Standing—no,dominating—over me is a sweat-glistened, two-inch taller, twice as broad Drew, with heat behind his eyes and his chest still heaving. He looks about four shades of confused, but all I can think about is if it's possible to get a quickie in before anyone notices.
Swallowing hard and sweeping the crazy—maybe possible?No, definitely crazy—idea from my mind, I snap back to reality. "What are you doing?"
Drew's eyes grow wide as a bead of sweat drops from his forehead. "What amIdoing?"
I huff out a breath, starting over. "What's going on out there?"
He shakes his head, his focus shifting away from me. "I'm playing like shit is what I'm doing."
"You're in your head, Twelve."
"What?" he barks.
"You heard me. You can do this. Just play asyou."
He tucks a glove under his opposite arm and slips his hand out. Sliding it under his shield, he drags it down his face. "I can't. I'm freaking out. When I get the puck, I'm so busy overthinking not to play with it that I lose it altogether. When I take a shot, I'm so hyper-focused on not over-celebrating, that I miss the whole net in the first place." He shifts his weight on his skates and drops his head forward. "I don't even fucking knowhowto play as myself anymore."
A lump rises in my throat as I watch this massive man with confidence and swagger stitched into his jersey, slowly crumble—the weight of everyone else's opinions, criticisms, and expectations on his shoulders. Drew is cracking in front of me, the ego that typically defines him in this uniform, slowly collapsing.
My heart breaks for him. He's not trying to outrun a rumor or recover from a mistake. There's no failed drug test looming over his head. Drew's just trying to play the sport he loves the way he was made to. Not the way the world thinks he should.
"My aunt's sick," I blurt, the words flying out as my stomach sinks. Drew pulls back, the dread in his eyes morphing into something closer to concern. "Well, I think she is. She's had all these tests done which is saying something in the first place because, well, she's kind of a… free spirit."
Drew steps closer to me as I pick at the skin around my nails, continuing to ramble. "Anyway, she says it's fine but… I don't know. Something just doesn't feel right." His fingers graze my forearm, his touch settling my slight panic just a little. "It could be nothing," I continue, tracking the brush of his thumb across my skin. "But if it's not, I..."
I peer up at him, still silent as he gives me the space to keep going. I lose myself in the blue of his irises and the truth that I haven't allowed myself to think about until this very moment. Tears threaten to form behind my eyes, but I blink them away. "I'm just really scared."
Drew shifts the glove under his arm, preventing it from falling, then reaches forward with his free hand. He tucks a hair away from my face, then drags his thumb down my cheek before sweeping it across my lips. "Wow," he says so delicately it sounds foreign coming from someone who looks like he does right now.
Heat slinks up my neck as I realize the emotional spew I just poured onto him. "Yeah, sorry, I—"
Drew interrupts me by pressing his lips to mine, and it takes my body all of half a heartbeat to sink into his kiss. He pulls away too quickly for my liking, a smug, yet adorable, smirk on his face.
"There she is."
My whole body relaxes as I let out an unexpected breath. The thing about swallowing your emotions is that when you share them, it's like spilling your darkest secrets, but also like hearing them for the first time. You never really know what you're hiding because before you allow yourself to feel much of anything, you tuck it away, hoping you can keep it concealed forever. Or, at least until you're ready.
Drew just experienced me processing Aunt Ivy's words for the first time, and the relief his reaction provided is what allowed me to finally let them surface. I have no idea how he feels out there—the burden he carries every day—but if I can be even half of what he's being for me by just showing up—by listening—then I'll do whatever it takes to provide him that support. Even if it means facing fears myself.
"I knew you had it in you, my not so mysterious girl." He smiles softly, pulling me into his padded embrace. He places a gentle kiss on the top of my head as he holds me tightly. "And I'm so sorry about your aunt."
The tears from before now threaten to burst, but I've dumped enough on him already, and he has two more periods to play. Pushing off of him lightly, I clear my throat. "Alright, well, now you owe me, Twelve. A deal's a deal."
He chuckles through a sigh, bringing his hand to the back of his neck. I close what little gap sits between us, and slide my palm past his cheek. He instantly leans into my touch as he takes a deep breath.
"You got this," I say. He raises his arm and grabs my wrist, letting his eyes blink closed slowly. "Like playing in the driveway in middle school." That boyish grin returns, and it hits me everywhere. "Except with like nine other giant men—half of whom are trying to hurt you."
He laughs a sweet, genuine laugh and shakes his head. "Eleven," he says. "There's twelve guys on the ice."
"See," I quip. "You can picture it already." He blows a serious breath through his lips and nods once, such a human fear behind his eyes. "Now go!" I reach around and smack his ass, my hand bouncing off his pads.
He jolts into gear, his whole demeanor sparking back to what I see on the ice. "Thank you," he says, wrapping his palm around mine and squeezing it tightly. He leans down and kisses me on the cheek before letting go and shoving his hand back into his glove.
I smile as he reaches for the door. "Hey, Twelve," I say quickly before it's opened too far. Drew peeks out into the hallway, then back at me. "I'm not going anywhere."
"I'll find you after the game."
"Sure," I nod. "But that's not what I meant."
