Grey smiles. “It’s the best feeling in the world.”
“How long have you played on your team?” I sink deeper into the bed, his shoulder right next to my head. It’s funny. I shared a bed with Steven for almost eight years, but I never felt as at ease as I do right now with Grey beside me.
“I played for a farm league back in Maryland for a few years, then I was drafted by the Otters when I was twenty. Third round pick. Been there the entire time. Home sweet home. This was my thirteenth season. Talk about unlucky.” He laughs with no humor.
“Did you play any other sports growing up?”
He stares ahead at the TV. “I tried. I hated football. Baseball and soccer are too boring for me—not enough contact.Wrestling wasn’t for me either. Then I started hockey and I’ve never looked back. There’s no better feeling than putting on a pair of skates and leaving it all on the ice.” He chuckles. “It was my escape.”
“Escape?”
Grey swallows then looks at me. “From my father.”
“Oh.” Grey briefly mentioned it down at the lake. “Can I ask more about that? If you want to talk about it.”
Grey’s quiet for a moment, then his head lolls toward me. “My father was a mean sonofabitch. At times I felt so helpless. Sometimes I could get between him and my mom and make him stop. He never touched Alyssa and me, but he was awful to our mother.”
“You said he died in the line of duty.”
He nods. “While everyone mourned him with memorials and ceremonies, at home we were quietly celebrating his absence. I was thirteen. After that I threw myself into hockey. It was hard to enjoy it before. I just kept thinking about what he was doing at home. I was always so worried. My mom came to all my games, but practices were tricky. Too early for my little sister to hang out at the rink, so my mom would drop me off, but all I could think about was whether he was hurting her.”
“How far apart are you? Alyssa looks younger.”
“Ouch.” He laughs. “We’re eight years apart. She’s going to be twenty-five in July.” He leans in closer to me, settling against the pillows. The timer says ten minutes left. “A lot of time and no time at all in hockey.”
I’m still stuck on the parallels between his mother and me. “I bet your mother was amazing.” She had to be to raise a son like him. Alyssa is also very kind.
He smiles sadly. “I’m just glad she was around to meet Lianna. Even with her disease she tried her best to be there for her. She would have loved you.”
His eyes go far away. I don’t know what to say to that, but understanding a lot more about Grey eases some of my worry. He reaches his arm up, and it takes me a moment to understand that he’s offering his chest for me to lie on. I move. I can’t help myself. His arm pulls me into his side. It’s comforting in a way I’ve never felt before, and my throat starts to tighten. I don’t know why. I watch the game through a blur of tears.
His chest hair tickles my face. He’s smells so good. Musky and warm like rain or freshly done laundry. “I won’t let him hurt you. Not while you’re here,” he whispers. “I protect the people I care about.”
He cares about me? Why?
I hate that I brought him into this. I wish Steven would just let me go. I also know it’s not that easy. “I just wanted a fresh start. I’m sorry.” The buzzer rings on the screen. The Yetis win, or at least that’s what Grey says. It’s hard to focus.
Grey looks at me, cocooned in his big arms, and his large hand cups my cheek. “No one gets to tell you what to do. You’re in control of your fresh start.”
I swallow hard, then nod. With his blue-green eyes searching mine, I almost believe him.
The thing about Steven is, he always gets what he wants.
FOURTEEN
Grey
I’m really warm. It takes a minute for the fog in my brain to clear. That’s one thing about this new medication. I sleep better, but it takes my mind a moment to process waking up. Everything feels heavy.
No wait, somethingactuallyfeels heavy. My eyes open and I realize why. Felix is draped across my chest. I’m not sure when we fell asleep. After the game I turned off my TV, and we just talked for what seemed like hours.
Oh, I’m in trouble.
I like him a lot.
I watch him sleep, his red lips parted as he snores softly. His brown hair is a mess, tickling my chest, and his arm is slung over me like he’s hugging me in his sleep. My knee is still propped up by the pillow.
Without waking him, I move my knee a little, stretching it a bit. It’s a little stiff, but not as swollen as it was yesterday. I really need to be careful. I want to get better, and it hits me now. I do. I do want to. I know Ican’t play professionally again, but does that mean my life is over?
