Page 18 of Holding Penalty

A rare laugh pops from Nash. “Yeah, you could say so.”

Another long, awkward stretch. I should take out my phone and order a ride to Hallie’s place. Nash should get in his car and drive away. But for some reason, it’s like both of us feel hesitant to do so.

We woke up around the same time this morning, awkwardly got ready together without exchanging a word, left the key in the room, and then walked down the block to where Nash parked his truck last night.

His plush lips get thinner, like he’s pressing them together in thought as his eyes size me up.

“You sure you’re gonna be okay today?”

Now a laugh pops out of me, but it’s more ironic than the one I just drew from Nash.

“Not really.” I shrug. “But I’ll put one foot in front of the other. I’m going to go to my sister’s place today, so you don’t need to worry. I’ll ride out this hangover and then …”

My words trail off. And then, I’ll have to finally talk to Crew.

Nash nods. “Alright. You need a ride to your sister’s place?”

The idea of sliding into the passenger seat of Nash’s truck again is oddly appealing. Hearing the warm purr of his engine start up, stealing glances at his big hands gripping the steering wheel. I could hold reality at bay for just a tiny bit longer.

But I shake my head. “No, I can get an Uber. She’s in the city, so it’s not far.” A grin hooks on my mouth. “Besides, you need to get back to your animals. I can’t take any more of your time away from them.”

His eyes narrow, but his lips twitch, like I can remember them doing last night when he pulled up next to me and we exchanged verbal jabs. Not unlike the way we used to do when he’d march next door in college and tell me my parties were too loud.

“Well … good luck. So long.”

That country farewell in his low Texas drawl has a current of electricity running up my spine, but it strikes a melancholy chord at the same time.

“So long,” I reply, summoning a sad smile to my face.

After another too-long beat, Nash finally pulls away. I take out my phone and order a ride as his truck pulls away from the curb.

I watch the back of his truck as he drives away. When it turns and disappears down the road, I can’t hold back a frown.

8

NASH

Something’s nudging my leg.

I groan as I wake up, feeling my head still throbbing. I’m tired and sore all over, my body not used to pulling all-nighters, not used to the kind of inflammation that comes with consuming copious amounts of alcohol.

By this time of year, with the season so close, I’m eating a totally clean diet and getting a solid eight hours of sleep, ten to six like clockwork.

I was only in the city so late last night because Coach booked us a team dinner. If it weren’t for that, I never would have passed Piper as I was driving home.

Even though last night threw my sleep schedule out of whack, did a number on my body, and has me battling my first hangover in years … for some reason, the idea of last night not happening, the idea of me getting back to my house, studying hockey tape, then maybe watching a movie and falling asleep alone, like I always do … it brings a strange pang of disappointment to my chest.

I bury my head back in the throw pillow on my couch, where I’m lying face down. I’ve been in this position since I got home from Austin, chugged a bunch of water, and then collapsed.

I shut my eyes, but I’m nudged again, this time against my hip.

I groan into the pillow. “Damn it, Cheesecake.”

Rolling to my side, sure enough, I see the capybara who won’t let me have a moment’s peace.

“Who the hell taught you to open doors, anyway?”

The animal just pads forward, nuzzling her head against my chest. I sigh and give her what she wants: scratches behind her ears.