“A cat.” I sipped and stared at him.
“Was it a special cat?”
I shrugged. “To my sister it was.”
“But not to you?”
My sight fell to the reddish tea in my cup. A few dark specks were floating around in the steaming liquid.
“She was a nice cat. Harper fed her scraps and snuck her into her room on good days.”
“I’m glad for Harper, but what about you? Did you like the cat?”
“She was a nice cat.”
“Did she have a name?”
Man, this was getting too close to shaky ground. “Yeah.” I dipped my finger into the tea to try to push the floaters down, but the water was too hot to leave it in there. “Harper called her Spearmint because she lived in a nearby field and spent a lot of her time rolling around in a patch of spearmint, we guessed, because she always smelled like chewing gum.”
“That’s a good name for a cat.”
“Yeah, she was a nice cat.”
He sipped softly, silently, giving me time to sort the shit in my head. My gut was tight now as memories I’d tried to keep buried clawed their way to the fore.
“Would you feel safe in telling me more about Spearmint?”
“She died. Dad… well, our yard wasn’t safe for cats.” And there it was. Trauma. Lying there on my lap as if I’d coughed it up like a phlegm ball. Fuck. “Harper didn’t know. I buried her and told Harper she got hit by a car.”
He touched my hand. My sight flew from the imaginary glob of past horror to my counselor, and then, to his hand. He held tissues. My teacup began to shake. Shit. I hadn’t even felt the tears chilling my face.
“Shit, sorry. That was… wow, this tea is making me weepy,” I coughed as I sucked it up. All of it. No place for that kind of shit in hockey. Tears, snivels, boohooing over a long-dead pet. “I don’t want any more.”
I shoved the tea back at him. He wouldn’t take it. The fucker.
“Is tea such a bad thing if it helps clear the soul of pains from our past?”
I had no answer, so I said nothing. I just sat there, wishing my head would stop hurting and dreaming of a bath to scour this all away. I thought to mention Finn to him, but that was a secret. It was good and sweet, and it was mine.
Keep the good things secret so no one can rip them away.
SIX
Finn
I’d been anticipatingart class all week. Maybe none of them would turn up. It wasn’t mandatory, but I still hoped they’d all show. I’d planned a session introducing the color wheel through painting cartoon birds, less about free expression than guided learning. With my post-grad studies in mind, I was eager to put it into practice, not just to gather supporting evidence but because I genuinely believed this approach could help.
That was why I was excited.
It had nothing to do with Walker and whatever complicated feelings had been creeping in, like how my pulse seemed to pick up whenever he was near or how I found myself paying too much attention to the curve of his mouth when he spoke. Attraction, curiosity… or something I wasn’t quite ready to name. The moments when he glanced my way, and his eyes lingered, stuck with me. I didn’t know what to do with it, so I stuffed it down and told myself it didn’t matter.
When I finally arrived, I was happy to see the five men huddled by the coffee machine, chatting quietly. “Hey, everyone,” I called out, forcing my voice to sound casual. “Do you all have coffee? Has it been a good week?”
“Better now you’re here, Prof,” Arnaud teased, flashing a grin as he sauntered closer, his smile lingering just a second too long. His gaze flicked over me. Deliberate, assessing, and maybe even flirtatious. It caught me off guard, and I wasn’t sure how to react. Was he just being playful, or was there something more? I found myself glancing toward Walker instinctively, wondering if he’d noticed or if he cared. The thought confused me, stirring something I wasn’t ready to name. I smiled awkwardly at Arnaud and moved on, my heart still knocking harder than it should.
Bob frowned, his face set in a scowl as if I’d just interrupted something important. His jaw was tight, mouth pressed thin, as he’d rather be anywhere else.
“Stop fucking with Teach,” Bob snapped at Arnaud. “Asshole.”
