“You okay?” She blinks at me, forehead furrowed.
“Yeah. Can you do a headstand?”
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
With a smile, she gets down on her knees and elbows. She interlaces her fingers, dips the top of her head to the mat, her hands cupping her head. She pushes her ass up into the air, which is spectacular, adjusts her position a little, then pulls her knees slowly to her chest.
“Holy crap,” I breathe, watching her balance on her head and elbows.
Her movements unhurried and sure, she straightens her legs, toes pointed toward the ceiling.
“Wow. You’re amazing.” I move to stand behind her.
When she parts her legs, I can’t resist. I slide my arms around her waist and pick her up, upside down. She lets out a little screech and smacks at my thighs. “What are you doing?”
I bury my face in her pussy, then slowly lower her to the floor, her head between my legs. She grabs the backs of my knees, laughing. I join her on the floor and we roll around together, kissing and laughing.
Then Ash walks in on us.
“Uh…sorry.” He stops in the opening to the living room.
“We’re just doing yoga,” I explain.
His eyebrows rise. “Suuuuure.” He waves a hand and heads to his office.
Arya’s flat on her back on the floor, still laughing. “Oh my God.”
I lean over her and smooch her lips again. “I’d rather be doing you.”
She laughs harder.
“Maybe we should do our couples’ yoga in the bedroom.”
“You like the couples’ yoga?”
“Are you kidding? I get to put my hands on you and put my face between your legs. What’s not to love?”
Late Monday night I leave her at her place, alone, and go home to my solitary bed so I can get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow night the playoffs start.
We ended up two points ahead of Vancouver, so we have home-ice advantage, and start the series at home Tuesday night. This is the first time I’ve ever played an NHL playoff game, although I’ve played in plenty of playoff games in the AHL. I’ve gotten advice from some of the veterans, and the team has a sports psychology consultant from UCLA working with us. He tells us that mental and emotional skills are just as important for the playoffs as physical skills.
There are vets like Jimmy, Olle, and Richie who have a lot of playoff experience, albeit years ago. There are brand-new guys like Eddie and Meals. And then there are guys like me, who have some experience with it, either in the NHL or AHL.
Brian knows we don’t want to sit through hour-long meetings talking about this stuff, so he gets us watching short video clips of experienced professional athletes talking about focus, dealing with pressure, and visualization. Even a pro golfer talks about each shot he takes being the most important thing in the world at that moment. We listen to guys talk about blocking out everything else and dealing with pressure by keeping things simple and remembering to breathe.
Breathing makes me think about Arya, and what I’ve learned from her, which increases my confidence that I can do this.
“Embrace the pressure,” Brian tells us. “Let your talent and your training come out. And don’t focus on the outcome of the game. Sounds like it doesn’t make sense, because you have to win. But you need to remember the process of the game, focusing on doing what it takes to win, not on the need to win.”
The team even has a playoff theme: “Now’s our time.” It’s on everything—banners in the dressing room, on the walls in the corridors, and in the motivational video the team put together for us.
I text Arya from my bedroom Tuesday afternoon just before I leave for the arena. I’ve had my nap, I’m dressed in my suit, including my lucky Wolverine socks, sitting on my bed. Once I get to the arena, I’ll put my phone in my locker and won’t look at it again until after the game.
Are you nervous? She texts me back.
Yeah. No. Excited. Okay yeah nervous. I laugh out loud and rub my mouth. I feel like I’m electrified, buzzing with energy. I have to control that energy.
I’ll be there cheering you on.
Good.
You’ll be great. Remember—breathe.
Yep!
I want to say more. I wish she was here so I could feel her, wrap her in my arms and kiss her. I’d like to end the text convo with a love you, but it’s too soon for that. I just have to be patient. One thing at a time. Okay I’m off. Have fun at the game.
Ash is in the living room. He too is heading to the game, also dressed in a suit and trying unsuccessfully to tie his tie. He makes a frustrated noise.
I smile and walk up to him. “Here.” I start the knot from fresh, twirling the silk fabric expertly and then snugging the knot up. “There you go.” I slap his shoulder.
He grins. “Thanks, man.”
“I’m out.” I start to move away.
“Hey.”
I stop and look at him.
“How’re you doing? Okay?”
“Yeah. Good.” I suck in a breath and nod.
He steps forward and gives me a bro hug. “Good luck.”
I hug him back. “I thought you were neutral.”
“I am.” He smirks. “Don’t tell anyone I’m cheering for my brother.”
The laughter eases some of my tension and I jog out to my SUV.
* * *
—
After the game, I’m sitting in the locker room, head down, sweaty, and exhausted, still wearing my pants and half my gear.
We lost.
The mood in the room has dimmed considerably from before the game, when the energy was high, spirits buoyant. And yet, I don’t feel as shitty as I would have expected.
“It’s game one,” Jimmy says. “We’ll figure out what went wrong and we’ll fix it for the next game.”
We all make noises of agreement.
“We got this,” Bellsy adds.
I already know my own mistakes. Fuck. I didn’t play my worst game ever, but it sure wasn’t my best either. A stupid turnover led to a goal that I’ll be kicking myself over for a long time. Except I’m not supposed to do that. Put it behind me. Learn from it. Look forward.
Yeah, all the clichéd advice and platitudes don’t actually help that much. It’s easy to say forget about it and move on; it’s not so easy to do.
There are no post-game drinks or parties tonight. We’ve done the media stuff, including answering tough questions from my own goddamn brother. At least his questions aren’t stupid, unlike that idiot from WXN who asked me why I turned over the puck to Vancouver’s leading scorer. What. The. Fuck. I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying that out loud.
At home, I stretch out on my bed wearing my boxers and call Arya. Much as I want to see her, I know I need to stay away, stay focused. But we can talk.
Arya immediately says, “That was so good in the first period when you skated through all those guys! I thought for sure you were going to score.”
“Yeah.” I didn’t score, but it had been a good play.
“And then you and Edvin and Pavel…that face-off when Edvin scored…that was amazing!”
“We lost, you know,” I say dryly.
“I know. I’m sorry. But I thought it was a good game. Of course, what do I know?” She laughs softly. “But really, it could have gone either way.”
“True.”
Surprisingly, not rehashing everything that went wrong is making me feel better.
I talk about the pressure and how I thought I was doing okay with it, but it must have gotten to me. With Arya, I’m not afraid to tell her shit like this. I know she won’t laugh at me or think I’m weak. And she doesn’t try to give me advice, like everybody else in my family I talk to. She just listens and lets me know
she gets how I’m feeling.
After we’re done talking, I set my phone on the bed and close my eyes. I focus on my breathing, just as Arya taught us, trying to empty my mind.
It’s hard. I want to relive the game. I want to relive sex with Arya. I want to think about the next game. But I try to push those thoughts aside.
* * *
—
We lose the next game too. This one really sucks. We played hard. We did all the right things. We scored four fucking goals. We can’t blame it one player, but we all know Bergie let in a couple of soft ones in the third period, and that did us in.
“We should have been better in front of him,” I tell the media when I’m asked about that. “That’s our job. We can’t play like that. We can control the mistakes we made and support him better.”
This one hurts more than the first game, because if we’re playing our best and we can’t win…never mind. Don’t finish that sentence. We can do this. Coach tells us and I know it’s true—we just have to keep playing our game. He reminds us of all the things we can’t control, that we have to focus on the things we can that will give us our best chance of success.
Now we’ve lost our home-ice advantage. We go to Vancouver for the next two games. We’re determined and trying to stay positive. It’s hard to ignore, though, that almost everyone is hurting in some way, and we’re all exhausted. But we know we can beat this team.
I’m sitting at home after the game. Ash is still out. I could call Arya, but I miss her and I want to see her. I know she’s home.
I sit and debate whether it’s a good idea for about ten seconds, reminding myself that we’re leaving in the morning for Vancouver. But I don’t want to wait until we get back to see her. I need to see her now.
Flushing my good judgment down the toilet, I grab my wallet and keys and jump into my vehicle. Arya’s place is only a few minutes away.
I pull up in front of the house. The light over the front door glows, and lights are on inside. Smiling, I jump out and stride up the sidewalk to the small yellow house.
I lean against the wall after I ring the doorbell, waiting. I get a little lost in thought, thinking about Arya, and then realize a minute has passed and she hasn’t answered the door. I ring the bell, again, frowning. I can hear it, so I know it’s working.
When there’s still no answer, I pull out my phone and text her. Hey, answer your door.
After a few seconds, the little dots start jumping around and then her reply arrives. What? Is that you?
Yeah.
A few seconds later, I see her peer through the small window and then slowly open the door.
“Hi!”
She stares at me.
My smile fades.
Her eyes and mouth are drawn tightly, eyelashes fluttering.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“What are you doing here?”
“I missed you. I wanted to see you. I just thought I’d drop by…” She’s decent, dressed in leggings and a sweatshirt, so it’s not that I’ve caught her naked, having a bath or something.
She presses a hand to her heart. “You scared the crap out of me.”
I gnaw on my bottom lip briefly. “I did?”
She closes her eyes, looking like she’s going to cry. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
Her jaw tightens and she opens her eyes to glare at me. My insides squeeze up.
“Why the hell did you come over here without telling me?” she demands.
I blink. I don’t move. “What?”
“You can’t do that!” she cries, shaking her head and frowning.
“Calm down.” I hold up my hands, palms out.
Her eyes widen.
Right, right. Telling women to calm down is the wrong thing to say. “I mean…” Frantically, I try to think of what to say. “Can we sit down and talk?”
“No!” She’s trembling now. “No, we can’t.”
“Arya, come on, I just stopped by to see you, it’s no big deal. If it’s not a good time—”
“No, it’s not a good time.”
I gape at her. What the fuck? I didn’t do anything wrong! I dropped by to see her without calling ahead of time. That’s not crazy, when we’ve been seeing each other and sleeping together and…what the fuck?
My belly churns with a toxic mess that burns its way up to my chest. “Okay,” I bite out. “Fine.” I spin and walk back to my vehicle.
Chapter 21
Arya
I feel so stupid.
I know I totally overreacted to Harrison showing up at my house the other night. First, someone showing up at the door, at night, when I was home alone, scared the shit out of me. I thought I was doing better, being home alone at night, but someone at the door I wasn’t expecting had visions of Lucas flashing in front of my eyes, his erratic behavior and his threats coming back to haunt me.
Then, as I was cowering in my bedroom with my phone in hand, I discovered it was Harrison and I was so relieved I almost started crying, and then I was mad at him for scaring me like that and mad at myself for being so scared. I didn’t handle it very well.
And I made him angry, with my irrational response.
I sink down onto a chair in the living room, staring into space.
If I’d told him what happened to me with Lucas, maybe he wouldn’t have been so pissed. I didn’t want him to know about it, but it dawns on me that I probably should have told him. I remember why I told Everly and the others…because making friends and building connections with people requires honesty. Vulnerability. I didn’t do that with Harrison, and he’s the one I most want a true connection with.
He’s in Vancouver now with a game tonight, so I can’t even see him to apologize. I don’t know when is a good time to call him. I don’t want to distract him. So I don’t do anything while I figure that out.
I keep myself busy all day with classes, but when I get home that night, Taj is out and the house is quiet and empty.
I am so messed up.
There’s no way I deserve a boyfriend like Harrison.
I don’t know what to do about this.
I check the time, but I don’t know why, because I don’t know his schedule. I have no idea what he’s doing on the road.
I have to do something. I have to at least apologize to him. So I opt for a text. I overreacted last night and I’m sorry.
I don’t get a response, but I didn’t think I would.
* * *
—
I’m obsessively checking my phone like a teenage girl waiting for her crush to call. Luckily, I can’t bring it into classes with me on Saturday, so that distracts me for a while.
I go for a bike ride between afternoon and evening classes, finding the spot where Harrison and I made out in the sand near the Venice Pier. I sit with my arms wrapped around my knees and stare at the ocean, the wind blowing my hair around. I really screwed up and the timing was the worst. Normally I could have tracked Harrison down and apologized and explained to him. He’s off playing for the biggest championship in his sport and I’m a jerk.
I can only hope he’s more focused and together than I am. Because I won’t be able to bear the guilt if I’ve messed up his head before an important game. But he’s a professional. I’m sure he’s fine.
I get home a few minutes before Taj and we make a late dinner together. We haven’t done this for a while, I’ve been spending so much time with Harrison.
“You’re really quiet,” he comments as he cuts tofu into cubes. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I pause, then sigh gustily. “No.” I tell him what happened the other night.
He pauses in his slicing, tilts his head, and gives me a long look.
“I know, I know. I freaked out.” I press my fingers to my mouth for a
few seconds. “I was scared someone was at the door, but even when I saw it was him, I was so pissed at him for doing that! It just…”
“Brought back memories?”
“Yes.” I drop my head forward. “Oh my God, yes. I was terrified. All I wanted was to get away from him, to make sure the door was locked and I was safe. I ended up in bed with the covers wrapped around me, shaking like we were having an eight-point-oh earthquake.”
“Ari.” His tone is gentle. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay!” I pause. “I should have told him about Lucas.”
He frowns. “You haven’t?”
“No.” I hang my head. “Another screwup. If he knew, he probably wouldn’t have dropped by like that. Or at least he would have understood why I freaked out.”
Taj gives a terse nod.
“I know, I know, I fucked up. Wait. I know I’m not supposed to be hard on myself when that stuff happens. I just feel like I should have handled it better. I pissed him off, and…” I stop because of the pinch at the back of my throat.
“You really like him.”
“Yeah. I think he’s a good guy. Now that I’ve had time to calm down and think about it, I actually like it that he just dropped by like that. He said he missed me.” I blow out a sharp breath. “I missed him too.” Which is crazy, but that’s where we are.
“So, you made him feel like shit because he wanted to see you and did something spontaneous.”
I drop my head forward. “I’m an asshole.”
“I didn’t say that.” His voice gentles. “But I know why you reacted that way. He doesn’t.”
“True.” Sighing, I meet Taj’s eyes.
“What are you going to do about it?”
“I texted him an apology. But I haven’t heard back.” My voice quivers.
“Ah.”
“You need to tell him what happened.”
“Oh yeah, that’ll make him feel better.”
“If he can’t deal with it, then it’s for the best. But you can’t have any kind of relationship without honesty.”
For the Win Page 19
