38. Aurora
AURORA
What’s the actual difference between self-care and just rotting on the couch?
As far as I can tell, there isn’t one. They’re both just chilling in comfy clothes with snacks and a face mask on.
Self-care definitely sounds better than admitting I’ve been lying on the couch for hours in an oversized T-shirt and sleep shorts with a face mask, my hair in a messy bun, a bag of Hot Cheetos balanced on my stomach while some trashy reality show plays on the TV.
Cole ruined anime for me. Every time I try to watch it, all I can think about is him, so trash TV it is.
I tip the bag back and dump a few more Cheetos into my mouth, and when I look up again, the screen goes black.
My head jerks up. Isabella is standing there with the remote in one hand and Maisie beside her.
“Hey,” I say with a mouthful of Cheetos. “I was watching that.”
“This is an intervention,” Isabella says, Maisie standing beside her. “You’ve been moping for way too long. The game starts in an hour. Get dressed.”
I sigh and reach for another Cheeto. “I’m not going.”
“What?” Isabella says, staring at me like I just announced I’m joining a cult. “That’s insane. Hockey is your favorite sport.”
“Is it?” I lift a brow. “What if I only liked it because Chase played and I wanted to be the supportive little girlfriend in the stands cheering for him like the complete idiot I was?”
Her brows pull together. “You know that’s not true.”
I toss another Cheeto into my mouth. “Do I?”
“Yes, you do,” she says. “You are not the kind of girl who changes her whole personality for a guy. You loved hockey before him, during him, and after him, so nice try.”
Annoyingly, she’s right.
I liked hockey long before I started dating Chase. I loved the skill and speed—and, okay, the fighting is kind of hot too.
Maisie shifts, the hem of the jersey she’s wearing with her boyfriend’s number riding up before she absently tugs it back down. “I like it even though I still don’t totally get what’s going on half the time,” she admits. “I mostly just cheer when Austin scores.”
“You are dating a center forward, Maisie.” Isabella narrows her eyes at her. “I’m honestly shocked by how little you know.” She lets out a dramatic sigh and shakes her head. “Remind me to teach you the rules.”
Then she turns back to me, narrowing her eyes all over again. “And you,” she says, “are not the kind of girl who stays home moping over some guy, so get your ass up, put on something hot, and let’s go.”
My brows jump, but because she’s right—and a little terrifying right now— I push myself up off the couch. “Jesus. Bossy much?” I mutter. “I don’t know how Ryan puts up with you.”
She gives me a look that says she’s two seconds from dressing me herself, then jerks her chin toward my room. “You have ten minutes.”
Ten minutes into the game, I stop resenting Isabella for dragging me here and remember exactly why I love hockey in the first place.
Everything can change in seconds. That’s what I’ve always loved about it. It’s fast and brutal and loud, and somewhere between the first hit into the boards and the crowd roaring at a near miss, something in me starts to wake back up.
By the third period, I’m leaning forward in my seat without even realizing it, and when Nathan drops into a butterfly save and the puck ricochets hard off his pad, I’m on my feet before I can stop myself, a sharp breath catching in my throat while the whole arena erupts around us The other team hasn’t scored yet and if this keeps going, there’s a very good chance Colton will get a shutout.
Beside me, Maisie squints down at the ice, then looks over at me. “Was that good?”
I glance at her, a laugh slipping out at how completely lost she is. “Yeah,” I say. “Very.”
I settle back into my seat while the guys reset for the faceoff, and my gaze drifts before I can stop it, landing on the back of Cole’s jersey where he’s standing off to the side.
Number 42.
My throat tightens when he glances up and scans the crowd.
There’s no way he can see me from all the way up here. I made sure of that when I picked seats as far back as possible. Still, for a brief second, it feels like he’s looking right at me.
I drag my attention back to center ice just as Austin lines up for the draw.
The puck hits the ice and he wins it, taking off down the left side before sending it to Logan.
Logan moves it right back to him, and Austin twists out of the other team’s reach with a spin Maisie definitely taught him from figure skating, then snaps it to Ryan.
Ryan sends it off to Holden, Holden passes it back, and Austin chases it down before firing it straight into the back of the net, and when the final buzzer sounds, Colton U wins with a shutout, and the whole place goes crazy.
Maisie is on her feet so fast she nearly takes me out with her, both hands flying to her mouth before she starts clapping and yelling with everyone else.
I stand too, cheering because that was a hell of a goal.
Beside me, Maisie is practically vibrating with excitement, laughing as she grabs my arm before hurrying down the stairs. Austin rips his helmet off the second he gets to the glass, and as soon as he sees her, his hand slides to her face and he kisses her.
A little farther down, Ryan catches Isabella around the waist and kisses her like he forgot there are cameras—and her father—right there. She kisses him back anyway, one hand fisted in the front of his jersey while he smiles into her mouth.
Then my gaze catches on Logan and Nathan still on the ice.
Their foreheads are pressed together and both of them are still grinning, and when Logan curls a hand around the back of Nathan’s neck and kisses him right there on center ice, I can’t help but smile.
I can’t even imagine what that must feel like, after having to hide for so long to finally do that out in the open.
They look so happy and so completely, unapologetically in love. Austin and Maisie. Ryan and Isabella. Logan and Nathan. Everywhere I look, somebody is holding their person.
My chest tugs because I don’t have that. I don’t have anyone looking for me in the crowd after the best game of their life. I don’t have anyone crossing the ice just to get to me first. I don’t have anyone who loves me like that.
For a minute there, I thought I did. I swallow hard and look away from the ice before I can finish that thought.
I bend, grab my bag from under my seat, and swing it over my shoulder, only to falter when I see Cole standing at the end of the row, staring back at me.
He’s still in gear, his hair damp from the game, and his chest is rising too fast, like he came straight off the ice and didn’t stop until he got here. When he starts making his way toward me through the row, my pulse jumps.
“What are you doing?” I ask, and I hate that my voice comes out breathless instead of angry.
His eyes flick over my face, his hand dragging over the back of his neck. He lets out a breath and shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says, taking a step closer. “I have no fucking clue.”
I realize—when the place goes quiet—people have noticed, and all eyes are on us. But I can’t make myself look away from him to confirm that. Especially not when he drops to his knees in front of me.
My mouth parts. “Cole—what the hell are you doing?”
He looks up at me, his jaw tight like this physically pains him, which, knowing him, it probably does.
“Embarrassing myself at your feet,” he says. “Seemed fair after the way I embarrassed you.”
Cole hates attention. Hates being looked at. Hates vulnerability even more. Standing in front of me after a game, on his knees, with half the rink watching every second of this, is about as far from his comfort zone as he can get.
That doesn’t mean I’m about to make it easy on him.
He swallows. “I’m an asshole.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Yeah. You are.”
“I was such a dick to you.”
I lift a brow. “Go on.”
He lets out the faintest huff of laughter, but it’s gone almost immediately.
“I was scared,” he says, holding my gaze. “Of how I felt about you. Of how much I wanted you. I told myself pushing you away was the right thing. That cutting you out was what I had to do to protect my sister.”
I swallow hard.
“I know you don’t owe me anything,” he says, keeping his eyes on mine. “I never say anything right. I get angry, I shut down, and half the time I make things worse instead of better.”
He looks tired, worn down, like he hasn’t slept properly in days—and I know he probably hasn’t.
“I hurt you,” he says. “I know I did. And I’m so fucking sorry for pushing you away when all I wanted was to pull you in and just… fuck. I just wanted you with me.”
My heart jolts, trying to pound out of my chest and crawl toward him.
“But I’m trying now because my sister made me realize I didn’t have to be alone and miserable to protect her.
I’m here because I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, and I can’t think straight when you’re not around.
I’m here because nothing in my life feels right without you in it, and no matter how hard I tried to convince myself I was doing the right thing, losing you felt like losing the only good thing I’ve ever had that was really mine. ”
God, this is killing me. My heart squeezes in my chest and I forget how to stay angry.
All I wanted was this. Not him on his knees making a fool out of himself—although that’s a nice bonus—but him being honest with me.
Him finally saying what was actually going on in his head instead of acting like I meant nothing to him.
I’m so tired of feeling like I mean nothing to people. I wanted to matter to Cole. Wanted to be more than just someone he wanted in his bed.
“Go on a date with me, Prescott,” he says, holding my gaze. “If you want to punch me after, go ahead. Kick me in the balls if you want.”
I arch a brow. “Tempting.”
A little breath leaves him. “If you still hate me after that, I’ll let you go,” he continues, swallowing hard.
“It’ll fucking wreck me, but I’ll let you go, because I know I’m the one who did this.
” His jaw tightens. “But just… let me try, Aurora. I know I already ruined the part of me you trusted, but if you give me one chance, just one, I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never doubt what you are to me again.” He looks at me like it hurts to breathe.
“I don’t know how to be the man you deserve yet.
I just know I want to be, and I know I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you. ”
I can’t think, can’t breathe. There are too many emotions running through my body all at once.
I’m still hurt. Still angry. Still humiliated enough that part of me wants to leave him down there a little longer just to make him suffer.
But I also feel relief knowing that I didn’t imagine all of it.
That I wasn’t crazy for thinking I meant something to him.
I can feel people around us paying attention, waiting to see what I do, and normally I’d hate that. Right now I’m too locked in on him to care. Too aware of the fact that he got down on his knees in public even though I know he’d rather chew off his own arm than be looked at like this.
I should be furious. Should tell him to go to hell and not even entertain another second of this, but… I want to go on the date we had planned. I want the chance to see what he does. I want, despite every warning bell still clanging around in my head, to believe him.
I glance down at him and lift a finger. “One date,” I say, trying to keep my voice firm even as my heart beats fast. “That’s all you get, and if you hurt me ever again, I’ll make a kick to the balls look merciful.”
His lips pull into the biggest smile I’ve ever seen from him before as he gets to his feet, and when he’s standing in front of me again, he reaches up and brushes a piece of hair back from my face, tucking it behind my ear.
People clap around us, but all I can focus on is Cole as his fingers skim my cheek, just the slightest touch, but it still sends a shiver through me.
“I’d rather cut my chest and rip out my heart than hurt you ever again.”
My breath catches, which is humiliating enough. The fact that he notices makes it worse.
His eyes drift to my parted lips and for a second, I think he’s going to kiss me, but he flicks his eyes back to mine.
“I’ll pick you up on Friday,” he says, his thumb brushing over my cheek. “I’ll text you.” He pauses and tips his head a little. “If you unblock me.”
I hum, because I’m not about to let him think a public apology means he gets off easy. “I don’t know. I was kind of enjoying the money and apology notes.”
That pulls a laugh out of him and it does something to my stomach and heart and just… every single inch of my body.
His smile fades a little as his eyes lock on mine. “I’d give up every damn thing I have if it meant you’d look at me the way you used to for one more second.”
God, what is he doing to me? I have never felt my heart pound this hard.
“Are people staring?” I whisper, because I need to say something. Anything.
He lifts one shoulder. “Probably. Don’t know.” His eyes stay on mine. “Can’t really look at anything else right now. Not when you’re finally looking at me.”
My stomach flutters like crazy, and I can feel a smile pulling at my lips, so I lift a brow instead and take a step back from him.
“Then you better make Friday worth it,” I tell him.
I push past him and start down the steps with my heart still going wild in my chest.
I can feel him watching me the whole way, and all I can think, as I smile for the first time in days, is that Friday suddenly feels very far away.