Chapter 14
fourteen
INDIGO
The Rogues lose game four in a hard-fought battle, three to two, which means they’re traveling back home for a fifth game.
“Damn.” Lola stands from the couch, stretching. “That was a brutal game. Denver’s offense was relentless.”
They really had been. Frankly, it’s impressive Sebastian only let three through. The Stags made it past the Rogues’s defensemen often enough that they were able to take forty shots on goal tonight. Which means Sebastian stopped thirty-seven goals.
“Tell your man not to beat himself up when he calls.”
Ignoring the pleasant little flip in my stomach at Lola’s words, I roll my eyes. “Not my man, but okay.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” she sing-songs as she heads toward her bedroom with a little wave of her fingers.
And I do when he calls an hour later. I tell myself he’s not mine. That he never will be. But that I can manage to be his friend.
I can.
“Hey, hotshot. Good game tonight.”
“Did you watch the same game we just played?” Sebastian asks. He sounds tired. “I was a sieve.”
“You were not,” I protest. Yeah, he let three goals through, but his team left him undefended way too often, which is a failure by the defensemen, not Bash. “You stopped thirty-seven attempts. That’s ten more than Denver’s goalie had to stop.”
He sighs. “I wasn’t locked in tonight. I got in my head.”
“You’ll make up for it at home.”
“I hope so. I can’t let these guys down.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You didn’t let them down tonight. If anything, they let you down. Denver never should have spent so much time in the defensive zone. Tell your boys to get off their asses and be more aggressive next game.”
That earns me a laugh, and something tight in me loosens. “Yeah, I’ll tell them.” There’s a pause, and then quieter, “Can I FaceTime you?”
I try to remember if I even brushed my hair today. “Um, sure. Yeah. Let me head to my room so I don’t keep Lola up.”
“Thanks, Rosebud.”
Hurrying into my room, I give myself a quick once-over in the mirror that hangs over my dresser and run my fingers through my hair.
I’m not wearing any makeup, but at least that means I’m not rocking raccoon eyes or something.
When I’m satisfied that I look at least presentable, I settle myself on my bed, back to the headboard, and tap the button to switch to a video call.
“Hi,” Sebastian says with a gentle smile when his face fills the screen.
“Hey.”
His eyes bounce around as he scans my face. “Thanks for this. I’m a little tired. It’ll be easier to focus on your words if I can see you too.”
“Of course,” I say, my cheeks turning pink enough that they’re visible even in the low light of my bedroom. “When is your flight home?”
“Ten in the morning.”
“That’s not too bad.”
He smiles. “No, it’s not. And we’ll probably all sleep on the plane.” Sebastian clears his throat, making his Adam’s apple bob. “Can I see you tomorrow?”
Thank goodness he’s not here, because if he was, he’d probably be able to hear the way my heart pounds in my chest. “Sure. Of course.”
“I was thinking we could go to the farmer’s market to buy some stuff for lunch, then go eat it at the sculpture garden? I can pick you up as soon as we get back.” He looks so earnest, I have to remind myself he’s just my friend, and that’s all he ever will be.
It’s more difficult than it should be.
“That sounds fun,” I say, working hard to keep my voice steady.
The way his dark brown eyes light up makes my stomach do another flip. “Good.”
We lapse into silence, staring at each other for a few beats before Sebastian sucks in a deep breath, lifts his chin, and hesitates a moment before he opens his mouth.
“Indie, can we talk about what happened that summer?” He doesn’t need to specify which summer he’s referring to. I know exactly what he wants to talk about.
The flip my stomach does this time is decidedly unpleasant, unlike the last couple. I shift on my bed and glance away from him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“We need to talk about it at some point,” he says gently but firmly. “You know we do.”
I’d rather not. “It’s in the past.”
“Is it?”
“Yep. It’s all good, Bash. We don’t need to rehash all that.” My voice sounds strained even to my own ears, so I’m not surprised when Sebastian’s face pulls tight with a frown.
“Indie, I think you—”
“What time do you think you’ll pick me up?” I say loudly, desperate to change the subject. I can’t do this. Not tonight. Not after the conversation I had with my mom this morning and the pressure I’m feeling from my publisher. It’s too much.
Everyone wants something from me, and I can’t give Sebastian what he needs. I simply cannot bullshit my way through assuring him he didn’t hurt me when he chose that pretty blonde girl over me. Not right now.
“Indie, come on. We need to talk about—”
“We really don’t. What kind of stuff do they sell at the farmer’s market?”
Sebastian’s sigh cuts all the way down to my soul, but I plaster a smile on my face and force it to stay there.
“Okay, Rosebud. We don’t need to talk about this tonight, but we do need to talk about it.”
That’s what he thinks.
“Should I bring a tote bag?”
“You look pretty,” Sebastian says when I open the door. His gaze rakes over my sneakers, slightly baggy jeans, and the navy blue chunky-knit sweater I’m wearing over a hot-pink mock-neck tee.
He looks delicious in loose fit jeans, a tight gray Henley, and an open plaid flannel in shades of gray, blue, and green. It’s all I can do to keep myself from drooling. My heart does a little clench, and so do other parts of me, which is inconvenient. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
Sebastian’s lips twitch, then he extends his hand. “Shall we?”
I hesitate, staring at his open hand like it’s a trap, before gently placing my palm in his. Warmth radiates from his skin and across my body when he links our fingers and tugs me toward his SUV. It has nothing on the warmth that spreads through me at the sight of his smile.
“You’re going to love this place. There’s a stall that sells the freshest bread I’ve ever tasted. And a few have all sorts of delicious cheeses…” His sentence trails off as he opens the passenger door for me, then he hurries to get in on his side. “I’ve missed seeing you while we were on the road.”
“You saw me last night,” I tease.
The fingers on his right hand twitch before he wraps them firmly around the steering wheel. “It’s not the same.”
I clear my throat, needing to get us away from the dangerous ground Bash is leading us to. “What’s your favorite stall?”
The sideways glance Sebastian sends my way is heavy, but I pretend not to feel the weight of it. “I guess if I had to choose, I’d say the chocolatier’s.”
“We’ll have to get some, then,” I say, turning my face toward the window so I can feign interest in the passing scenery. Not that I actually see any of it.
“So I was wondering something…” he says slowly after a few minutes of silence as he pulls into a parking spot and cuts the engine. His fingers flex against the steering wheel, knuckles white.
Why is he so nervous?
“What’s up?”
Sebastian glances my way before he opens his car door, hops out, and circles the vehicle. He opens my door and extends a palm to me. “Would you and Lola come to our next game?”
The air in my lungs solidifies, and I struggle to breathe. “It’s a playoff game.”
“Yeah.” His lips twitch. “I’m aware.”
“The tickets are crazy expensive, if you can even get them.”
That earns me a full-blown smile, and once again, it’s back to being difficult to breathe. “I’m not sure you know this, but I have money now. Kind of a lot of it. And I already bought two tickets. I’ll sell them if you don’t want to come.”
“What? No, I didn’t say that.” Lola would kill me if I passed up the chance for us to go to a playoff game. Not to mention, I’d kick my own ass.
How many times did I imagine doing this as a teenager? Sebastian and I would date through college, he’d ask me to marry him, then I’d be there to cheer him on at all the important games.
So what if we’re not together? We’ll never be married, but I have my best friend back in my life, however temporarily, and I can finally cheer him on at an important game.
“We’d love to go, thank you.”
The eager April sun has nothing on Sebastian when he smiles this brightly. “Good. That’s great. Good.”
Did he really think I’d say no?
With a light touch on the small of my back, Sebastian guides me toward the bustling farmer’s market. Delicious scents waft from the open-air market, and people meander in couples and groups. It’s crowded—everyone must be eager to enjoy the mild weather—and I take a steadying breath.
As much as I love doing things like this, I don’t love crowds. People get a bit oblivious when they’re in large groups, and as someone on the shorter side, I’m used to being bumped into and pushed to the side.
Sure enough, it doesn’t take long for a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a ponytail to run into my shoulder.
“Watch it,” Sebastian says sharply, wrapping an arm around me and pulling me close to his side.
The man looks our way, ready to tell Bash to fuck off, I’m sure, when his eyes widen and his jaw goes slack. “Oh, shit. Sorry, man. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Don’t apologize to me. She’s the one you bumped into.” Sebastian frowns at the man who’s now glancing between the two of us with far too much recognition.
Fire ants swarm my belly.
“Sorry, miss,” the man says before turning his attention back to Sebastian. “You’re the goalie for the Rogues, aren’t you?”
Sebastian puts on a confused expression. “The hockey team?” He turns to me. “Do I look like some hockey player?”
“No idea,” I say, trying not to smile. “Who even watches hockey?”
The guy narrows his eyes but eventually shakes his head. “Guess not. You really do look like him, though. Uncanny.” And with that, he walks away. I’m sure he’ll bump into at least three more people before the day is out. He has those vibes.
“You okay?”
I nod, humming. “You get used to it when you’re short. Not that you’d know. You’ve been taller than me since we were fourteen.”
“I guess you always have been a shorty. Is that why you dyed your hair pink? More visibility?” He still hasn’t dropped his arm from around my shoulders.
“No.” I chuckle and pull away from his side.
Walking like this with him is dangerous, and I’m feeling a bit fragile.
“It’s been a few different colors. I started dying it in college because I could.
No one recognized me there, and it was freeing to realize there weren’t paparazzi waiting to photograph me and pick apart every little thing about me. ”
Sebastian lets his arm fall, but his fingers flex. He frowns. “I’m sorry, Indie. It’s bullshit that you had to put up with that. You never deserved it.”
All I can do is shrug, because he’s right, but that changes nothing.
The damage is done. Was done over and over and over.
I wish I could say it hasn’t affected me in the long term, that I’ve been able to brush it off and become some confident, uncaring goddess, but that’s not the case.
The marks those comments and articles carved into me are indelible and deep.
“I kept up with the fun hair for a while once I moved back home after graduation but stopped a year or so ago.” Ryland hated the colorful hair. When he did manage to drag me out to some fancy function, it was important we both put our best feet forward.
Sebastian glances at me with narrowed eyes. “Why’d you stop?”
“It’s stupid.”
“Try me, Rosebud.”
“My boyfriend didn’t like it.” I sigh and hurry to push the rest of the words out. “I know it’s dumb, but it seemed like such a small thing to give up, at the time.”
“Your boyfriend sounds like an asshole.” Sebastian’s tone is dark and icy, but his expression is concerned.
Clearing my throat, I plaster a smile on my face. “That’s why he’s an ex-boyfriend.”
“Good.”
“Have you dated anyone seriously?” Seriously, Indigo? Why the hell did you ask that?
Sebastian tucks his hands into his jeans pockets. “No. I’ve, uh, obviously dated, but nothing serious.”
“Really?” Don’t do it, Indie. “None of the beautiful models you’ve been photographed with did it for you, huh?” Oh my god, you’re an idiot.
He peers at me with an expression I can’t quite place and rubs the back of his neck. “I guess I’ve been looking for something pretty specific. And no, none of them were it.”
“Oh. I see.” I don’t see. How can none of the women meet whatever unachievable standards he must have?
He’s dated women who walk runways, women who have degrees in super impressive things, like aerospace engineering and genetic research.
They weren’t simply beautiful faces; they were the total package.
If a woman like that doesn’t meet his standards, what hope could I ever have?
Absolutely fucking none, that’s what.
Sebastian watches me as we walk. He’s lucky he’s so tall and bulky because people move out of his way instinctively, and no one bumps into us. I’d have been trampled ten times over if I just walked through a crowd, oblivious to everyone else around me.
Well, not everyone. He’s focused pretty intently on me, which I don’t understand.
“Indie, when I say I’ve been looking for something specific, I mean that—”
“Oh, look! Is that the chocolatier you were talking about?” I point to a booth full of cute little boxes and display cases stocked tightly with pretty chocolates that look more like fine art than snacks. I can’t hear him describe someone I’ll never be.
His sigh is deep and long. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s them. Come on. We can get whatever you want.”
By the time we walk out of the farmer’s market, Sebastian’s hands are full of bags. He won’t let me carry any. We have cheeses, bread, fruits and veggies, a bottle of wine, and way too many chocolates to eat in one sitting.
Conversation has moved away from our respective dating lives, and we laugh and joke with each other, but underneath all of it is the deepening understanding that I never have, and never will, come close to being what the boy I loved as a girl and still feel all too much for as a woman is looking for.
I knew this. Of course I did. But you can’t write romance novels without being slightly delusional and overly inclined to believe that even the quirky side characters are one meet-cute away from finding their own true loves.
Unfortunately, even if he’s mine, it’s crystal clear that I’m not his. What’s less clear is if I’m strong enough to be his friend despite all that.
Time will tell, I suppose.