"Wait, are you serious?" I cut off her excuses, shortening the space between us again. My voice is low, my tone dripping with the same frustration that's ripping through me.
"Yes, Drew," she says sharply before she stands up a little straighter. "It's fine." She shrugs, dismissing me like this wasn't supposed to be the moment that everything changed for us.
"Yo, Cap. Coach needs you." In his perfect timing, Burnsey is at the boards yelling over the bench, his thumb thrown behind him where Monte is standing huddled with the boys at center ice.
I pause before answering, finding her again, questioning her with no words at all. She avoids my eye contact, crossing her arms over her chest and biting at her bottom lip. When she doesn't speak—doesn't even look at me—I call back to Brett. "I'm coming," I say dully, my eyes locked on her.
I hold out her iPad, all the excitement I've had since she first blurted out those words last night on her steps, completely depleted. When she takes it from me, our gazes finally meet. For just an instant, she looks likeshe might speak—offer any sort of explanation. But instead, she puts her earbud back in, tuning me out like I tune out the world.
Like I tune out everyone but her.
"No way, bro. Look at the pictures. It's definitely the one on the right."
"Yeah, but look at the left one. That's a statement right there."
Stepping off of the bench and into the tunnel, Burns and Ward's argument, about whatever the hell they must be looking at, ripples down the hall. They're standing next to each other in full pads, blocking what I assume is the situation I've been avoiding since Monte blew the final whistle. This time being last on the ice had nothing to do with wanting to hang back and talk, but still everything to do with Brooke.
I walk slowly, my swagger half because of the wobble from my skates on the rubber and half because I'm trying to get into the mindset that I typically don't have to fight off with her. The one that says I don't give a fuck about what happenedorwhat you think. The one only worried about me—that can't get me hurt.
As I get closer, Petrov steps up behind them, placing his hands on their shoulders and pulling them apart. He slips in between them, his voice booming off of the walls of the tunnel as he offers his opinion. "I think the correct way is whichever way the giraffe prefers."
Brett and Carter look around him at each other, their faces riddled with both confusion and amusement."Uh, yeah, I mean… for sure, Storm. That too."
Burnsey claps him on the back as Ward laughs off the comment, and the three move on, Petrov walking ahead of the other two who seem to hang back to whisper amongst themselves.
When their bodies are out of the way, everything I'm not ready to see comes into focus. Brooke is standing where she was before, this time with a tripod set up, holding a camera, and her iPad in her hands, facing outward. She has a smile on her face from her last interaction, and my jaw tightens knowing it'll fall flat when she sees me… just like it did before last night.
As I approach her, I wrestle with my options. I can stop and talk, either ignoring our current situation and pretending all is fine like I should, or continuing to push her like I'd like to. Or I could simply walk by. Ignore her and her question and let whatever is or isn't happening between us unfold as it may—keeping my distance.
With my face stern, I decide maybe blowing past her is best for everyone. I told myself I'd be patient. That her actions will speak louder than her words. But then I realize that's exactly what's happening. Whether or not she took it back, she invited me in. She finally gave me something. Then afterwards, shetoldme that we'd talk today about what happened.Fuck that.
I'm not going to let her go back to being scared. And I'm damn sure not letting her brush this off because of what? I glance down at her iPad. Two giraffes in goddamn neckties?
With that, I step to her, adrenaline pumping through me.
"Hi," she says awkwardly, once again looking anywhere but at my face. "So, the question is, would a giraffe wear his tie up here like this or down at the base of his—"
"This?This is what you weresobusy with before practice that we couldn't talk about last night? A fucking giraffe in a necktie?" My words come out more harshly than I intend. But the blood pumping through me—a combination of post-practice flow and our current situation—seems to bubble over when our conversation from earlier boils down to a zoo animal in formal wear.
Brooke's eyes snap to mine, her hand flying to her hip. "Why, yes. No matter how ridiculousDrew Andersonthinks it is, this is myjob."
The way she says my name stirs something in me. It's bitterness and anger, hurt and frustration, and years of assumptions all rolled into one. Ripping my helmet off, I tuck it under my arm and rake my handthrough my hair in resentment. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Brooke blackens her screen, tucking her device into her bag on the floor, then stands back up, squaring her shoulders. "Exactly what I said."
I scoff, sucking my teeth and glancing behind me to make sure we're still alone. "So, we're back to this now? I'mDrew Anderson,when what? You're scared? When it's not just the two of us?"
I wait for her response, but it comes only in the form of her arms folding across her chest.
Something snaps in me that I would otherwise shove down. A disappointment I'd typically swallow—like a kid who's been so excited for his party, and when no one shows up, he acts unfazed. Only I don't act indifferent. Instead, like I usually do with her, I let my true self show through. For once, it's harder to hide the truth than to just say how I feel.
"So, who did youuninviteinside last night then, Brooke? Or was me beingDrew Andersonsuddenly okay because you saw me half-naked and covered in girls. Were you jealous, is that it?"
I mean what I'm saying, but nothowI'm saying it. It's just that instinct kicks in, and like second nature, my I-don't-give-a-shit attitude takes over.
Her eyes narrow, full of rage, and her lips part in a way that shouldn't be sexy considering the bed I just made, butfuck me.
It definitely is.
