Page 28 of Blindside Me (Cessna U Hockey #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Jade

The absolute worst part about presenting first and standing in front of a room full of classmates?

It’s not the shaky hands, the Sahara-dry mouth, or the slide deck that suddenly looks like it belongs at a TED Talk and not in a seminar.

Nope. It’s standing beside Drew Klaas, pretending I don’t remember what his mouth feels like on my skin.

He’s a statue beside me, a whole foot taller, arms crossed like he’s barricading himself from the world. His jaw is tight with his gaze locked somewhere above the crowd, anywhere but at me. It’s as if we’d shatter wide open if he looks at me.

Too bad. I’m already shattered.

And if this video presentation is a war of who can pretend better, I’m about to lose badly. Like crash-and-burn, tell-your-grandkids-about-it one day, badly.

How did I not realize they’d play the entire voiceover for the class?

Sure, I figured the teacher would hear the parts about teamwork, but the personal stuff?

The “what I learned about my partner” stuff?

I thought that was just for the professor.

I was tired and raw the night we recorded.

I said some things. Some very personal things.

Definitely more personal than whatever Drew said.

Now, not only does he get to hear it, but everyone else does too. Fantastic.

My stomach churns when I click the first video slide, and my voice fills the room.

Oh God. Are they really hearing what I said about Drew?

Worse yet. Did I actually mean it?

I already know the answer.

I steal a glance at his jaw, clenched tightly.

He’s glued to the screen, not even blinking.

How is he so calm when I’m basically vibrating out of my skin?

Why did I get so personal? Maybe the class will think I made it up for the grade.

Maybe. But I know this is going to be one-sided.

He might want me, sure, but that’s just lust. It’s always one-sided.

He’s too composed for it to be anything else.

Drew stands there, unmoving, as the professor nods and hits play. My knees go full Jell-O. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, every nerve in my body screaming for escape. The room goes silent. I can hear my own breathing.

The video opens with shaky shots of Drew at practice.

Bad lighting, weird angles, the whole thing looks like a home movie gone wrong.

Every flaw reminds me that this was never supposed to be for anyone but the professor.

I risk a side-eye at Drew. He’s still staring straight ahead, shoulders bunched, his right leg twitching.

Weirdly, that helps. Maybe he’s freaking out a little, too.

As the video cuts between us, I notice something else in it. Honesty. Actual, raw honesty. Not like everyone else’s slick, over-edited projects.

His documentary hits the midpoint. That’s when the pressure talk starts.

The one he knows by heart. That I know by heart.

Athletes in slow motion, missing critical shots.

One limps off the rink. Another chucks a water bottle in frustration.

Drew’s voice comes in, calm and steady, “One mistake, and it’s over. ”

A lump forms in my throat. I think about Drew’s life. The hours. The pressure. The way it must crush him. He’s laying himself bare, right here. His workaholic, fear-driven core. It’s more than I ever thought he’d ever say. More than I ever thought anyone would hear.

I fight the urge to grab his hand, hold it, and squeeze through the parts I know hurt him. The parts that hurt me.

I shift and scan the class. Some people are leaning in, eyes wide. Others are frozen, like they don’t know what to do with what they’re seeing. A girl in the back raises her eyebrows at her friend. They’re shocked. I’m shocked. I must be bright red.

My own voice yanks me back to the screen.

High-pitched. Fast. “I escaped into cartoons, into stories where nothing fell apart. No mistakes, only heroes.” My childhood flashes by in messy snapshots.

Cluttered rooms. Empty pizza boxes. Screaming matches over bills.

Stuff I didn’t realize I’d shown, not until now.

“The world never felt stable,” my voice says.

I don’t dare to breathe. “But in animation, everything made sense. There were no surprises.”

My stomach lurches as I dig my fists into my thighs, willing my nerves to calm. This is way, way too much. What the hell was I thinking, saying all that?

I glance at Drew. He’s not looking at me, but he doesn’t have to. I can tell he’s surprised. Maybe even impressed. His eyes narrow, searching. He tugs at his sleeve. A tiny thrill hits me. So, yeah. This freaks him out, too.

My voice keeps going. Softer now. Honest in a way that makes my skin prickle. The class stirs. They weren’t expecting this. Neither was I.

The essay flips back to Drew. Still shots of sweat-soaked jerseys.

Empty benches. Eyes buried in taped-up hands.

“Doubt creeps in when you least expect it.” His words are sharp, controlled.

“Pressure will break you if you let it.” But underneath, there’s something else.

Real vulnerability. It steals my breath.

He fidgets. Adjusts his leg and then his sleeve. I can’t stop watching him. I can’t stop thinking about how I didn’t know he’d share so much. How I didn’t know he’d share it with me. How it knocks me flat. How he knocks me flat.

I hold my breath and stare at the screen. At this point, I don’t care what anyone thinks. It’s us in this room. Me. Him. Our secrets. Our fears. We’ve let them out, and now I’m raw and exposed, feeling a million things at once.

The footage is choppy, too bright, and too dark.

Yet somehow, it makes more sense than anything we meant to say.

As much as I wish I’d said less, there’s nothing I’d take back.

Not a single word. Nothing I’d want him to take back, either.

The screen switches to Drew. He’s leaning against a row of lockers, calm but cracked.

Telling the world what no one thought he’d ever say. Telling the world everything.

My last clip ends with me saying, “Somewhere along the way, I stopped surviving and started wanting more.”

The screen shifts to Drew’s final slide: a plain black screen with white text. No frills. No distractions.

His voice plays one last time. “I spent my life thinking I was nothing if I wasn’t perfect. She made space for the parts I didn’t want anyone to see.”

Our secrets fill the room. My heart goes haywire, and I swear he can hear it. I shift, trying to calm it, like maybe he won’t notice. But who am I kidding? He has to see. He’s looking right at me.

His face fills the screen. Sweat-matted hair. Pained eyes. An exhaustion I can’t imagine, but somehow, I understand. It lingers there for what feels like years, like the world has paused to watch him and listen. The end. The end of everything. The end of me.

Blackness.

The room goes still.

No shuffling backpacks. No coughing. Not even a whisper.

Just Drew’s voice, raw and unguarded, stretched like a bare wound across the air.

Beside me at the podium, Drew stares straight ahead, his jaw tight, knuckles white around the edge of the laptop.

I don’t dare look at him. I can barely breathe.

Because I feel it.

The way he said “she.”

The way the syllable cracked slightly as if he hadn’t meant to say it at all.

A soft, almost imperceptible gasp comes from somewhere in the audience. Maybe another student. Maybe me. I can’t tell.

All I know is the jolt hits hard enough to sting.

I swallow and click to the next slide, my hands shaking just enough to notice.

If anyone else caught it, the weight behind his words, they don’t show it.

But I caught it.

And from the way Drew’s shoulders tense beside me, he knows I did, too.

I’m dizzy from everything that happened in that room. Everything that came out of our mouths and stayed there. We both said more than we meant to, but not more than we wanted to. The shared honesty hangs like a thick cloud, and I’m not sure whether I’m walking through it or drowning in it.

Then it finally hits. The implications of it all.

Me being the coach’s niece.

His potential career on the line.

If we’re caught, he stands to lose everything. Me? I won’t lose a thing, except my heart staying intact.

Because losing whatever this is between us has complete devastation written all over it.

But I’d survive.

I always survive.

I sneak a glance at him and want to whimper.

This is going to cost him way more than it cost me.

Why couldn’t I’ve seen that before?

Someone mutters, “Damn.” The spell is broken, but the tension isn’t. Not with us.

“That was amazing,” a guy calls out. His tone’s too shocked to be anything but sincere.

“I thought it was intense,” a girl says. “A little much.”

Drew turns to me. My eyes dart down, away, back up. He holds my gaze, the biggest question I’ve ever seen. One I don’t have the words for yet.

The professor beams and nods, arms folded. “Outstanding. The real strength of this piece is how you’ve let the audience in. Wonderful job.”

It’s the last push we need. The walls I’ve put up collapse, my fear-fueled determination crumbling like a cheap film set.

I think he’s right there with me. I hope he’s right there with me.

We just outed our entire emotional universe, and all I want is to be near him.

This man with his raw, imperfect beauty.

I had no idea this closed-off man would give this much.

We move together, clumsy, intense, desperate to know if the realness we just showed is real for both of us. We don’t say a word. Not yet. But hell, did he mean his part?

The room suddenly shrinks. I need air. I need out—away from him. Somewhere safe, where nothing fragile can shatter.

We gather our notes in silence. The rest of the class chatters, relieved to be done. Chairs scrape. Laptops snap closed. Someone cracks a dumb joke about getting drinks to celebrate surviving presentations.

I don’t laugh.

Neither does Drew.

Our fingers brush against each other when we both reach for the HDMI cord at the same time. I let him have it, my hand retreating like I touched a live wire. Drew hesitates, just a fraction of a second, but it’s enough. Enough for me to see it’s not casual for him either.

I sling my bag over my shoulder.

“Hey, good job,” I say lightly, voice steady even though it costs me. It’s not about the slides. It’s not about the grade. We both know that.

Drew’s eyes find mine, dark and unreadable.

“You too,” he says, but there’s something rough beneath it, something rawer than just presentation praise.

He steps aside to let me pass. Doesn’t touch me again. Doesn’t have to.

His look as I walk by feels like a hand on the small of my back.

It says, ‘Thank you for seeing me.’

It says, ‘I’m scared as hell.’

It says, ‘This isn’t over.’

And the worst part is, I don’t want it to be.

A girl squeezes past us the moment I take off walking. She glances over her shoulder, giving me a thumbs-up with a sly, knowing smile. It’s the kind that says she’s surprised Drew would get serious with anyone. So am I. And so, I realize, is he.

I should keep walking. Should stuff down the pounding in my chest and the heat clawing up my neck. But the second I step into the hallway, fingers wrap around my wrist, firm and certain.

I whirl around with my heart in my throat.

Drew’s there, breathing hard, his eyes dark and wild like he’s been holding himself together with duct tape and a prayer, and finally, he gave up.

Without a word, he tugs me down the empty corridor, weaving past abandoned classrooms until we reach a half-open storage door.

I force myself to move even though my legs barely cooperate.

He kicks it wider, drags me inside, and the second it clicks shut, he’s on me.

Hands everywhere, mouth crashing into mine like he’s still trying to say all the things he couldn’t with an audience.

I gasp into him, my back slamming into a filing cabinet, papers fluttering to the floor like some cheap, reckless confetti.

I can’t tell where his heartbeat ends and mine begins.

It’s a frantic, pounding survival-level need.

His hands find my hips, lifting me like I weigh nothing like I’m the only thing he wants to carry, and then we’re colliding.

My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, greedy for every scrap of him.

Drew groans against my mouth, the sound low and broken, and when his forehead presses to mine, our breaths ragged, I realize he’s trembling almost as much as I am.

Like he’s as wrecked by this as I am. Wanting him feels like oxygen and a freefall at the same time.