Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
tyler
Stepping into the Rusu house for the first time in three months feels more like coming home than anything else he’s done since waving goodbye to Alex at the airport four hours earlier.
He told himself he wouldn’t come tonight.
He told himself he was done pining after Winnie like an asshole.
His time at the University of Denver was supposed to cure him of that.
But then he got home to a quiet trailer.
He found a stash of unpaid bills in the drawer and a trash can full of needles, letting him know exactly where the money he sent home was going.
The kitchen smelled worse than the Tau Zeta basement at four o’clock in the morning.
And his mother was nowhere to be found. He’d told her he was coming home for Thanksgiving at least a dozen times.
He sent her his flights. He reiterated again and again that it’d be a quick trip, not even forty-eight hours because he had a game on Friday.
None of it mattered. She was either out with some guy, or out looking for her next fix, and he needed out too.
So he went to the one place where he knew he’d find that little bit of solace he’d been looking for—the big white mansion in which he against-all-odds belonged.
I forgot about the stupid party.
Tyler groans.
Alexandru and Yetta are at the same charity dinner they host every year on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.
It always lasts for hours, and his best friend always takes advantage.
So it should be no surprise that Alex is using their one night home to drink his ass off, say hi to his old friends, and hook up with one of the many girls from his former high school class lining up to get a chance at him.
A good friend would have remembered.
Maybe Tyler does.
But that will mean admitting to himself that there is one reason and one reason alone why he allowed Alex to talk him into a trip back to Dallas in the middle of their season—and that reason is undoubtedly hiding upstairs.
“T-man!” Alex shouts the second Tyler skulks through the door, words already slurring. “You came!”
He grunts a reply as his friend’s familiar arm lands across his shoulder.
It’s not the drinking that annoys him. He would never push his own sober lifestyle on anyone else.
He doesn’t give a shit if Alex wants to party like a madman every day of the week like half their freshman class, as long as it’s during the offseason.
But they have a game on Friday. And while Tyler was drafted by Dallas over the summer, Alex still needs to earn his spot.
The dream isn’t to play professional hockey alone.
It’s to have his best friend by his side, and the whiskey on Alex’s breath isn’t helping.
“Alex—”
“I know, I know.” Alex squeezes his shoulder. “I got lost in the vibes, but I’m cutting myself off after this. I’ll be ready for Michigan on Friday. I promise.”
Yeah. Right. Tyler rolls his eyes.
Alex laughs, able to read his mind. “See? This is why I love you, man. You keep my eyes on the prize.”
“I thought it was my witty banter.”
“Nah.” Alex snorts. “That’s why you love me.”
“Oh, is it?”
“Yeah, and because I help pull that stick out of your ass.” He slaps said ass as hard as he can and then cackles like a maniac at Tyler’s resulting scowl.
“Go get some food. You look tense. I picked up tacos. No one can be mad when tacos are involved. Just saying it makes me happy. TA-cos. Ta-COS. Tacos!”
“Are you done yet?”
“Tacos!”
“Fucking hell,” Tyler mutters.
Alex’s shout follows him to the kitchen. “?Viva la Tex-Mex!”
Tyler’s lips quirk despite himself. He bites into a taco to cover his grin.
Alex was right—he feels much more settled with some steak in his system.
Plus it shaves about ten minutes off the timer slowly counting down in the back of his mind.
He’s always careful never to go upstairs too quickly.
It would be too obvious. It would look too eager.
It would reveal too much. So he wastes another fifteen minutes absently chatting with one of the guys from their old team, then makes his way carefully toward the back staircase, weaving around the girls who step into his path and sparing no thought for politeness.
He’s been tricked into half-an-hour conversations about nonsense too many times.
Something as simple as excuse me can provide an opening, and he’s not going to get dragged into that hellhole today.
He hasn’t been alone with Winnie in three months.
Not even Wayne Gretzky can stop him right now.
Tyler takes the stairs two at a time. A familiar jittery sensation urges him on.
Get it together.
He should not be this revved up. He saw her at a game two weeks ago.
But it isn’t the same. Casting quick glances at her in the stands, going out to dinner with the whole Rusu clan, a rushed goodbye hug outside the dorms. It’s not enough.
He needs to be close enough to see the twinkle in her eyes when she teases him, to feel the excruciating heat of her skin just a few tantalizing inches away while they watch a movie, to hear the slight hitch in her breath when he toes just a little closer to the line than he feels comfortable doing in front of her family—a comment here, an accidental brush of their knees there.
He knows nothing can ever happen between them.
But that doesn’t stop him from fantasizing.
And he wonders, sometimes, if Winnie feels the same.
It’s a very hazardous train of thought, but one he can’t stop himself from traveling.
Because if she does, he’s pretty sure he’d blow up his entire life for a single goddamn taste of her.
At the top of the stairs, he stops for a moment to collect himself.
He’s been practically buzzing ever since seeing her in his jersey two weeks ago.
It’s nothing new. She’s been doing it ever since that championship game in ninth grade, and it became his ritual to find her in the stands the moment he stepped onto the ice—one he missed during the first few games of the season.
But two weeks ago, when he scanned the crowd, she was there.
The moment they locked eyes, she spun and pointed to her back, the word Briggs loud and proud between her shoulder blades.
It awoke something primal in him. He played like an animal that game, like an absolute savage.
Shit. I really miss her.
Tyler takes a deep breath, then shoves the door open in his usual way. “Win—”
She snaps her head up. The sight of her swollen lips lights his blood on fire.
He can’t count the number of times he’s imagined what she’d look like above him, hazel eyes hooded with desire, cheeks flushed, hair mussed.
She’s his wildest dream come to life, but it hits like his worst nightmare, because he’s not the one underneath her.
“Shit! Sorry!”
Tyler backs into the doorframe in his haste to escape.
“Ty!”
Winnie scrambles across the bed. Two large hands slip out from underneath her shirt and Tyler’s vision goes red. He turns quickly away, unable to stop the jealous broil, and smacks his forehead on the door.
“Ow! Fuck!”
He slaps a hand over the spot, already feeling a bump, and stumbles into the hallway.
“Ty, wait!”
Dainty fingers thread through his, her grip surprisingly strong despite her small stature.
The touch stops him mid-stride, though that has more to do with the fact that he’ll take any punishment if it means staying closer to her.
And it is a punishment to stand here holding her hand, fully aware this is all he’ll ever get of her, while that asshole in the other room gets everything else.
It takes all his control not to brush his thumb across her silken skin.
“I thought you decided to stay at school for the holiday,” she rushes to say, breathless.
Her chest heaves, and he can’t stop himself from looking, just for an instant, at where the top three buttons of her blouse are undone.
The swell of a pink lace bra peeks into view.
A rush of desire clenches his abs so tightly he needs to tear his gaze away. “Alex said you weren’t coming.”
“I didn’t think I was,” he mutters with a shrug.
“If I’d known…” She trails off and tosses a look over her shoulder, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. All he can think about is backing her up against the wall and kissing her until she forgets that other jerk even exists.
He drops her hand instead.
“It’s fine, Win.” He forces the words through clenched teeth. “Enjoy yourself. I’ll go find Alex.”
“But—but—” Her gaze roves over his face, snagging on his forehead. She winces and reaches up to gently run a finger over the spot he knows has already started to swell. Tyler can’t stop himself from leaning into her touch. “This looks pretty bad. We should put something on it.”
Yes, he wants to say. Yes. Come with me. Stay with me.
But she’s Alex’s sister, and Alexandru’s daughter, and they’re just friends, so why should she put her life on pause to help him?
The answer is obvious.
She shouldn’t.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, the wall around his heart re-forming with each nonchalant word. “I get worse on a daily basis at practice. Go back to your boyfriend. I’m fine. Really.”
“He’s not—”
Tyler’s already racing down the stairs. But the last thing he needs right now is forced conversation with people he hates.
Instead of crossing back through the kitchen, he hooks a right and slips out onto the patio.
The lights from inside beam across the sitting area, so he walks around the corner toward the pool and collapses into a lounger.
Overhead, the sky is dark, not a star in sight.
Even the moon is in hiding. His head throbs in tune with the beat pumping through the windows, but he wasn’t lying when he said he was used to far, far worse.
The ache is nothing compared to the emotional wasteland ripping through him.
He tries to close his eyes and drift away into the shadows, but he can’t stop picturing it.
Picturing her.
Picturing them.
Is she kissing him right now?
Are his hands back under her shirt?
Is she grinding into his strained zipper?
Is that what she wants?
Is it what she always wanted?
Was she wishing for someone else every time he barged into her room?
No.
It can’t be.
But then again, she never went looking for him at parties. He went to her. Always. He invaded her space, never questioning if she wanted him there, because he selfishly hoped she did. Besides, she could have told him to leave if she wanted to. They’re friends.
But that’s not who she is, he realizes. She always puts other people first. If she thought he needed help, she would give it.
God, I’m an idiot.
He pushes the heels of his palms into his sockets, as if he can force the images and thoughts away. But they’re too deep, too invasive. He drops his arms and tries to focus on the blinking light of an airplane passing overhead. His gaze slides to the glow of her bedroom window instead.
What the hell is happening up there?
He can’t stand it.
The knowing.
The not-knowing.
He has to make it stop.
Anxiety and fear and frustration pump through him.
Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s on his feet, marching back into the house.
He blacks out. One second he’s outside, and the next he’s holding the landline meant only for emergencies and dialing a number so familiar he can do it with his eyes closed. Alexandru answers immediately.
“Uldwyna?” The deep voice of his coach fills the line. Their father always uses their full names. “Alexandru? Is everything okay? What’s that noise?”
Tyler leaves the phone on the counter and walks back to the pool to wait.
His turmoil calms the second he hears the car screech to a stop out front.
When the music abruptly cuts, he breathes deeply for the first time in what feels like hours.
By the time the yelling begins, he’s already hopping the back fence into the alley.
It’s for Alex, he reasons. He needs to be ready for Michigan on Friday.
What a complete load of shit.
Especially since the last place he looks before he drops to the other side of the fence is not toward the living room where his friend is undoubtedly taking a verbal lashing, but to the second-story window where a familiar, lone form sits curled up against the curtains.
He can’t even look her in the eyes the next time he sees her.
He’s too ashamed—by what he did, yes, but also by how often his thoughts have traveled back to her flushed, heated, caught-in-the-act face, the fantasies made so much more real now that he knows exactly what she would look like if his hands were the ones reaching up to unclasp her bra.
He makes a silent oath that no one will ever learn the truth about that night. It’s too embarrassing, too pathetic, just too fucking pitiful really, that catching her in one little make-out session turned him into a complete and total wreck.
But he’d do it again.
In a heartbeat.
That’s how gone he is.