by Ariana Rose
Wait.
My dress is on the chair.
If my dress is on the chair, what is on my body?
I slowly move my hand up and down where my dress should be, and I feel cotton. It’s not mine. It’s too big to be mine. I stare up at the ceiling, trying to remember as much as I can. I remember walking to the bathroom at the bar. I remember the almost fight. Darts. I remember those too and then Spencer and I were talking and then…nothing. How the fuck did I end up in his tee shirt?
Did I? Did we?
Oh fuck no. Please no.
“Good morning. How do you feel?”
That’s a loaded question. I slowly roll my body and head to my left to face the voice. Spencer is watching me. He’s flat on his stomach. The bedsheet is pulled up to his waist, but his top half is completely bare. I could feel those muscles through his shirt when I hugged him. I could see them in the reflection of the mirror, but mother of all that is holy! Having all of it not only naked but in close range should be damn near illegal.
“Feel?”
“Yes, Cierra, feel. Are you in pain? Feel sick?”
“Oh…my head hurts. Serves me right, I guess. My ankle is locked up and my knee is throbbing.”
“I can take care of all that.”
Spencer shifts his weight like he’s going to slide out of bed. I quickly stop him. “Wait. I…I have questions first.”
He slides his fingers through his blond hair, which is a glorious mess in the morning and rolls to his back. His abs are the perfect washboard. Step aside Zac Efron, Spencer Broten has got you beat hands down. “Give me the easy ones first. It was late before I fell asleep.”
“Yeah, well…about that, did we…I mean, that is…”
“You want to know if we had sex last night?”
Oh fuck. “Yes, I need to know.”
“Cierra, no. We did not.”
A wave of sadness and relief washes over my body. “Okay. Um, then… who dressed me in this?”
“Obviously I did.”
He says it like that. Matter of fact. I did.
“You saw me naked?”
A little smirk falls over his lips. “No to that too. I put my tee shirt on you then untied the straps of your dress and gently tugged at the bottom until I could get it off, over your feet. You were out cold. You never moved.”
“You didn’t see me?”
“I saw you, Cierra. I saw you.” After a long pause and what feels like minutes staring at each other, he continues, “You need to eat. Let me go find us some breakfast while you shower.”
He begins to slide out from under the sheet. I know I should turn away, but I can’t. The sheet drapes around him at the waist as he sits up. He rolls out his neck to the left then the right before rising to his feet. Basketball shorts. He has basketball shorts on. That makes me both sad and glad in the same beat.
He reaches over to his duffle, pulls out his flip-flops, then grabs his tee shirt from last night off the floor and drags it over his head. As he takes his ball cap from the dresser and anchors it over all that hair, he has one last question, “Feel like pancakes?”
“Pancakes would be great.”
~~~
This has to be one of the top three showers of all time. I have that damn brace off. Wearing it when I’m not sleeping is bad enough, but not having it off for over twenty-four hours made my skin so itchy. After my body warms up enough, I lower my weight back and both my ankles pop.
They are the types of cracks where anyone else would go, “Holy hell, did you break something?” On the inside I am in ecstasy. The pops give me this release. I am able to stand tall and let the warm water and steam wave over my body.
I stay in until the water is nearly cold. When I switch off the faucet, I can hear that Spencer is back. He’s turned on one of his more chill playlists. I’m glad I brought my clothes in with me. A simple bralette, matching cross-back tank, and a pair of jean shorts should be a way to beat the heat we will meet today.
After wrapping my hair in the towel, I open the door to face Spencer in a better state. The delicious smell of warm pancakes and bacon greet me. I toss his tee shirt, which was mine last night, on to the bed when I notice the table. He’s set it as formal as he could have gotten with a couple of wildflowers in the center of the table resting in a paper cup.
“Feel better?” he asks.
“Mostly. Hope that tastes as good as it smells,” I offer.
“Me too. Harold was back this morning. He said the diner on the corner was the best in town for breakfast. Truth be told, it’s the only thing open for breakfast. I got us coffee, juice, and water too. Come. Sit.”
“Thanks. I’ll start with the juice and take the coffee to go. I like this music.”
“I thought we’d slow roll into this day.” He takes a casual seat across from me. “I’d like to change our road trip.”
“Change it? Why?”
“I thought you’d rather head straight toward Los Angeles.”
“Why not ask me what I want instead.”
Spencer takes the sunglasses from the top of his head and hangs them from the neck of his tee shirt. He leans in and snaps the end off of a piece of bacon. With a husk to his voice, he asks me a question people in my life rarely ask. “What do you want, Cierra?”
The way he asks makes me forget anything and everything outside this room. “I want to stay in this bubble we seem to have found. It freaks me out and I kind of like it.”
“What does the bubble feel like to you?”
“I don’t want to tell you off all the time. I feel like you’re a different person. Why is that?”
“I am and I’m not, Cierra. I know that’s cryptic as fuck, but it’s all I’ve got.”
“I get it. Trust me.” I pause for a bit with a bite of food and a cool glass of juice. “I want for us to have one day where we are simply Cierra and Spencer. We’re not trainer and minion. We’re not at each other’s throats. I want to relax and have fun. Twenty-four hours of straight-up fun. Are you willing to do that?”
“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?”
I don’t know if I want it to apply only to Vegas. I know something happened that I don’t remember. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it’s not. One thing I know, I liked how he looked at me this morning. I like how he seemed to take care of me last night and right now.
“Let’s start with that. No rules. No expectations. Truth only.”
“Be careful what you wish for, Cierra.”
Oh trust me…I know and I am.
Chapter 20
Spencer
No rules.
No expectations.
That’s an interesting concept.
She seems more nervous with the freedom than I think she expected. Than we both expected.
I elevate her ankle and knee and have her ice them both for about twenty minutes. That is the calculated time of my shower. She has her eyes closed. She’s not moving with any noise I make. I don’t know if that’s because she’s dozed off or if she’s second-guessing her choice.
I finish getting ready and load the car before she moves or speaks. “Are we ready?”
“I thought you were sleeping.”
“No. I decided to try some of those meditation things you’ve always been barking at me to attempt. A ten-minute phone call with my mother, laying a guilt trip a mile thick because I didn’t text or call last night, will make you desperate for escape.”
“I don’t bark.”
“Check your tone right now, woof…woof.”
She smiles at her own attempt at a joke. Truth be told, and that’s what this day is about, she’s funny and right. “Okay, you’re right.”
She sits up slowly with an even bigger grin on her face. “I’m going to bank the fact you said that and bring that up later. That’s the first time you’ve said I was right like ever.”
“Call it lack of sleep delirium, Cierra.”
“I’m going to call it amazing. So, in
honor of my rightness, I have a request.”
“I may regret asking, but what is it?”
“Listen all the way to the end before you say no, like I’m sure you predictably will.”
“Fuck’s sake. Tell me.”
She slides the ice bags from her ankle and knee and turns her body to allow her legs to dangle over the edge of the bed, with her feet just above the floor. “You told me yesterday was Mari’s birthday.”
“It was.”
“What did she miss? What would you have done with her? If you could have spent the day with her, what would you have done?”
Jesus.
“I don’t know, Cierra. It’s a moot point.”
“See. Predictable. You wanted in on this so-called adventure. So make it one. You’re good at control, Broten. Control the day. Show me what she missed. Take me on a date.” I’m never at a true loss for words ever and she’s got me there. The ‘D’ word put my brain in cement. She shakes her head at me. “Where are the keys?”
I open my hand and let them glisten in the sunshine of the open door. As she goes to reach for them, I quick close my hand. “Control, eh? If you decide to touch these keys, there’s no turning back.
“That’s exactly what I’m banking on.”
~~~
She accepts my challenge and I accept hers. She’s used to doing what I say, just not in this type of dynamic. In a coach and student relationship, there is a large amount of trust built. It evolves over time. The coach, or teacher, has a responsibility to give all the knowledge they have to the student. They need to affect it with a kindness and respect, but also to push that same student farther than their mind and body thinks they are capable of. The student needs to offer the same trust and respect by putting them in the hands of someone with more knowledge than they have, and the respect comes with the effort and the work.
We don’t say much for the first twenty miles or so. I don’t know what to say or direction to take a conversation. I have this feeling inside. It’s a weird fucking nervous energy. I wonder if she’s waiting on me to speak first.
“We didn’t finish our talk before my whiskey haze took over,” she begins.
“You weren’t finished?”
“No. I remember telling you, not in so many words, I don’t really know that much about you. When I started to get into it, you shut down. Why don’t we talk for real?”
“Are we ready for that? Things might be said that can’t be taken back.” I want to see if that jars her memory.
“Have you ever known me to say something I don’t mean?”
I decide to leave it alone again for now. “Fair enough. It’s your day, so to speak. Hit me with it.”
“What’s it like to know you’ll never compete again?”
“You sure don’t waste time, do you?
“You don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to, Spencer. We’ve never discussed it. Seems to be an easier place to start than Mari, or say… your dating history and road groupies.”
“Wow. Okay, first, there were no road groupies for me. I don’t chase ass. And second, if you want to ask about Mari, today is going to be the one day to do it.”
“It’s a three-hour drive. We’ve got time.”
I slide my fingers through my hair and scratch my scalp before adjusting my sunglasses. “It fucking sucks. I’ve competed my whole life. Did you know my dad played?”
“No. I didn’t. Family business?”
I laugh, “Sort of. I was born for the ice. I wanted to be just like him. Still do. He runs the youth hockey program for the metro area back home. He’s still near it, even though he’s retired. I envy that about him. He got to choose.”
“I’m around sport driven athletes every day. I don’t remember hearing many talk about envy, unless it’s about the next goal and how long it’s taking to achieve.”
“Then they’re not in the sport for the right reasons.”
“Kinda judgy, aren’t you?” she snaps.
“No, I’m not. I’m calling these posers out. The reason I miss it is because it’s part of who I am and not what I do. I want that six in the morning ice so I can rip around the rink and feel alive. I could give a shit if I’m out there alone or mixing with a few of my buddies. It’s about me. Let’s turn this back, Cierra. How do you feel about not competing?”
“That’s easy. I’m ambivalent.”
“You’ve trained your whole life and you’re ambivalent? I can’t even begin to comprehend that.”
“I’m not saying I don’t like skating. I do. I don’t miss the eight hours of training a day. I don’t miss being told what and when to eat. I don’t miss feeling like everything is happening around me and I’m only watching it, not making the choices myself. That was all gone until you showed up. This is part of why you get so much attitude from me.”
“Me? Why am I your punching bag?”
“Geez. Dramatic much? You were pushed on me by Coach B and my parents. I wasn’t asked or consulted. I was told. There’s a big difference there. I think most of the powers that be in my life still see me as twelve. They haven’t realized yet that I’m twenty-one and should have more to say about what I do.”
“Try speaking up instead of acting out. Show you’re an adult; people will follow you there.”
“Are you trying to be an asshole again? If not, clue for you…you’re being one right now.”
“Why? Because I’m telling it like it is? You let everyone boss you around, including me, unless you get to the point of saying fuck off. Why not be a part of the solution?”
“It’s easier to stick with the status quo.”
“Easier for who? You? I don’t think so. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s how we got here.”
Cierra turns away from the breeze that’s been blowing against her to face me. “Care to explain that to me?”
“You bet. You got sick of being told what was good for you and tried to toss a trick you weren’t ready for and blew your knee. Was it on purpose?”
“Wait! What? Are you asking me if I got hurt on purpose, be in this fucked-up mess for months, simply so I had an out?”
“That’s exactly what I’m asking.”
She stares at me for the longest time. Her anger is evident. Her body posture is rigid. I can see the color change in her skin from the base of her neck to the top of her chest. It goes from a pale mocha to a hint of pink. That’s the telltale sign I’ve hit a nerve.
“I went for the triple that day because I wanted to make one choice about something. I knew I could have landed it. It wasn’t the first time I’d attempted it. I’d done it about a dozen times with a few successes. It’s just the last time…”
“The last time what?”
“The last time I was pissed off, there was a huge audience and I was told I couldn’t. Telling me I can’t do something is like striking a match soaked in gasoline. I will explode and instantly want to do whatever it is.”
It’s the thought of a child, but I understand it better than likely anyone. It’s just like me. I have one of those moments where hours of memories flash through your mind in an instant. All the nos I heard. All the looks of poor Spencer. The sadness in Mari’s eyes, Mom’s, Dad’s…fuck…I can feel that hole in my heart rip open again.
“This would have been helpful information for me at the start, Cierra.”
“Why, so you could play all reverse psychology with me? I’m manipulated enough, Spencer. Thanks.”
“Manipulate? Listen here, Princess. I’ve never once done that to you. I don’t operate like that either. Am I hired to push you? Yes. Will I? Yes. Would I ever let you do or try something that would hurt you or to make you do it because I would get my rocks off for it? Fuck. That.”
We slide back into silence. Manipulate. That word is as bad as some find the ‘C’ word in my opinion. Do I suggest things that would be better for her? Fucking right I do. Would I ever make her bend to something? No. Hell no. That’s not what I am, nor will
I ever be. She doesn’t know what she’s done, but it scarred nonetheless.
After several minutes in that uneasy purgatory, she reaches across and settles her hand on my thigh. “I’m sorry.” I simply nod before she continues, “It was something I said not something I really think you do. I say shit all the time and you either roll your eyes or say nothing besides ‘Are you finished?’ Why was this different?”
“We aren’t that different, Cierra. I heard the word no so many times that I thought it was a tattoo on my forehead. Learn from my mistakes. Sometimes the word no is a manipulation, as you claim. It’s also one of the biggest mind fucks. You have to try to sort, is the no simply no? Is no being used to push you to see how hard it will make you work, or is the no to save you from yourself? The trick, and the fucking shit of it, is no one can tell you how to respond. You have to look within yourself and know. It took me nearly two years, a stint in PT rehab, several broken friendships, an end with Mari, and advice from a good friend to have it all click.” I reach down and take her hand. “Learn from my mistakes.”
“Don’t let go.”
I take my eyes off the road for a mere second or two to see her face. “Don’t let go?”
“Of me.” She pauses again as she flexes her fingers beneath mine over my thigh, “Spencer…even if I don’t choose how you want me to choose, will you let go?”
I’ve never even considered it. She could choose to walk away. She’s asking me in this moment if she does, will I walk away from her. “Cierra, if you are done on the ice, then our relationship as it has been will be over.”
Chapter 21
Cierra
“Our relationship as it has been will be over.”
Those words hit harder in my body than when I hit the ice after I fell. I’ve wished for so long he’d leave; now I don’t want him to go. He didn’t let go of my hand though. I don’t know why. Is it out of pity? Can he tell how I feel? If he could we’d never be continuing with this game.
