But it's dark and cold, and kind of perfect. I grab a spot in an isolated corner, lean back in my seat, close my eyes, and breathe, trying to get a fucking grip.
I hear the squeak of the chair unfolding beside me before Elias sits down and grit my teeth. I know it's him—even with my eyes closed—both because I can sense his evil fucking presence at this point and because of the damn smell.
I realize I never turned off location sharing.
"Jesus Christ. Can't you ever just leave me alone?"
"You forgot your charger." I snatch it from his hands and stuff it into my backpack while he says, "You're welcome, by the way."
"No, I'm not thankful," I tell him. "You didn't need to do this; you could have just brought it home with you and left it in my fucking hostage bunker."
He purses his lips before his face twists with confusion. "Hostage bunker?"
"You're tracking my phone, and it's fucking creepy. You need to stop."
"It's for your own safety."
I scoff, crossing my arms and sinking further into my seat. "Yeah. I'm sure you all really care about keeping me safe."
Elias doesn't answer, and I wait a few minutes for him to leave.Idon't want to leave; I like my cold, dark corner, and I was here first. I turn to him, intending to ask him if he has something else he should be doing right now—for instance, showering—but stop myself when I see how intently he watches the practice.
He watches them run through shooting drills with a sense of longing in his green eyes. His face, his entire demeanor, is softer than I've seen in a while.
He looks like the eighteen-year-old boy I almost hit with my car two years ago.
Elias shakes his head, forcing a laugh. "All of their forwards are fucking terrible," he says. "It's embarrassing. I played guys better than this in high school."
I stay quiet, allowing him to have whatever moment he's having. It's a mourning of some kind, and one that I know he blames me for.
But Nolan and Dax say there's nothing wrong with Elias's shoulder.
"Too far left, you dumbass," he mumbles before the guy even connects with the puck. I watch it sail past the net—a few inches too far left, just as Elias predicted.
Maybe he would make a decent coach. But he's always going to look at them just like this.
"You should try out."
He turns to me, scowling. "What the fuck did you just say to me?"
I shrug. "Nothing. I just think that maybe you should try out. You miss it, right? And you said those guys were terrible."
"You, of all people, knowexactlywhy I can't play anymore, Saige. And even if I could, I would never try out for West Pine. These losers are goingnowhere. No one watches their fucking games; they haven't had a winning season in years. It'd be a waste of my goddamn time."
"Is it really a waste of time if you enjoy it? I mean, your life is filled with so muchjoyas it is—"
He raises an eyebrow, his eyes hardening. "You have no idea what brings me joy, Saige. And I don't think you want to find out."
I remember that day on the couch—another memory I've done my best to smother in the back of my mind—and swallow hard. I think I might already know.
"I think this is what you would deem unnecessary communication, isn't it? And that always ends badly for you, isn't that what you said?"
I said it ends badly for both of us. Buthefollowedmehere. He follows meeverywhere.
He's soft one minute and dangerous the next. And I am so fucking tired of being lied to and manipulated by everyone in my fucking life.
I quickly stand, throwing my bag over my shoulder, and back away from him. "You're doing it to me, too," I say, my voice weak and lacking the conviction I'd hoped for.
He shakes his head and throws his hands up. "Doing what? What are you talking about?"
