17. Brashe
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
brASHE
Ileft her apartment at way-too-early-in-the-morning.
If I’d stayed until dawn, I’d have to watch her wake up, and I wasn’t sure I could handle that yet without begging for more. The way she’d looked at me, so soft and open and trusting, had broken something inside me I didn’t know how to fix.
So I’d untangled myself carefully, holding my breath when she stirred, and slipped out of her bed like a coward.
The note took me four tries. I finally settled on something that felt honest without ripping my lungs open:
Had to go home and ice my hip. (You’d kill me if I didn’t.)
Last night meant everything.
See you at the arena.
—B
I left it on the pillow, next to the indent where my head had been.
Now I sat on my own couch at 4:30 AM, staring at the ceiling, icing my hip.
Sleep wasn’t happening.
The couch cushions still held the indent from where I’d sat earlier, before I’d driven to her place. Before I’d knocked on her door like a desperate fool who couldn’t wait until morning to see her.
My hip throbbed, reminding me I’d been sitting in the same position too long.
I shifted, trying to find a comfortable angle, but comfort wasn’t happening.
Not with my brain replaying the moment in the pool when she’d wrapped her legs around my waist and rocked against me through our swimsuits.
She’d come so beautifully. I wanted to see her come again.
I’d been hard enough to pound nails.
I opened my eyes, staring at the ceiling fan. The darkness pressed in from all sides, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d made a mistake leaving. Not because I wanted more, though I did, desperately, but because I’d run.
That’s what I’d done. Run.
She’d asked me to stay. And I’d laid there for hours with her pressed against my chest, her breath evening out into sleep, and I’d panicked.
What if I woke up and she looked at me differently? Come morning, she might realize she’d made a mistake letting me stay.
She might have regrets.
So I’d untangled myself like a coward. Written a note that took four tries because I couldn’t figure out how to say last night meant everything to me without sounding like I was already too far gone.
Which I was.
I’d been gone since the picnic. Since she’d walked up to me in that yellow dress and asked about god complexes with a smile that made my heart spasm. I’d spent ten months pretending I wasn’t thinking about her every time Crim mentioned her name, asking casual questions that weren’t casual at all.
And then days of her hands on my body.
Last night, she’d trusted me enough to be vulnerable, to let me hold her while she slept.
And I’d left before she woke up.
My phone sat on the coffee table, dark and silent. I couldn’t stand it.
Standing, I tested my hip. Still achy, but manageable.
The stretches could wait until morning. Right now, I needed to at least try to sleep, because in four hours I’d see her at the arena, and I’d have to act professional when all I wanted to do was pull her into a supply closet and pick up where we’d left off.
Three more days until I could play again—assuming I didn’t mess my body up.
Then I could kiss her properly, the way I’d been dreaming about since she’d walked up to me in that yellow dress.
I had three short days to prove I was worth the risk she was taking on me.
I could wait that long.
Probably.
The hip ached from tension and from lying in her bed for hours without letting myself touch her because I’d promised we’d take our time.
I was a fool. A noble fool, but still.
My phone buzzed at 4:48 AM.
Found your note, Ellie texted. “Everything” is a big word, Kedish.
My thumbs moved before my brain caught up. It’s the right word.
You didn’t have to leave.
I know. I wanted to do this right.
Sneaking out at 4 AM is “doing this right”?
Leaving before I convinced you to let me stay forever is doing this right.
That’s annoyingly romantic, she said.
I’m an annoyingly romantic orc.
Keep icing your hip.
Yes, Dr. Lundrig.
She sent a smiley face. See you at the arena.
I stared at that text for longer than I should’ve before I made myself put the phone down.
The apartment was still dark and quiet as I got down on the floor and started the stretches.
Hip flexor first. Thirty seconds, feeling the pull along the front of my hip. Her voice echoed in my head, telling me to breathe, and I did, feeling the muscle release.
I did the adductor work next, lying on my side, leg extended, holding the position while my inner thigh protested. Three sets. Hold thirty sec. No cheating.
Her handwriting was burned into my brain now. How she underlined no cheating twice, like she knew I’d be tempted.
Halfway through the second set, I caught myself thinking about her hands. How she’d gripped my thigh in the pool to position the stretch. I tried to focus on the burn in my adductor but failed.
I couldn’t stop remembering the little furrow that appeared between her eyebrows when she was concentrating. The freckle at her temple I wanted to taste.
My hip pulled wrong, and I had to restart the stretch.
I finished the third set and sat up, breathing harder than the stretches warranted.
The break room before the team had to leave for the second game was loud with two dozen hockey players trying to eat and talk at the same time. I sat with Veskar and Fedor at our usual table, a plate of chicken, vegetables, and rice in front of me I was pretending to be interested in.
Ellie sat three tables over with Patty and Neva.
I wasn’t looking at her.
Except I was absolutely looking at her.
She was laughing at something Patty had said, her head tilted back, her ponytail swinging. A salad sat in front of her, half-eaten. As I watched, she picked out a tomato and set it on the edge of her plate.
Monday. Salad with chicken. Picks out the tomatoes.
“You’re staring,” Veskar said around a mouthful of bread.
“I’m not.”
“You are. You’ve been staring at her table for at least five minutes.”
I dragged my gaze back to my plate. “I’m thinking.”
“About your hip mobility work?” His grin was dangerous. “Sure you are.”
Fedor snorted into his water.
“Shut up,” I muttered.
“She doesn’t like tomatoes,” Veskar said, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve noticed that too, haven’t you?”
I had noticed. I noticed everything.
On Monday, she always got the salad with chicken, then picked out the tomatoes.
On Tuesday, she ordered a sandwich, but she only ate half and put the rest in a container. I assumed she ate it on the nights when she worked late.
On Wednesday, she ate whatever pasta dish the chef offered.
On Thursday, Ellie got the meat with vegetables and a starch.
And on Friday, she treated herself to something from a nearby café, usually a wrap or a panini.
I was keeping track like a creep, and I couldn’t stop.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I told Veskar.
Veskar’s grin widened. “Right. And I’m the queen of the orc kingdom.”
The door swung open, and Mikael walked in. He grabbed food and dropped into the empty chair at our table, his plate loaded with enough meat and rice to feed three people.
“So Kedish,” he said, gesturing with his fork. “The new doc’s really putting her hands all over you twice a day, huh?”
The table went quiet.
Veskar stopped mid-bite. Fedor found his plate fascinating.
“What?” Mikael looked around. “I’m just saying, you’re a lucky guy getting that kind of attention.”
I stood up.
The entire break room went silent.
Mikael’s smile faltered. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
I stared at him, barely restraining my anger. This was the look I used in net when a forward thought about getting cute with me. The one that said try it and see what happens.
“Sorry,” Mikael said, his gaze dropping from mine. “That was wrong. I shouldn’t have said it. I shouldn’t say a lot of things. I won’t do it again.”
I nodded once and sat back down.
Conversation resumed, voices careful now. The joke had been heard and rejected, and everyone had noticed.
Including Ellie. I could feel her eyes on me from across the room, but I didn’t look up.
When I finally risked a glance, she wasn’t looking at me with gratitude or embarrassment. Her expression was somewhere between annoyed and amused, like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to thank me or remind me she didn’t need defending.
She mouthed something that looked like, “Really?”
I shrugged.
She went back to her meal.
Crim caught me in the hallway twenty minutes later.
“That was territorial,” he said, falling into step beside me.
“She can handle herself.”
“I know she can. That’s not what I said.”
We walked in silence for a few paces. The hallway was empty, most of the team still at lunch or working out.
“You’re serious about her,” Crim said. Not a question.
“I am.”
He stopped walking, so I stopped too and turned to face him.
Crim studied me with the same focus he used to read plays on the ice, looking for weakness, tells, or anything that would give him information he could use to defeat them.
“Don’t make me regret that nod in the parking lot,” he said.
“I won’t.”
“The last thing she needs is—”
“I know what she needs,” I said. “And it’s not someone who’s going to make her feel like she’s not enough.”
His eyebrows rose. “Good answer.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “She’s the best person I know, Kedish. Don’t forget that.”
“I won’t,” I said.
He walked away, then called back, “And just so you know? I’m glad it’s you.”
He left me alone with my pulse roaring and the realization that I’d meant every single word. And so had he.
By 11 PM that night, I was supposed to be asleep. I’d watched the second game on TV—they won—then told myself to go to bed.
Instead of sleeping, I stared at my ceiling, my hip aching from working out in the gym and doing my exercises tonight. I’d sent the 9:41 PM ice photo to Ellie. She’d responded with a thumbs up, which was both disappointing and enough to make my throat feel tight.
I rolled onto my side, trying to find a position that didn’t make the hip pull.
Finally, I sat up.