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This was so stupid.
I couldn’t imagine hearing his voice on the other end of the phone call…Ifhe even answered. And if he did, what would I even say?
I swallowed hard against the closing sensation in my throat. This was too much. I’d have to tell Tyler tomorrow that we’d need to work out a different deal. I’d do anything… just notthis.
I pushed up from my seat at the table, but was a bit tipsier than I thought, and I accidentally knocked over the wine bottle. I rushed for a roll of paper towel and quickly mopped up all the red… then stared at the damp paper towels for a second too long…
3. Addie - 2010
I slowly sat down on the sidewalk curb and dropped the bloodied paper towel from the bathroom onto the concrete in front of me. I think my nosebleed had finished its course.
Marina, my coach, was pretty frickin irritated it happened again. She was mad at anything that took me off the ice for even a single minute.
I stretched my legs out in front of me. I was wholly ignored by the moms ushering their little tykes into the rink for hockey practice and the guys unloading crates of beers and other things from the truck in the parking lot. They were probably restocking Benny’s– the little diner in the lobby of the rink– and the concession stand.
I blew out a breath and closed my eyes against the headache that was mounting. I leaned back on my elbows and enjoyed the sun’s warmth on my face. Enjoying it wouldn’t last long though– you could only take wearing black leggings in the sun for so long before you overheated and started sweating.
“You probably shouldn’t stick your legs out in the street,” a deep voice rumbled.
My eyes flew open to look up at where the voice came from. Standing there, suddenly casting his shadow on me, was a very muscular, very tan guy with sunglasses on. He had longer, jaw-length, sandy hair and a scruff covered jaw. The sleeves of his shirt were ripped down so that his tan skin was exposed on the sides. He also wore jogger hockey sweatpants and work boots– a dead giveaway that he worked here at the rink. He was the picture of a rough and tumble hockey player. He was the picture of a fighter.
“Someone could run you right over, girl.”
His voice snapped me to attention, and I quickly pulled my knees closer to my chest.
“Might be for the best,” I muttered softly.
I didn’t intend for him to hear it, but he did, and he looked at me like I was crazy.
“Jettersen, what the hell, man!” another guy who was struggling carrying crates in yelled at him.
He held a finger up to him signaling that he needed a minute before turning his attention back to me.
He studied me closer. “You alright?”
I snorted at that. No one had asked me that in forever…
Was I alright?Maybe? Yes? No?
I was having nosebleeds every day, and everyone thought it was because I spun so fast. Nope. It was because I was crying in the bathroom every day and then the pressure it built up in my face was making my nose bleed as soon as I tried to spin.
I balled up the bloody tissues on the ground next to me and quickly shoved them in my pocket…
My eyes wandered back to his face, but his eyes were now glued to my pocket. His eyebrows pinched together in concern and he shifted his weight but didn’t say anything for a second.
“What happened?” he demanded.
“Nothing,” I responded a bit too quickly.
He gazed at me intensely. “What happened?” he repeated slower.
I bit my bottom lip preparing the half-truth. “I spin too fast.”
He seemed put at ease by that answer. What had he thought happened? That I took a punch to the face or something? I was a figure skater, not a hockey player.
“Too fast? No such thing.” He gave me a devilish smirk.
I rolled my eyes at that.
