Page 74 of Hockey Halloween
Tristan
What do I need?
I need to breathe.
A deep, oxygen-rich inhale.
Unfortunately, my lungs forgot how to do their one job. It’s not a physical sensation, exactly. It’s more an overall ailment that I hadn’t felt in a long time.
It’s a toxic mix of panic and grief.
Tonight, a woman collapsed in my arms, slumping to dead weight. For a split second, I was fifteen again. Helplessly watching my sister’s life slip away, unable to do a damn thing about it.
The way the woman in the restaurant slackened in my arms, the way people shouted, the chaos of it…
“I thought she was gonna die,” I whisper. “Right there, in my arms.”
Ligaya blinks rapidly, gently laying a hand on my forearm. “Tristan, that’s horrifying.”
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” I state remorsefully.
“You saved her. It was brave of you to step in,” she offers. “It’s OK to be upset.”
In the restaurant, the past reared its horrid head, reminding me of the hold it will always have.
Showing me that life can end in a blink, with no mercy or warning.
Although a tragedy was averted, there are no guarantees.
I might have saved someone tonight, but I failed to save the one who mattered the most.
My futility in the face of my sister’s death will always haunt me, illogical as that sounds. Through the misery, hockey gave me purpose. But grief is a sneaky asshole that ambushes you when least expected.
Right now, while I’m being ambushed by the past, it is Ligaya who grounds me to the present.
Ironically, her comforting presence at the moment has a similar effect as her constant aggravation in the past. During senior year, she became my nemesis as well as my distraction.
Ligaya never pitied me. Never pulled her punches.
Our silly feud distracted me from my bleak home life once Olivia died.
At a time in my life when I couldn’t see the future, Ligaya wouldn’t let me wallow.
“What’s wrong, Tristan?”
She tilts her head, eyes searching mine, and swipes delicate fingers over her smooth forehead twice.
Warm lamplight illuminates her golden-brown skin.
Her eyes are framed by thick lashes that curl like a doll’s.
Her full lips press together, making her round cheeks lift.
She’s quietly, naturally, devastatingly beautiful.
“Nothing’s wrong.” I sound like I swallowed glass.
She studies me intently. My hand moves before my brain catches up. I reach over and gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, brushing my knuckles along the curve of her cheekbone.
God help me, but she leans into the touch, her cheek supple against my rough palm. My fingers stutter for a second, caught between pulling away and pulling her in.
If I don’t leave now, I’m not sure I’ll want to go at all. I clear my throat, step back enough to feel the loss of her.
“It’s getting late. Thanks for letting me hang out for a while.”
“Of course. It’s the least I can do for the local hockey hero.”
“I’m no hero.”
“You saved someone tonight, Tristan.”
Her words hit differently; her sincerity is disorienting. She states it as a fact with no flourish or flattery, but with unexpected tenderness. I blink, unsure what to do with that.
“Who are you and what did you do with the Terror?” I say to lighten the vibe.
“The Terror took the night off,” she says with a coy smile. “Do you miss getting your balls busted already?”
Bringing up my balls is not helping my cause. She gives me a slow, sultry grin.
Just like that, I am inappropriately hard as a steel pipe. What the hell is wrong with me? How can I go from anxious to horny in the amount of time it takes for Ligaya to bat her eyelashes? My deep inhale delivers a wave of Ligaya’s scent and the memory of her body pressed to mine.
“I should go.”
I don’t wait for a response. My legs propel me out the door before I do something dumb like stay.
You’d think the cold autumn air would cool down my overheating body. You would be wrong.
Sassy Ligaya has always been attractive with her sharp tongue and killer smile. It doesn’t hurt that her once petite leanness is now lush and curvy. But “attractive” is an insufficient description for the woman who I spent time with tonight.
Her sincere concern was so unexpected, it felt like a secret gift.
Kissing her is one thing. Wanting her physically is automatic. When I drove to Centerstone to watch her rehearsal and wiggle my way into a dinner date, I simply followed the playful instinct we always shared.
There’s nothing playful about how tonight ended.
If this game with Ligaya changes from harmless fun to something more , I have a feeling I won’t know the rules. Or how not to lose.