Actually, he would be catatonic in the shower and sobbing like a baby.
“You’ve had it for that long, and you haven’t seen a doctor about it?” Quinn asked, just to confirm the level of stupidity he was dealing with.
“The medical team looked at me,” said August. “They ran a bunch of tests and did scans, and they couldn’t find a brain bleed or a tumour, so they diagnosed me with anxiety. I’m under a lot of pressure to perform, so they said it would go away once I got my head back in the game.”
They stopped at a red light, so Quinn took the opportunity to give August a long, side-eyed stare.
As if sensing he was being observed, August turned his head and met his eyes. “They’re wrong,obviously.”
The light went green, and Quinn set his gaze back on the road. “Agreed. I don’t think it makes sense that your head still hurts after getting a hat…a hat throw?”
August chuckled, and Quinn crinkled his nose.
“Hat trick,” August corrected. “I almost got a double, which is basically unheard of for a defenceman. Everyone has too much skill these days, so it makes it hard to rack up goals, but the Sunburst goalie was shaken up after the first fight.”
Apparently, all Quinn had to do was mention hockey to get August talking. Typical puckhead.
It felt weird to be sitting in the car with him, having what could have been a normal conversation if there weren’t so much bad history between them. August must have noticed it too, because he suddenly went quiet and didn’t say anything for the rest of the drive.
When he reached the destination, Quinn pulled into the long, winding driveway of a house that looked like it had been plucked straight from the pages of an architectural journal—or an architect’s wet dream.
The place was breathtaking with its gabled roofs and ivy-draped stone, and windows glowing softly against the dark of the cold Vancouver night. It was the kind of home that had seen eras of history, and looked haunted as fuck.
Quinn dreamed of owning a place like this someday. An old-world masterpiece that he could make his own. He would furnish it with antiquevelvet furniture in deep greens and oxblood reds, and stained-glass chandeliers that would cast jewels of colour across the hardwood floors. He would create a hidden library tucked behind a false wall, lined with leather-bound books and filled with the scent of dust and ink.
In the attic, he would have a collection of vintage trunks, overflowing with old clothes he’d hunted down online—things he could throw on when he wanted to play, or just disappear into another time for a while.
“They were going to tear it down, even though it’s borderline historical,” August said, catching on to Quinn’s silent appreciation. “But it was in rough shape, and it was going to take a lot of money to restore it. I bought it because I liked the spiral tower, and I had the money to fix it.”
Great. That meant all the original charm was likely gone. August didn’t give offantique guy vibes, so Quinn had a feeling he was about to walk into a place with white walls, grey floors, and a hockey rink in the basement.
Wait, why was he walking in? He had brought August to his house, so there was no need to go any further.
“Come see,” August said, sounding tired—and looking tired. “I know you want to.”
Quinn was about to tell him to pound sand when his text notification pinged loudly. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and saw a message from Eren staring back at him from the screen.
Eren: Niko Cote asked very nicely if you could stay with August until he gets home. He seemed worried about him. I gave him your number.
Another message popped up.
Unknown: It’s going to take me an hour to get there. I really hate to bother you, and I know we’re strangers, but can you stay with August? I don’t trust him to be alone.
Unknown: If you can’t, no problem. I don’t want to annoy you.
“Who’s saying what?” August asked.
Quinn ignored him and unlocked his phone, opening the messages sent by Niko Cote.
Quinn: There’s no need to race home. I can stay and watch him while you take a break and enjoy your victory.
He shouldn’t have offered, but he saw the player wearing the number 14 on his jersey, and he had looked really young. The way Niko was so concerned about August made Quinn think the poor kid hadn’t had much of a break lately, so the least he could do was stay.
If he was truly determined to help Eren get the cup for Esme, then watching August for a few hours to make sure he didn’t pass out and die was an easy sacrifice to make.
Unknown: I can’t ask you to do that.
At least the kid was considerate and respectful.
