Page 38

noah

If it were any other day, I would feel the crushing weight of the world on my shoulders right now.

Letting my dad down is bad enough, but letting my team down is an entirely different feeling.

My next move should one hundred percent be a shower to pick apart every wrong move I made, every piss poor decision, and every way I’m going to rectify it during my next practice to ensure those mistakes never happen again.

The problem is, my number one priority right now has nothing to do with hockey, and everything to do with the girl who didn’t show up tonight.

A single text from Savannah letting me know she wasn’t feeling well, had me giving the same excuse to my family to get out of dinner tonight.

Take-out in hand, I stand in the hallway outside of Savannah’s apartment. Relief hits me when she opens the door. Aside from slightly puffy, red eyes, she doesn’t look any different than usual.

“I brought you chicken and waffles.” I hold up the brown paper bag and her mouth parts.

“Where did you…”

“It’s a secret spot.” I shrug .

“Noah.” She sighs, closing her eyes, and turns her head into the doorframe. “I lied.”

My shoulders deflate, and I’m grateful that I’m at least able to smile at her confession. “I kind of assumed. That’s why I didn’t bring soup. Can I come in?”

She holds the door open, gesturing inside toward her room.

I discard the take-out bag on the kitchen counter and enter her dark bedroom.

The only light comes from a pink salt lamp on her nightstand—the same nightstand that has been taken over by an inventory of two different water bottles, one coffee cup, a to-go smoothie from The Den , and, of course, a discarded s’mores pop-tart wrapper.

I feel Savannah’s presence at my back, and as badly as I want to wrap her up in my arms and hold her, I realize that I might not be what she wants right now.

Maybe the idea of meeting my parents tonight was too much for her after what she shared with me last night.

She just shared her loss with me, why did I think it was a good idea to turn around and shove what I still had in her face?

The feeling that I’m not doing things right by her has made my stomach turn all day.

“Is this about meeting my parents?”

“No.” The word comes out quick and firm.

I turn around, and her hands are already reaching for me. “No. I promise. I really am looking forward to meeting them. It’s…” She trails off, hanging her head forward, unable to look at me.

Her eyes close when I cradle her face in my hands, tilting her head up. My thumbs brush lightly across the tops of her cheeks, ready to wipe away the tears filling her waterline.

“I bombed my interview,” she whispers.

“Aw, Sav. What happened?”

“It was a catastrophe from the start. I couldn’t remember the guy’s name. I’m pretty sure it was a pity interview with no intention of hiring me. The room pissed me off. There was an incident with his balls. I lost my water bottle,” her voice cracks. “And none of that is even the worst part.”

“We’ll circle back to his balls in a minute,” I say, brushing a strand of her hair back. “What was the worst part?”

She sniffs, shaking her head against my hands. “My aunt is leaving.”

“Your—?”

She nods her head, confirming. “She took a position at another school. I tried to be supportive when she told me. Something about the California sun and a backyard with orange trees but…” She squeezes her eyes shut and tears slip free, but I don’t wipe them away.

Instead, I hold the back of her head and pull her into my chest, feeling her body relax almost instantly.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier.” I bury my lips in the hair on top of her head.

“Don’t do that,” she says, lifting her head up and pressing her chin to my chest. “Don’t make what you’re doing any less important because I’m having a bad day. I’m proud of you for your win tonight.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You’re a Lion, are you not?” I don’t answer, and she steps back, getting a better view of my face. “Your team won tonight. You won tonight.”

That’s not how it works. We won three to two but not one of those goals or assists were mine.

“Maverick didn’t score last week,” she says after a minute. “I know Gabe only scored his first goal a few weeks ago, so he’s not scoring every game, either.” I look down at her, trying to figure out why she’s reading my team’s stats to me. “Are they any less valuable to your team?”

“Of course not.”

She arches a brow as if that makes her point. “Do they not get to celebrate because they weren’t the top goal-scorers? ”

Fuck. Am I that conditioned to believe that I’m worth less if I’m not the best?

I step back, guiding us to her bed, toe off my shoes, and pull her under the covers with me. Her legs tangle with mine, my arms wrap around her body, and her fingers comb softly through my hair.

I close my eyes and my breathing settles. “I love it when you do that.” I don’t need to see her face to know that she’s smiling. “No one has ever done that before.”

“Played with your hair?” She grips the top of it a little tighter. “How could they not?”

“Do you want to talk about the guy’s balls, whose name you forgot?” I ask, feeling myself already starting to drift.

The softest laugh fills the room before she kisses my forehead and says, “No. Get some sleep, Golden Boy.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here tonight.”

“Noah—”

I shake my head pulling her in tighter. “I should have been here.”

“Again!”

My lungs are burning. Fire. Pure, blue flames scorch my chest. The stick between my gloved hands could break at any moment from the pressure I have on it.

“Noah.”

Flying down the lake at the fastest speed I can muster, I push just that tiny bit harder. My lungs will collapse before I do. I’m not leaving this ice alive.

“Noah!”

My dad’s furious. His face is fifty shades of red. No matter how many laps, how many goals, how many stops, or how many drills I do, it’s not good enough.

I’m not good enough.

And you never will be .

My lungs are full. Of fire or ice, I can’t be sure, but I know I’ve stopped breathing.

“NOAH!”

My heartbeat plummets before it picks up so rapidly that it feels as if it’s physically pulling my body upward, except it’s only pulling me awake.

“Noah. Open your eyes.” It’s not my dad screaming my name. It’s a safe voice. A concerned voice. I feel the cold sweat covering my neck and back as I open my eyes to find Savannah staring down at me. Her own breathing sounds heavy. “Hey.”

I inhale as much oxygen as I can while dragging both hands through my hair. The scent of vanilla and oranges, mixed with the feeling of the warm flannel sheets beneath me, brings me the final few steps back to reality. Back to safety. Back to Savannah.

“Noah?”

“It’s nothing.” My voice is hoarse, and the horror of if I was talking—or worse, screaming—enters my mind. “I’m fine.”

“Please just talk to me.” Her pleading voice sends a giant crack across my heart.

I don’t know why it’s so hard. I tell myself it’s because I don’t deserve to feel the way I’m feeling, or because I can’t even explain it myself, but the reality is—I think it’s because it’s further proof that I’m failing.

I came here tonight to comfort her, and once again, we’ve woken up because of me.

“I should probably go.” I wait a beat and then lift my head, but I’m stopped by Savannah’s palm on my chest.

“Stay.”

I lay back down, not wanting to disappoint her any more than I already have. I close my eyes, pretending to sleep while she continues to run her fingers through my hair.