CHAPTER 37
Troy
TROY LARSSON—ZERO, Ana Petrov—a hundred.
That’s the current scoreboard after I caught a glimpse of the sheer white lace of Ana’s bra earlier today.
My self-control, along with any discipline that’s left in me, it continues to fizzle when I’m around her. Me—who never loses my control or discipline. It’s how I skate, how I deal with all the outside shit, and how I blocked out the darkness that killed me when I was fourteen.
Hoping a nice, hot shower at my apartment will clear my head from her, I first make a stop to the men’s locker room to change out of my skates. When I exit the restroom, I spot the dreadful Hummingbirds co-captain, leaning against the doorway.
“Troy,” Carter says, as if it’s some announcement, in the snide tone that he uses when he wants to stir up shit with me.
I decide to ignore the guy. He must be immune to talking to himself at this point.
“Heard you’re skating with Ana now…” he goes on anyway. “Let me know how she fucks, will ya? I always thought she was smokin’ hot.”
My fingers roughly dig into a palm, tense. Livid—to be more accurate. I want to punch him over his comment. For degrading Ana like that. But that’s what Carter Reid does. He views women as objects, not people.
As a kid, I gave my opinion on violence in hockey to my father. How idiotic and prevalent I found violence to be in the sport, mainly at the NHL level Dad’s built his entire life around.
I unclench my fist at the reminder.
“Save your energy, bro,” I reply. “She’d never touch you.”
“Genuine question,” his voice gains confidence. “When chicks wanna spend the night at your place, but then find out you ice skate, what do they say to you?”
“I wouldn’t know.” I shrug. “The girls I’ve met already know who I am.”
I see his eyes flicker with weakness at my relaxed expression. “And they’re not disappointed that you don’t play a real sport? Or when they find out that your brothers play hockey, but you don’t?”
“Hm, I don’t think I ever recall seeing a girl look disappointed in my bed, but I admire your ongoing obsession with my sex life, Carter.”
For a second, his eyes fill with frustration, but they’re quickly replaced with sureness. He crosses his arms, pompous. “Do you wonder if you were a hockey player, though, Tiffany wouldn’t have asked me to fuck her, while she was still with you?”
Mentioning my ex, classy move. My ex, who I genuinely have no feelings toward anymore. But that doesn’t matter.
We’ve reached the point of the conversation where Carter knows he has no ammunition left, so he resorts to a jab that he thinks wins him the argument he’s having with himself. And I have never, I will never fall into the trap of a low life like Carter Reid.
I smirk. “I don’t think you’d be so smug if you knew what she said about you afterward.”
That does it. Carter’s veins immediately strain against his temple. “What did she say about me, jackass?”
“Ah, but that’s the difference between you and me. I keep my private shit private.” I pat his back as the anger continues to crack over his jaw. “Always a pleasure chatting with you, man.”
I leave the locker room, content, hearing Reid continue to puff out his self-inflicted anger onto the charcoal floor.
_________
I had to drive back to the rink in the evening to drop off Karl for his club hockey game.
Karl’s promised Dimitri and I that he’s getting his license first thing when his senior year at Faerieladle High starts this August. We’re holding him to that promise, even though we (highly) doubt that’s happening.
In the meantime, Dimitri and I alternate in giving him rides to school, practices, and matches when his best friend Kyle Anderson can’t pick him up.
As I’m passing through the rink’s lobby to head back to my car, my brows furrow at the first glossy bench my eyes land on. Dark brown waves scattered around tense shoulders. It’s Ana, and she’s sitting, reading a textbook. She’s actually getting up from her seat.
I walk up to her bench. “Have you been here since this morning?” I ask, confused.
Ana rubs her eyes, surprised to also see me here. “Uh, yeah,” she yawns out. “It’s more quiet than my place, so I figured I’d just study here.”
She starts typing on her phone with this concentrated look on her face, while I begin to wonder if this is a recurrence for her.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” I offer.
“Oh, I took an Uber here today. My car had some problems.”
“Okay, then I’ll drop you off, it’s fine.”
“I live like 45 minutes away, and that’s with no traffic.”
“Oh, in that case, never mind.” I pick up her bag, already heading toward the rink’s glass doors. “C’mon.”
Ana catches up to me once we’re outside. “But I hate your car.”
She says this. Yet, she’s still walking with me. I find that interesting.
“Yeah? And what’s wrong with my car?” I ask, curious.
“It’s flashy. And obnoxious. And makes those God-awful sounds that every sports car does.”
I stand back, my lips parted in exaggeration at her roast against my vehicle of choice.
But I already know this about Ana. She hates sports cars.
The only girl I’ve ever met who hates them, actually.
Fancy shit doesn’t tend to impress Ana, a trait I’ve always loved about the girl. Teasing her, though, I love even more.
I reply, “It makes for some really interesting positions, though.”
Ana looks at me wearily.
“Driving positions, dirty girl,” I amend.
She rolls her eyes, gawking simultaneously.
“I’ll let you ride it one day, if you want. But only if you’re good.”
Her cheeks flush. “I’m walking away now…”
I laugh as we finally reach my car.
_________
Ana slept during most of the ride. Once she input her address into my car’s built-in map, I caught her yawning again, one after another. So I turned down the radio and let her drift off.
Once we approach her street, the neighborhood we pull into feels more secluded, and my gut tells me it’s also not the safest strip in Faerieladle.
Barbed wire towers the edges of most of the small homes.
A few strange men roam the dim pavements, noticeably drunk.
And two police cars are parked across the street from her address.
Noise rattles into my ears without any of the car windows down.
Safety aside, I start to wonder how Ana manages to study here, knowing how rigorous her courses are. How they’ve always been.
I’ve never seen a street that looks like this in Faerieladle, now that I realize it. A sour panic starts bottling up my throat at the thought of leaving her here.
I stop the engine and turn toward Ana. She looks exhausted.
She didn’t look this tired at the rink. But eyes shut, deep in her slumber, I sense her fatigue, and I suddenly have the primal instinct to floor the gas pedal and take her back to my place where I can make sure she’s protected from any danger lurking on her street.
Before my panic mode makes me shift gear, her eyelids slowly open. The softness of the movement makes my heart sink. This girl, she’s always been anything but soft. For a brief second, I almost don’t recognize her.
“How long was I out for?” she says lazily.
“Since the moment I said ‘what’s your address,’” I say. She laughs gently. “I’m lucky I guessed where you live, Ana.”
Humor, it’s the only way I can think to deflect the heaviness that’s weighing on me at her living situation I wasn’t aware of.
I debate whether or not to bring up her safety and if it’s at risk living here. But I realize that may come across as insensitive, and the last thing I want is to offend her.
“Thanks for the ride,” she says as her arm reaches for the door handle.
I quickly swing open my door before dashing toward the passenger side. Her brows furrow when I open the door for her.
“Thank you.” Her smile is careful, a little confused.
Maybe she senses my unusual tenseness. Or unexpected chivalry. I’m too in my head to decipher which is it.
“See you tomorrow, Larsson,” she says as I hand her back her gym bag from the trunk.
As a goodbye, I tilt a cheek toward Ana. She flicks it with her fingers as if she were swatting a fly off my face. I close my eyes in laughter. At the touch, some lightheartedness feels restored.
Then I watch as she walks toward her condo. I wait until she shuts her door, and the lights flicker on before I slip back into my car and drive off her street in deep thought.