like when the world gets so heavy that even washing a dish feels impossible.
An hour later, I'm wiping down the kitchen counter when I hear the patio door slide open.
Angela peeks her head inside. “Everything okay?”
I glance toward the bedroom. “Kai's asleep.”
Relief washes across her face. “Oh, thank God. What's wrong?”