16. Chapter 16 #2
I watch her go until her door clicks shut, my mind already racing. I turn and walk back inside Lilly’s house, locking the door behind me.
Boyfriend.
It’s never been a title I wanted or cared enough to claim. Over the years, I’ve had a few longish-term things with women, but I’d never found myself interested enough to keep them going.
Now here I am, having just announced myself as Lilly’s man to the neighborhood gossip without a single second of hesitation. It felt like a simple statement of fact. She belongs to me and I belong to her.
A quiet, rhythmic drip, drip, drip cuts through my thoughts, drawing my eyes back down to the sink I just cleaned.
I look underneath, frowning as I see a small puddle beginning to form on the bottom of the wooden cabinet.
I crouch down and peer into the plumbing.
One of the plastic connecting rings on the U-bend pipe is loose, completely stripped of its grip and letting a steady stream of water leak through the seal.
I let out a low grunt, reaching in. I wipe the water away, grip the loose connector with my fingers, and torque the plastic ring until it snaps perfectly back into place, sealing the pipe tight. I run the tap afterward just to be sure and wait a beat, watching the plastic under the light.
Bone dry.
At this rate I’m going to end up replacing her roof before lunch.
I stand up, brushing off the knees of my black pants. Wiping my hands on a towel, I cross the kitchen and yank open the fridge door, hoping to find something to pull a meal together. My eyes scan the shelves, my brows furrowing into a hard frown.
Nothing useful.
A carton of milk, a half-empty jar of jam, a couple of yogurts, and some greens. There isn’t a single thing in here that could properly sustain a man of my size and feed Lilly.
I pull out my phone and check the time. 8:00 a.m.
I pocket the phone and grab my car keys from the dining table. I need to make a breakfast run.
I walk toward the front door, but as I reach for the deadbolt, my eyes land on the little decorative dish sitting on her entryway table. Right inside it is a silver ring of keys attached to a pink fluffy keychain.
But getting back inside isn’t the problem. Locking the deadbolt from the outside to keep her safe while I’m gone is.
So I take her keys and head out. I pull the heavy wooden door shut, insert her key into the lock from the outside, and turn it until I hear the solid, heavy thunk of the deadbolt sliding into place. I pull the key out, sliding her fluffy keychain deep into the pocket of my jeans.
She’s completely safe and sound in her bed until her boyfriend comes back. A dark hum of adrenaline shoots straight through my veins as I walk down the steps toward my car.
The kitchen smells like a high-end patisserie.
I’ve got the croissants in the oven and a timer ticking down in the back of my head. I’ve already finished the French toast and laid out a platter of spreads that would put a hotel brunch to shame.
My parents taught me the basics of cooking, but it was our nannies and housekeepers I terrorized as a kid who really put the work in.
When my brother and I were growing up, we were bottomless pits.
By the fifth time I demanded pastries in a single afternoon, the staff finally snapped and told me if I wanted them that bad, I’d better learn how to fold the damn dough myself.
So, here I am. Standing in a sun-drenched kitchen, waiting on handmade croissants for my girl.
I wander back into the living room, drawn like a moth to a flame to that wall of trophies. I study the photos again, my eyes narrowing at that version of Lilly.
I sense her before I hear her.
The air in the room shifts, the soft, hesitant scuff of her bare feet on the hardwood telling me exactly where she is. She stops several feet behind me, the silence stretching out until I break it.
“Good morning,” I greet her.
“Good morning,” she says softly, her footsteps sounding a little closer. “I... I wasn’t sure if you’d still be here. I thought you’d left, but then I smelled the food and…”
I finally turn to look at her and almost fall to my knees.
It pains me how attracted I am to this woman.
The sundress she’s in, her bare legs, her light hair, her face—every physical aspect of her has me in a chokehold.
But what has completely drawn me in goes way deeper than her skin.
Now I know there’s pain under all that softness too.
Pain she carries way better than I ever could.
I extend my hand toward her, an unspoken command. Lilly hesitates for a fraction of a second before stepping closer, placing her small hand in my palm.
The second her skin touches mine, I pull.
I tug her toward me, her body stumbling slightly until she’s flush against my chest. I spin her around, forcing her to face the wall of trophies and photos.
I wrap my arm around her middle, pulling her back against my frame, my other hand coming up to firmly pinch her cheeks, tilting her head back so she has no choice but to look up.
I lean low, my lips brushing the shell of her ear.
“Were you just going to keep hiding pieces of yourself until I found them all on my own?”
I feel the hitch in her breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly against my arm.
“I’m not hiding it,” she breathes out, her voice shaky.
“No?”
I let my free hand drop. I trail my fingers down the side of her hip, sliding them under the hem of the dress she’s wearing. I move slowly until the tips of my fingers find the jagged, raised texture of the scar on her inner thigh.
Lilly tenses in my arms, a sharp gasp escaping her as she tries to pull away. I don’t let her move an inch.
“What happened three years ago?” I ask.
She shakes her head against my grip, her eyes welling with a sudden, sharp pain that has nothing to do with my touch. She isn’t ready. I can feel the walls slamming back up, locking me out.
I don’t like it. I fucking hate it. I want to know every single thing there is to know about her.
“You don’t have to tell me. But I’d like you to.”
Lilly’s eyes stay on the framed photos and medals. She doesn’t say anything for a while, and neither do I.
“It was Nationals,” she finally says.
My attention sharpens.
“Pairs?”
She nods.
“We were doing a triple twist. We’d done it hundreds of times.
He threw me and I rotated. Everything felt normal until I started coming down.
” She closes her eyes, a small V forming between her brows.
“His catch was late. I don’t really know why.
I remember that he caught me, but his grip wasn’t…
” She makes a small movement with her fingers.
“Strong enough, I guess. So, I slipped right through.”
She opens her eyes and shakes her head, her bottom lip disappearing between her teeth until she’s ready to continue. I stay as still as I can, giving her the time she needs.
“My weight took both of us down and…” Her voice falters, and she wraps both arms around herself. “Sorry.”
I move on instinct. I don’t even think before my arm wraps around her upper back. She leans into my touch, and my lips come down to kiss the top of her head.
“He tried to turn so he wouldn’t land on top of me,” she continues after a few moments of silence.
“But his skate came up when we fell.” Lilly rubs her palm absently over her opposite arm.
“I didn’t feel it at first. I just remember hitting the ice and hearing everybody start yelling.
Then I saw the blood. The blade went through my upper thigh.
They told me afterward it barely missed my femoral artery.
It cut through a lot of muscle. There was nerve damage too.
I had emergency surgery that night and another one later. ”
Exactly what I thought when I saw it. Part of it is from the blade, part of it is surgical.
“They did a good job. Better than good, actually. I can walk normally. I can skate.” She gestures toward her leg. “I got most of my strength back.”
Most.
There’s a whole life sitting inside that word.
She gives me a tiny smile that doesn’t go anywhere near her eyes.
“But elite pairs skating isn’t really a sport where most is enough.”
No. It isn’t.
“It took me so long to even go near the ice again. And when I finally got back on it...” Her voice catches, and she clears it. “My body wouldn’t cooperate.”
I think of the first time I watched her on the rink. The way she moved before the fear got hold of her. Such clean edges, perfect balance. Her weight was shifting before conscious thought could possibly be involved. Years of repetition living in her muscles and bones.
“So that was it for me.”
Neither of us says anything. I don’t rush to fill the silence. I can recognize when shutting the fuck up is the best option.
She takes a deep breath and twists a little to look up at me.
My eyes move over the trophy wall again.
This is a lifetime of work gone in a moment.
I look back down at her and soften my features.
Last thing she needs is me staring at her like I’m pitying her.
But judging by the look on her face, it’s exactly what she expects to see.
There are a dozen questions sitting on my tongue, but I swallow each one. I want to ask whether she tried again, why she stopped completely, whether she still wants it. If she wants me to know.
I know what it’s like to revisit a trauma, and I don’t want to make her sit in it for more than necessary. She’s already given me more than I asked for.
“Thank you for telling me.”
Her head turns.
“Thank you for listening.” A faint flush creeps into her cheeks as she tucks a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “I don’t like to talk about it much.”
I figured. I don’t particularly enjoy talking about the things that ruined me either.
“Is that why you see Simon?”
“Mostly. It was Dad’s idea,” she says after a moment. “He thought talking to someone might help, but I don’t know if it is.”
“Help with what?”
“Hm?” She looks up.