Connor
The walk back to my cabin is a blur. My system is flooded with adrenaline, then a bone-deep coldness settles in, followed by fear, anxiety, embarrassment, disappointment, and anger. By the time we reach my front door, I’m exhausted, and my hands are shaking so badly that Vox has to unlock the knob.
I’m aware enough to know this is a bad idea.
Worse than bad.
It’s theworstidea to ever have idea-ed.
But I’m so gone, I don’t even care as I follow my athlete inside.
“You need to go change into dry clothes.” When I don’t move, Vox rubs a hand across the back of his neck and shifts his weight before asking, “Do you want help?”
Robotically, I shake my headno,even though something deep inside me is screaming,Yes! Make me forget. Let me get lost in you instead.
Slowly, I make my way down the hallway toward my bedroom, thankful there are no stairs to navigate. I beginfeeling better as my core body temperature returns to normal in the house’s warmth. I pull on a pair of sweatpants, a clean T-shirt, and a hoodie. I also splash warm water on my face, hoping it helps clear my head before facing Vox again.
When I finally make my way back to my kitchen, Vox is sitting at the table, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.
He holds it out for me.
“Thought you could use this.”
I take a sip and close my eyes, reveling in the burn as I finally find my voice.
“Thank you.” I slide onto the seat next to him, spinning the glass in my hands.
I’m expecting him to pepper me with questions, trying to get to the bottom of the episode he witnessed tonight. But he shocks the hell out of me when he simply asks, “Are you feeling better?”
“A little,” I answer honestly. I know I owe him an explanation. Who knows how long I would have stayed out in the snow, paralyzed by my fear, if he hadn’t come along. “Look, I know?—”
Before I can finish whatever I was going to say—I’m not sure if I was gearing up for an apology or an explanation—Vox cuts me off.
“You don’t have to explain yourself. In fact, I’m sorry I’ve pushed so hard. I didn’t realize whatever you’re going through was quite so…devastating.”
Unsure how to answer him, I sit in silence, but I find that raking my gaze over him seems to calm my erratic heartbeat, so I allow myself a second, much longer glance.
The silence stretches on too long, though, because Vox suddenly pushes his chair back from the table and stands.
“I should probably head back and get some sleep,” he says, throwing a thumb over his shoulder toward the door.
Everything in me wants to beg him not to go. I don’t want to be left alone with my thoughts right now, but asking him to stay would be crossing another line, not to mention it would give him outrageously mixed signals.
I stand as well. The least I can do is walk him to the door, but my feet aren’t steady, and I’m overcome with exhaustion so deep my legs feel like lead. I feel myself falling, but I’m powerless to stop it.
“Shit,” Vox says as he lunges for me, righting me before I hit the floor.
I’m a fucking mess, and I’m not even drunk.
“I’m sorry,” I whimper, sounding weak and pathetic, hating that I’ve allowed myself to become this shell of a man.
“It’s fine,” he says, even though we both know it’s not.
He angles his head toward me as he starts talking. His exhale becomes my inhale and vice versa. I want to kiss him as much as I want to get back on my board.
Maybe more.
My heart rate is climbing again, and I’m certain he can hear it as it hammers against my sternum.
