Page 22

Sadie’s already at the tubs when I walk into the rehab room after practice, struggling with the heavy bags of ice.

I see the way she grits her teeth and heaves one onto the rim of the empty tub; the plastic crinkling as it sags into the metal rim.

She’s not herself today. Usually, she’s humming, smiling, chatting away with my teammates about some random thing she saw online.

Today, she’s stiff, her movements clipped, her expression tight.

“L-let me h-help,” I say, striding over before she can argue.

I reach around to take the bag from her hands, but Sadie whirls, startled, clutching the ice to her chest. Her eyes are wide, framed in inky black lashes, her pink glasses slightly crooked. I want to smile at the picture she makes. I don’t.

“I—no, it’s okay. I could’ve gotten a cart.”

“C-could’ve.” I lift two bags from the cooler with ease. Practice was brutal today. My quads burn and I don’t want to admit to the tremble in my limbs, but I can still sling ice. “But you…you…you d-didn’t.”

She huffs out a little breath that sounds like a laugh and a sigh smashed together.

“Yeah, well…I didn’t think it through.”

I want to tell her it’s fine, but something about the tightness around her eyes keeps me from making a joke.

Instead, I follow her silent lead, helping her load the bags into the tubs, dumping the ice until it crackles and pops against the chilled metal.

By the time we’re done, she’s perched on the edge of one tub, hugging a knee to her chest. If the floor wasn’t soaked, she’d definitely be splayed out on the linoleum.

Her whole body seems coiled, vibrating with tension as if she’s barely holding herself together.

So far removed from the confident, happy, friendly Sadie that I’m used to.

This Sadie is the one I saw glimpses of last night in our texts, the one who clearly thought asking me for help was a personal failure.

Even when I’d already agreed to help her.

When I would carve out an organ for her if she even hinted at needing one.

I want to prod, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea.

Instead, I peel off my sweat-soaked hoodie and toss it onto a chair, then shove down my sweatpants, leaving me in the black swim trunks I always wear for ice baths.

The cold air bites at my skin, but I barely feel it.

Because when I glance over, Sadie doesn’t look away.

She’s not just looking, she’s watching. Studying. Something slides across her features when our gazes lock. Like she’s caught herself doing something she shouldn’t and doesn’t know how to stop. Her gaze snags on my chest, then darts away, her lips parting to suck in a breath.

I climb into the tub, wincing as the ice water closes around me, and lean back against the edge.

I can’t help wondering what she sees when she looks at me.

I know I’m in good shape. I’m a professional athlete, being a goalie demands it, but a summer out of commission has affected my muscle tone and mass.

I’m nowhere near where I typically like to be for the season.

I lose a lot of weight over the course of eighty games.

I try to bulk before pre-season or I’ll never make it through safely.

Not when I burn thousands upon thousands of calories between the pipes.

Most players lose five to ten pounds a game just in water weight alone.

My pads increase that number. Add in pale, freckled skin, orange-red hair, and my complete lack of time in the sun, and I’ve never thought of myself as someone women want to stare at. Not if there are other options.

Sex is good, fun, and it’s easy to pull a partner for a night of fun.

I know that it has more to do with my job, my salary, the small amount of notoriety my name brings to the table that helps me pull in women.

I’m not like Vic or Spags, all easy charm and smiles.

Robbie is more like me, but he avoids social interactions with a glare and a glower.

I’m just…Ragnar.

Quiet. Big. A little awkward outside the rink. Okay, a lot awkward, and yet I don’t think I’m misunderstanding the look on her face. The heat in her eyes. It’s thrilling. Enough that I’m extremely grateful for the frigid water temperature to hide just how much I don’t mind her perusal.

“You have a tattoo,” Sadie says suddenly, her voice a little breathless.

I glance down. The black ink on the left side of my chest curves along my pectoral muscle—a series of strange, looping symbols.

I fist the sides of the tub and wet my lips.

Has she seen me shirtless before? She must have.

Right? Except normally I wear the team’s athletic shirt when I soak.

It helps protect some of my skin from the extreme chill.

Today I sweat right through it and couldn’t bear to let it in the tub with me.

Even if she’s seen me shirtless before, this is the first time she’s noticed. I shift my body in the tub, looping my arms over the edge closest to her, anything to block her line of sight to my groin.

“Y-yeah,” I say, tracing the curves of each symbol with my fingertip. “It’s m-my sister’s n-n-name.”

“Wait, really?” She leans forward slightly, curiosity lighting her face.

For a moment, she reaches for me, hand outstretched, like she wants to touch.

Then I watch her fingers curl into fists as she drops her hands to her sides.

I wish she’d trace each letter too. K. A.

T. R. I with the little accent. N. She wouldn’t recognize them.

That’s the whole point of the stylized letters. But she’d be touching me. My bare skin.

The summer my sister turned eight, she read some mystery series where the kids wrote notes to each other in code.

She insisted we use it for our pen pal letters so that Amma couldn’t snoop into our conversations.

Not that Amma has ever stooped to snooping, but to Kat, it was important.

Together, we designed a system of lines and dots.

One for each letter in the alphabet. She grew out of it a year or two later.

The snail mail stopped too. Now I get snarky little text messages. In English, so she can practice.

“That’s… wonderful.” Sadie’s mouth tips into a soft smile.

“S-so she’d know I w-was a-always thinking about h-her.”

Sadie’s smile wobbles, lips trembling, and I whip my eyes to hers, looking for a sheen of tears.If a single one were to fall… I can’t guarantee what I’d do.

“I wish…” she starts, then bites her lip. Shakes her head.

I tip my head toward her, water dripping from my hair down the sides of the tub.

“W-wish what?”

Her eyes dart up to meet mine. Big. Vulnerable. With a hint of a suspicious sheen under the harsh fluorescent lights.

“I wish my family was like that,” she says quietly. “I mean… they love me. I know they do. But sometimes it’s like…” She trails off, hugging her arms around herself. “Like I’m a guest they’re trying to mold into the right kind of daughter.”

My chest tightens painfully.

“Sadie…”

“Sorry. I’m tired. Didn’t sleep much. Emotional, you know?” She shakes her head again, forcing a too-bright smile I don’t believe.

I shift even closer without thinking. Close enough to smell her shampoo, something light and sweet, like honey and clean soap. As close as the tub will let me.

“Is that w-why you c-couldn’t sleep? Your f-f-family?”

She flinches, just a little. Like she wasn’t expecting me to notice. Then she shrugs, trying for nonchalant and missing by a kilometer.

“Sort of. They don’t really get how I… how my brain… works, I guess. They mean well, but…” Her hands flutter helplessly. “It’s complicated.”

I want to pull her into my arms and tell her she doesn’t have to explain. That she doesn’t have to fix it. That it’s okay to be hurt even by people who love you. It’s even okay to forgive them, if that’s what you choose. Or not.

But I don’t.

I hold her eyes instead, and let her feel the weight of my words as I say, “Y-your feelings are v-valid.”

She blinks up at me like I’ve slapped her.

“You’re a-allowed to b-be frustrated,” I continue, voice low. “A-allowed to be m-mad. F-family’s m-messy.”

She lets out a shaky laugh. “God, you make it sound so simple.”

I grin, a little crooked.

“It’s n-not. But y-you deserve to h-have your emotions. E-even when their m-m-messy. N-no justifications n-needed.”

Her face crumples for a second before she smooths it out with a brittle laugh.

“I’m fine,” she says, voice too high, too tight. “Just… tired. Really tired.”

The ache in her voice makes something sharp twist in my gut. Sadie laughs, watery and sharp. I think it would be less painful to take a skate blade to my carotid than to hear her fight back tears.

“I just feel so selfish.”

She’s not, but I keep that thought to myself for now. I don’t want to discourage her from teasing this apart. With me.

“I feel guilty even being mad at them.”

Sadie presses her forehead to her knees and I smile a little, even though I know it’s not funny.

“F-family is supposed t-to be c-c-complicated. You c-can love them and s-still want to throw s-something at their h-heads sometimes.”

That drags a genuine laugh out of her, shaky but bright. She peeks up at me from under her thick dark lashes and something deep in my gut contracts.

“They stress me the fuck out Ragnar, and I don’t really know what to do about it.”

“I c-could h-help,” I offer before I think better of it.

Sadie’s head snaps up so fast her glasses almost slide off her nose. It’s so cute I smile.

“Help?”

I nod, “W-with the s-stress.”

The way her face goes beet red immediately tells me she’s not hearing “talk” when I say “help.”

I want to tease her, except I don’t tease women. I don’t talk to them. It’s surprisingly easy to use eye contact and body language to reign in a willing partner. With Sadie, it feels different. I want to push about what she thought I was offering. I know she thought it was sex.