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“Nuh-uh.” She scrolls through her phone. “Poor Yuval.”
“Poor Yuval what?”
Ziggy flicks an incredulous glance up at me, before refocusing on her phone. “They have a massive crush on you. I’m autistic—I never notice that stuff, and even I picked up on it. How haven’t you?”
Because I couldn’t give a fuck less what anyone wants from or feels about me, unless it’s you.
I roll my eyes. “You’re way off.”
“I’m not, but whatever.” She pockets her phone. “Okay, our week’s goofy busy. That’s just that. But we’ll figure out something soon. Hang in there while Lars makes you suffer. Ice that foot, okay?”
She wraps me in a hug, her usual, sweet, platonic Ziggy hug that still drives me wild, smashing her tits to my chest, tickling my face with her hair, bathing me in her soft, clean water scent.
“Ziggy?”
“Yes, Sebastian.” She’s still hugging me, or maybe it’s more accurate to say I’m holding her hug-hostage, with my arms wrapped tight around her, clutching her close, because it’s easier to be brave when I’m not looking at her, when I feel her heart beating right by mine, her comforting presence pressed against my body.
“Would you…” I clear my throat, irritated with myself at how nervous I am. “I checked the calendar, and saw you don’t have a game then, so I was wondering… Our first three preseason games are away, but would you come to my home game? The first home game next Sunday?”
I feel her smile lift her cheek against mine, before a sigh leaves her, tickling my neck. “You goober. Like you even had to ask. I was already going to be there.”
25
SEBASTIAN
Playlist: “Eagle Birds,” The Black Keys
“I like what I’m seeing, Gauthier.” Dr. Amy Howard, our team physician, wraps her stethoscope around her neck and smiles at me. “Weight’s back up. Trainers’ report on your foot’s recovery is glowing. Your vitals are excellent, with the exception of that elevated blood pressure, which I’m chalking up to nerves.”
My blood pressure’s up due to nerves, all right. It’s my first home game after nearly flushing my career down the shitter, and lots of eyes are on me, watching me for proof that I’ve been worth the hassle, that I’m good enough to merit keeping around. I have a lot to prove. Then there’s the fact that Ziggy’s coming, that she’ll be watching me.
That’s the biggest culprit of all.
“You been following that gluten-free diet strictly?” Dr. Amy asks.
I blink, wrenched from my thoughts. “Yes. Very.”
“How’s that going?”
“Fantastic. I feel like, my whole life, I’ve been squinting through a smudged, foggy lens and that diet’s wiped it clean. My stomach barely ever hurts. Those aches that I’d get, they’re spacing out. I’m following that diet very strictly, given how good it makes me feel.”
She smiles. “I’m very glad to hear that. Give it more time. You’ll feel even better. And keep up that good self-care.”
“Will do, Doc.” I slip off the exam table and tug on my warm-up jacket. “So, all clear?”
She nods. “All clear. Good luck tonight. Score some goals like you always do.”
“You got it. See you later.”
I weave my way through the bowels of the facility, back toward the training room, where everyone’s in casual athletic clothes, doing their typical pregame exercises before we hit the ice.
“Seb!” Ren waves me his way, where he stands down the hall, holding his phone.
I jog toward him, then stop. Ren turns so I can see the screen, and I smile. “Hey, Linnie.”
“Hey, Trouble!” she yells. I thought she was just yelling at the stadium because it was loud, but I’m starting to think maybe Linnie just yells everything. “Good luck!” she yells. “I can’t come tonight, cuz we’re all puking.”
I grimace. “Uh-oh. All of you?”
