Page 37 of Lovesick (The Minnesota Mustangs #1)

GREAT ESCAPES AND ICE-CAPADES

MERIT

C oming down from the high of the fight, I face-plant onto my childhood bed, trying to suffocate myself in my girly comforter that my parents didn’t burn when I moved out.

It’s like a time capsule in here—everything untouched, accumulating dust, and a direct reflection of my prepuberty mindset, including but not limited to the glow-in-the-dark stickers on my ceiling and a small army of plastic horses.

I don’t have the energy to drive back to my apartment and move my things right now.

School is one of the last tethers I have to my old life before it was overtaken by frequent hospital visits, a diet of government-issued medicine, and a self-diagnosis of hypochondria.

It makes me feel normal. I love throwing myself into schoolwork and being a part of something bigger—something that values my brain over my body.

If I have to live under my parents’ roof and forfeit my social life, then so be it. It’s not like I had an exciting one anyways.

I’ve been holed up in my room for the better half of the day. The weather outside is in a similar depressing state, with monochromatic shades of gray marbling the sky, accompanied by a thick layer of storm clouds that rest over the small basin of Maple Grove.

A steady downpour falls through the miniature apertures, discoloring the gables and forming gulleys in sodden concrete.

Apricot-colored leaves break off from shivering trees, floating to the ground to disintegrate into mush.

I usually find the syncopated beats of rain comforting, but in this instance, they’re yet another barricade standing between me and escaping this godforsaken hellhole.

I don’t remember the last time I fought with my parents like that. I don’t remember the last time I felt this mad . I want to block it all out. I want to start over. This helpless feeling? I hate it. I hate it so fucking much.

And to make matters worse, I’m not even sure where Crew and I stand.

What did I say to him last night? He was acting weird this morning, and it wasn’t because he was woken up by my phone playing “Baby Got Back” by Sir Mix-A-Lot on repeat.

He was distant. It felt like he’d only stayed the night because he didn’t want me choking on my own vomit—not because he actually wanted to be there.

Why did I have to get drunk? I’m so stupid.

I’ve been preaching that I don’t want to be an obligation, yet I constantly put myself in situations where I am.

I may not remember the exact conversations we had, but I do remember the feeling of his arms wrapped around my body. The warmth, the comfort, the security. He was like my own personal safety blanket, shielding me from all the harsh things in the world.

Rolling onto my back, I hug my arms around my torso, trying to replicate that same sensation, but it’s laughable in comparison. A cheap knockoff of the real thing.

Tears bubble at the corners of my eyes, and a sob pounds against the dam in my throat, trying to wheedle its way through the thinnest crack.

Memories of Sig Chi’s dance floor flash across my hindbrain like clicking reels of film—how Crew spun me around, how he held me close to his chest, how he smiled at me every chance he got.

Who knows when I’ll see him again. My dad will be patrolling the premises with the internal order to kill on sight. I’ll have to get used to a life of isolation…and celibacy.

Thankfully, I still have access to my car, but I can only use it to go to and from school.

I don’t think I’ll get to go out on the weekends until I graduate.

On the bright side, Irelyn has a whole apartment to herself for half the cost. I’ll miss accidentally stumbling across her Tuesday hookup rummaging through our fridge at two in the morning.

I stare up at my ceiling fan, half-hoping that it’ll crash down on top of me.

But it doesn’t—it just sweeps cobwebs in a lazy rotation, whirring around stale air.

And I’m content with just drifting off into unconsciousness when there’s a high-pitched plinking sound coming from the window, too resonant to be from the rain.

What the hell?

Peeling myself off my bed and dragging myself over to the mystery noise, I see a pebble bounce off the tempered glass, scaring the living daylight out of me.

I cower on instinct, covering my arms over my head like the rock will fly through my window and impale a hole through my skull. It doesn’t, obviously.

When I peer over the windowsill, my gaze homes in on a proportionally small Crew waving his arms above his head frantically. He’s absolutely waterlogged, sacrificing his dry clothes and all-around comfort to Romeo and Juliet me.

What is he doing outside my house?

Thankfully, my parents were lenient enough to still let me use my phone, because that thing sure isn’t going to kill me. I launch myself across the mattress, grab my device, and open my home screen to find a message from Crew.

Crew

Come outside.

Me

I can’t. Jail bound.

Crew

Then I’m coming to you.

Me

What?

Crew

I’m gonna scale the side of your house.

Me

Are you crazy? You can’t scale the side of my house!

Crew

Watch me.

Oh my God. If this idiot breaks his leg falling off the roof, my dad will somehow blame me for it.

I rush to witness the disaster just waiting to happen, icy fear clutching my stomach and freezing my nerve endings like liquid helium. My house is at least twenty feet tall, and last I checked, Crew Calloway isn’t some Spider-Man variant who can climb up walls.

But alas, ever persistent and concerningly unafraid of injury, Crew shimmies his way up one of the pillars of the pergola connected to the stone siding of the house.

Holy shit.

I slide my window open so I can yell at him. “Crew, get down before you hurt yourself!”

Good thing my parents only have a Ring Doorbell on the front of the house.

“No can do, Princess,” he shouts back, barely out of breath as he carefully treads the latticed surface in the middle of a storm, navigating his way toward me like he’s traversing a room full of booby traps. “I’m here to rescue you.”

“Are you insane?!”

His hair whips against his face from the wind. “I thought it was a well-known fact that I don’t think clearly when I’m around you!”

“If my dad sees you, you’re dead,” I warn, my tone saturated in concern.

A half-cocked grin descends over his lips, and his eyes glint with tantalizing mischief. He’s too arrogant for his own good. How many times is he going to prove his undying devotion to me by compromising his hockey career?

“Then it’s a good thing he won’t see me,” he says.

He’s getting closer now, which means that he doesn’t have to scream at the top of his lungs.

It also means that his risk of falling increases by like twenty percent.

Probably more than that—I’m not good with percentages.

Once he slams against the deck of the roof, he only has a few inches to crawl to reach my bedroom window.

“You’re pretty confident for someone who has the stealth of a moose.”

Finally, after what feels like watching one of those funny fail videos and waiting for the fail part, I haul Crew’s dripping, two-hundred-plus-pound body into my bedroom, both of us collapsing onto the carpet with a generous thud.

He squishes me inadvertently, showering the floor in droplets of water.

“You’re crushing me,” I wheeze, though I’m not in a hurry to push him off me. Even cold and wet, I relish the closeness, purring like a contented cat in a sunbeam. I’d let him squash me any day of the week.

“Shit, sorry.”

He rolls off me accordingly, the hem of his drenched T-shirt riding up from the movement and showing me a peek of those dangerously addictive abs of his. He’s pretty cheery for someone who probably can’t feel his feet anymore.

My belly is besotted with butterflies as I try to keep my smile at bay. “What are you doing here?”

“When you left, I didn’t know where you were going, so I kind of just stayed parked outside your apartment. I didn’t want to bombard you with text messages.”

He waited for me?

“When Irelyn came back, I asked her where you went. She checked your location and said that you were at your parents’ house,” he explains.

Shock snaps, crackles, and pops down my spine. “So you came here? Knowing that if you were caught, my dad would be very suspicious?”

Crew’s voice is coated in warmth, much like burnt molasses. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I think you’re worth a little trouble.”

Oh, Crew.

I know I should be worried about my parents potentially barging into my room at any given second, but all I can think about right now is him .

He’s sitting a respectable distance away just admiring me.

I don’t know if he’s afraid to touch me because he’s on enemy territory, or if there’s another reason unbeknownst to me.

The scent of petrichor mushrooms into the space, endowing my lungs with clean, fresh air. He’s taken a proverbial defibrillator to my chest and revitalized my heart.

My voice climbs an octave. “About last night—I wanted to thank you. For taking care of me.”

“You don’t have to thank me for anything. I wanted to take care of you,” he assures me.

God, he’s so beautiful up close. Faraway.

In between. He’s like a poet’s muse come to life, a walking sonnet of a hopeless romantic’s innermost desires.

The soft glow from my room highlights his hewn features, whereas the dreary eventide would normally wash him out.

The tepid waves in his eyes are so inviting as they call to me in their mother tongue, coaxing me beyond the shore, promising me eternal?—

“Do you remember anything from last night?”

Uh, that doesn’t sound good. Crew certainly wouldn’t be asking me if I didn’t do something embarrassing. Fuck. Did I do something embarrassing? I mean, besides proving to him that I can’t handle my alcohol.

“I don’t remember much,” I admit in a hushed whisper.