29. Burning Down the House
Chapter twenty-nine
Burning Down the House
Jeff Akerman, NPHL Network Analyst:“The Titans have blown past the halfway point of the season looking every bit the Everly Cup contender many predicted.
Defensively they're among the league's elite, but it’s a curious state of play. The explosive end-to-end rushes that once defined Carter Reynolds have become increasingly rare. Reynolds insists he feels healthy, and the Titans certainly toed the line—well, most of them— at their recent explosive media day, but it's impossible to ignore the difference. On that note, Cal, I hear the fine issued by the NAHL to Reynolds and Aces captain Boone Mercer for their now infamous televised fistfight is the highest ever financial penalty for a fight outside of a game. The Titans might be leading the season, but it’s not clear who picked up the win on that one.”
“I’m staying home.” Carter crouches in front of me, his shirt sleeves rolled back and a deep frown pulling at his mouth. “This isn’t right, Ro.”
I don’t move from underneath the bundle of blankets. Forcing a smile, I reach out and smooth the crease between his eyes away. Or try to. But it doesn’t move. “I think the season’s catching up with me, that’s all. I’ll get some rest while you’re away. You know you can’t stay.”
Not with an away game against Montreal seven hours away. “You should get going. The bus is picking you up from the Furnace at twelve.”
“The game’s not until tomorrow.” Carter’s frown only deepens. “I don’t like leaving you.”
“I’ll be fine.” I hold up my phone. “Katie’s not going either. I can message her if I need anything.”
When he doesn’t move, Liam clears his throat. “Cart. We do have to go. We’ll be fined if we miss pick-up.”
Our eyes meet over his head. Liam shakes his head in a warning I don’t need.
Not after this morning. Beside him, Jonas is fiddling with the watch at his wrist, not paying attention.
Lauren tugs at his arm, fixing it with thinned lips.
He finally looks my way when she nudges him. “You sure you don’t need anything, Ro?”
“Can you all stop worrying?” I force myself to sit up. To pull the blankets over me. “I’ll see you on Wednesday. In the meantime, I intend to watch shit TV and binge on cake. Promise not to play with the electrics.”
“Not too much cake,” Liam murmurs, but there’s no bite in it. He and I both know he doesn’t need to tell me anything. Not anymore. “You know it’s not good for you. Call if you need us.”
I wouldn’t call him if the apartment was burning down around me.
Perhaps something changes in my face, because Carter’s expression shifts. “Meet you downstairs.”
Liam pauses as the others disappear. Waiting, but Carter points toward the hall, the words unusually terse. “I need a minute. Fuck the late fine. I’ll pay it.”
Your funeral.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes as he ducks into the room. His lips feel like paper against my forehead, and I force myself not to react. “I’ll call you later.”
Can’t wait.
Carter waits for him to leave before turning back to me. “Is it Lauren? Did something happen with you two? I thought you’d found some common ground.”
I wish I could go back to the days when I thought she’d be the problem. I wish she was the problem.
When I shake my head, he rocks back on his heels. “Something is wrong, Ro. I can feel it, but I don’t know what it is. I can’t even scent you because of that shit you’re coating yourself with.”
“It helps.” The words are almost silent. “I’m fine.”
“Would you tell me if you weren’t?” Carter spreads out his hands, lines tightening at the edges of his eyes. “Look, I know I haven’t been around much. This fucking season, my shoulder, the pack changes… But you’re still my priority, Ro. I need you to talk to me, baby. Please.”
His hands rake through his hair. “Is it the pack?”
A thousand words have built up in my throat, begging for a way out.
But the gates are locked, every exit filled by an alpha who chooses his words too carefully for me to escape them.
They creep out through my eyes instead, and Carter exhales sharply.
His words are rough as he reaches out, wiping the tears away. “Rosie.”
I cling to him when he shoves the blankets back.
Wind myself around him and grip him tightly enough to hurt, but his arms hold me close as I let the tears fall into his neck.
“I’m not going, baby. I think… you might need to talk to someone.
Someone who’s not me, or not Liam or Jonas. Would that help?”
Talking to someone is the one thing I can’t do. I pull my head back from his neck, though all I want to do is stay here. “I’m okay.”
His face fills with gentle disbelief. “No, you’re not.”
“I’m tired.” Tired of trying to find a way around the leash on my neck. “I just need a few days to pull myself together.”
His phone buzzes, but he ignores it in favor of examining every part of my face like he could find exactly what the problem is.
I don’t know if I’m more afraid that he’ll find what he’s looking for. Or that he won’t. “They’re waiting for you.”
“Let them.” He touches my cheek again. “I don’t give a shit.”
But he does, because he’s always the first player at the Furnace. First on the bus. “Liar. Go, Carter. I’m not going to get into trouble resting up at home.”
At my dry tone, he smiles. “You absolutely could, and you know it. I’m going to call Katie on the way to the Furnace. If anything happens, I want you to call me. Straightaway. You can’t get hold of me, call anyone on the team.”
It’s so fucking hard to step away from him. My hands curl against my sides. “Go.”
Stay.
But that’s not a word I’m allowed to say.
I wait until the door to the elevator has closed before I move. I shove the blankets off my bed in violent, jerky motions, kicking them until they’re in the corner. The sweatshirts follow, my hand barely touching them before they’re tossed out into the hallway.
Everything has his scent on it. It has to go.
Heading to the kitchen, I fill a cleaning bucket with the things I need and carry it back to my nest. The bed gets stripped next, and I get to work with the wet attachment on the vacuum, dragging it up and down the mattress until all I can smell is the faintly antiseptic burn of the cleaning detergent.
The blankets, the clothes, everything fabric—everything that could possibly have a scent attachment—gets shoved into a dozen black bags that I double up on and tie tightly, dragging them to the hallway and leaving them beside the elevator.
The carpet is next. It’s damp beneath my feet by the time I’m finished, my breathing heavy and ragged.
But at least I can breathe. It feels like it’s been weeks since my lungs expanded enough to take a single one. The white, wooden slatted blinds nearly snap off in my haste to yank them down.
Nothing gets left untouched. The books go into a donation box. The trinkets get wiped down, a handful strategically placed in the furthest corners of the room and the rest tossed on top of the books. Taking a break from scrubbing at the windows, I step back and inhale shakily.
I can’t get rid of it. Not completely. Liam’s scent is too ingrained in the apartment, in my nest, in me. But this… this is better.
Backing into the corner, I let my back slide down the wall and pull up my knees, staring at my emptied nest with my phone in my hand.
Someone inside me is screaming. But I can’t reach her. That Rosie and this Rosie are entirely different people, and this Rosie needs every part of Liam Kessler away from her fucking space.
But I need to find that Rosie again. Breathing deeply, I pull up my phone. Carter has already messaged, Katie directly beneath him, but I swipe away in favor of my favorite streaming service.
Music blasts from my speakers, and the side of my lip curls upward.
I’m still here.
But I could really use a reminder.
I let the rhythm soak into my bones, my head bobbing to the music. One song passes, then another. When the third hits, I scramble to my feet and grab the de-scenter spray.
My hips sway as I make my way out of my nest and down the hall. Liam’s bedroom door is open, and I stare through it for several long minutes. His bed is neatly made, his chest of drawers obsessively tidy. Everything in its place, exactly how he likes it.
Including me.
But not today. Darting inside, I push his comforter out of place just to annoy him and slam his door loud enough to hear over the blasting of the music. Aiming my de-scenter at it like a weapon, I let loose.
When I’m done, there’s no scent hovering in the hall at all.
Dancing forward, I reach Jonas’s room next. It’s a mess. I spot clothes everywhere, his aftershave collection out of its boxes and haphazardly piled together on the dresser.
There are so many fucking mirrors I can see at least four versions of myself, standing in the doorway.
There’s no sign of me in this room at all. But there’s no sign of Lauren either, which surprises me. Stepping back out, I tug the door closed and give it the same treatment I gave Liam’s.
Lauren’s door is closed. I stand in front of it, my lips pursed.
She gets a few half-hearted sprays. She’s barely fucking present anyway, and if I wasn’t so fucked up myself, maybe I’d care more about that.
But she’s one symptom. I’m starting to think that my pack has a terminal illness, and she barely even registers.
The living room gets the next batch of treatment. Every inch is scrubbed, the couch cushions yanked off and cleaned. I stand back with my hands on my hips, inhaling the scent of bleach.
And then I dance.
Through every part of my spotless, scent-free apartment, my feet sliding against the floor in thick socks and with a bottle of de-scenter in my hand that makes a freaking fantastic microphone.
I dance until the thoughts are pushed down far enough that I can smile. Until I feel like the smallest amount of me again and less like him.
And when I’m done, I dial Katie. She picks up immediately. “I’ve been trying to call you—”
“Shopping.” I grin into the phone at her drawn-in breath. “Lots of shopping.”
“You’re serious?” It sounds like she’s choking. “I thought you were sick.”
“Yeah, well. I’m prescribing myself a visit to NestRest. And lunch.”
Screw you, Kessler. I’m eating every single carb in Blackwater.
She squeals. “Pick me up in an hour!”
In the absence of real therapy, retail will have to do.