That leaves Maya and me alone in the living room.
I should say something. Anything. But all I can think about is the last time we were alone together. Not two months ago in that sporting goods store, but a year ago. Her mouth on mine, the taste of tequila on her lips, the way she looked at me when I pulled away.
"Long game?" she asks finally.
"We won."
"Congratulations."
This is torture. We used to be able to talk for hours. She'd sit on the counter in my mom's kitchen and tell me about nursing school while I made terrible jokes. She'd come to my games in Calgary and yell at the refs louder than anyone. We were friends before anything else.
Now we can barely string two sentences together without the weight of everything unsaid crushing the air between us.
"How long are you staying?" The question comes out rougher than I intended.
She meets my eyes, and for just a second, I see past the mask.See the exhaustion, the pain, the fear she's trying so hard to hide.
"I don't know," she says quietly. "Is that okay?"
No. Yes. I don't fucking know.
What I do know is that having Maya Rivera under the same roof is either going to save me or destroy me.
And right now, looking at her standing in my sister's living room like a ghost of the girl I used to know, I can't tell which one I'm hoping for.
3
JACKSON
Coach's whistle cuts through the arena, sharp and grating, pulling me out of wherever the hell my head just went.
"Anderson! Are you planning on showing up today, or should I give the captaincy to someone who actually wants to be here?"
I'm standing at the blue line, stick in hand, watching the drill happen without me. I blink and realize I've lost track of where we are in practice. Chase is looking at me from center ice, concern written all over his face.
"Sorry, Coach."
"Sorry doesn't win games." He skates over, stopping hard enough to spray ice. "What's going on with you?"
"Nothing. I'm good."
"You're skating like your skates are backwards." He crosses his arms, and I can see the vein in his temple that only shows up when he's actually pissed. "Personal shit?"
"Something like that."
He studies me for a long moment, then nods toward the bench. "Take five. Get your head right."
I skate off, grateful. The rest of the team continues the drills without me. Chase catches my eye from across the ice and raises an eyebrow. I shake my head.Not now.
I grab my water bottle and sit. The arena's cold, even with all the bodies moving. Usually, this grounds me. The rink is where everything makes sense—lines on the ice, rules to follow, a goal to chase.
Right now, it feels like I'm playing a different game, and nobody told me the rules changed.
Maya's under the same roof as me. Sleeping in the guest room directly above mine. I could hear her moving around last night after everyone went to bed—footsteps pacing, the bathroom sink running for what felt like hours. I almost went upstairs to check on her. Almost knocked on her door.
But what would I say?I saw your face last night, and you're clearly drowning, and I want to help, but I also want to kiss you again, and I'm a piece of shit for thinking about that when you're obviously in pain?
Yeah. That would go over well.
