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My body lights up like a fireworks show inside, though I maintain my cool facade outwardly. So Toren has no clue the effect his physical closeness has on me.
Toren can barely sleep with a night-light. Even my glow-in-the-dark stars had bothered him at first—but he sleeps at away games with the television on so that his “not friend” can sleep easier.
It’s the kind of person he is, even if people don’t believe it.
Toren is innately good.
Turning on my side, I spot Holden on his side, smiling sleepily at me from the small space across. With Toren at my back, close enough to feel his warmth, though not touching me, and Holden on my other side, I feel safe. Protected.
Not lonely.
It’s enough to lull me quietly to sleep.
Chapter 38
Lily
I’m arguably too warm.
My skin is flushed from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, as the airplane taxis down the runway. Spending the morning between two brawny, well-over-six-feet hockey players will do that to anyone, I’m sure.
I’d woken to the grumbly morning voices of Toren and Holden as the former attempted to reapply the butterfly bandage to Holden’s eyebrow. Staying quiet and cuddled in a mountain of pillows and blankets where they’d clearly bundled me up, I watched Toren fret over his big defensive partner before yawning overly loud to get their attention.
I was relaxed. Now I’m more jittery—though clearly I’m the only one, with Holden snoring softly from the aisle seat, his head lulling into Toren’s neck.
A heavy hand lands on my knee with a squeeze and my body relaxes, the frantic jiggling of my leg calmed by Toren as he bobs his head slightly to the music he’s listening to.
The music we’re listening to, since he took my headphones out of my bag and connected them to his phone, “Thunder” by Boys Like Girls in my good ear. The entire flight he played an even mix of The Smiths, Radiohead, and Slowdive, mixing in some of our favorite emo and pop punk songs. But no Jeff Buckley, even though I know Toren has that album practically tattooed inside his throat.
Still, this song specifically means more. The beat paints vivid memories in my head, like looking through old photographs. Listening to music during lunch outside at school, beneath the shade of an old oak tree. Applying dark liner around Toren’s golden eyes and telling him Van Gogh facts while he listened intently. Letting his fingers guide me through math equations as he explained them patiently, before I got distracted by the size of his hands and wanting them on my body—
Toren shuffles me, and I look up, spotting both him and Holden blocking the way for me, gentle, soft smiles on both of their faces as they carry my bag for me, Holden in front of me and Toren behind, surrounded by them until we’re back in the airport with the rest of the team.
We’re home, but it feels completely different—like something has changed. And I feel itchy to start painting again. It makes something warm and bright grow in my chest.
Paloma drives me back from the airport, since my dad stayed behind with two of his old players for an agent dinner. It helps me maintain the blissful glow a little longer.
“You seem rather chipper,” Paloma says with a smirk. “Did you enjoy the empty room last night?”
My eyes widen, head shooting to her so quickly my neck snaps. “Empty room?”
She bites her lip, brow furrowing. “You didn’t even notice I didn’t come back last night?”
“Oh.” I’m scrambling. “I’m—of course. Right. Where were you?”
She shakes her head, turning off the highway at the Waterfell exit.
“How about you first? Where were you since you clearly weren’t in our hotel room?”
“I . . .”
“I knew you weren’t just up early. When I came back to the room it was like four in the morning and I talked myself into thinking you were running or at the gym.”
I shrink a little farther in my seat. My face matches the color of my hair now, I’m sure.
“So? Wanna tell me about your night?”
“I’ll tell if you do.” I push myself more upright. That’s what Paloma would have said to me, right?
