by Gina Azzi
“Cut the bullshit,” I grumble, blinking Dad away.
“I’m not bullshitting you. For someone who hasn’t done jack shit on the ice for three months, you looked good.”
I force my head up at the severity of my brother’s tone. Noah stares me in the eye, willing me to see the truth in his.
I shake my head. “I felt like I was dragging.”
“You were.”
“Felt slow, sluggish.”
Noah nods.
“I’m already sore.”
“Ice bath.” His lip twitches but he doesn’t smile.
“Just say it, man. Whatever you came over here to say.” I scrub the back of my neck, trying to loosen the muscles there while I wait for Noah to rip into me.
“I came over to say you looked good out there.” Noah drops his voice. “I know you, East. You’re beating yourself up over not being the same player you were six months ago. But man, you’re not the same guy anymore. You’ve spent the last ninety days working out in other ways. Dealing with shit, battling our childhood, working through issues. You can’t expect to show up and own the rink. You’ve got to earn that back.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. I know Noah’s right. For the past three months, I’ve been mentally and emotionally pushing myself, but the physical workouts I’m used to have fallen by the wayside. So has my social life. Of course the guys on the team are happy I’m okay, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re happy I’m back.
I’ve been too unreliable in the past for them to trust me now. And the guy who took my spot, Sims, well, he’s been doing a really bang-up job.
“You, Austin, and I have been playing together a long time.” I clear my throat.
Noah nods. The three of us have been the offensive line for several seasons.
“But Sims, he’s a strong player.”
“He is,” Noah agrees. “But this isn’t about Sims, Easton. It’s about you. If you want your starting position back, if you want to lead the team, if you want what you once had, then you gotta show up and prove it. You hear me?”
I blow out a deep breath, nodding. “Yeah, Noah. I hear you.”
“‘Kay.” Noah slaps my shoulder as he stands up. “I gotta get going. But we’re still on for dinner tomorrow night, right?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there.”
“Good.” Noah turns away before stopping and snapping his fingers at me like he just remembered something. “Bring Claire. I already invited her.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, not understanding why that means we have to be fucking carpool buddies on top of roommates.
“She doesn’t have a car,” Noah explains, reading my thoughts.
I tip my head back and laugh.
Of course she doesn’t. Claire Merrick is everywhere I turn. She’s in my thoughts. She’s in my house. And last night, I dreamt that she was in my bed.
Why wouldn’t she also be coming to Indy and Noah’s for dinner?
“Man, she’s trying,” Noah says softly.
When I look at him, I don’t understand the expression on his face. “Whatever, dude. I’ll bring her.”
Right after I go home and endure another awkward night trying to put distance between us.
I sense her the moment I enter the house. It’s not just the fact that my winter boots are lined up neatly by the door. Or that the lamp in the living room is turned on. It’s none of the little things Noah and I never bothered to do.
It’s a feeling. Claire is here and the house feels warmer, safer.
I breathe in and nearly groan at the delicious scents emanating from the kitchen.
Some of the frustration from today’s practice lessens now that I’m home, about to have a good meal, and not be alone to get through the night.
“Claire,” I call out, dropping my duffel bag to the floor. I pull off my coat and winter hat and take an extra second to hang them where they belong. In fact, I even stow my practice gear.
“In here,” she replies. “I made dinner.”
“I can tell.” I enter the kitchen and my chest constricts at the sight of her, all blonde hair and blue eyes, barefoot, in my kitchen. “It smells amazing.”
The tightness around her eyes relaxes and I hate that I’ve been making her feel like she should walk on eggshells around me. But God, keeping her at a distance is hard.
Maybe I shouldn’t try so hard?
I work a swallow and clear my throat.
No, that’s insane. I can’t let Claire in. If I do, I’ll never be able to push her out.
“East?” she asks and I shake my head.
“Sorry?”
“I was just asking how practice went.”
I swear and she offers a soft smile. “You’ve always been too hard on yourself.” She turns back to plating our meal.
“What do you mean?” I ask curiously. It’s something I’ve heard a thousand times before but never from her. Does she pay that much attention to me? To my life? We’ve hardly spoken in a year.
She lifts two plates and tips her head toward the dining table.
I turn and my breath catches in my throat when I see she’s set it all up, a candle burning in the center. Knowing that she spent time doing something nice for me causes my remaining resolve to snap. I know I can’t have Claire Merrick, but that doesn’t mean I can’t know her. Right? I mean, we could be friends. Friendly.
“You didn’t have to do all this.” I sit where she indicates.
Claire shrugs, placing the dishes down. “I wanted to. Today couldn’t have been easy for you.”
“It sucked,” I agree, glancing up at her. “Chicken piccata’s my favorite.”
She blushes. “I remember.”
I bite my bottom lip. That’s twice now. First Claire remembered my hot chocolate and now she made me my favorite meal. Has she always been more tuned into me than I realized? Has she always noticed me as much as I notice her?
She slides into the chair across from mine.
“Thank you, Claire. Really.” I dip my chin to make sure she sees the truth in my eyes.
She grins. “It was my pleasure, East.”
I stifle a groan just hearing the word pleasure roll off her tongue. Jesus, what is wrong with me? This is Austin’s baby sister. Joe’s daughter.
Claire cuts a piece of chicken and pops it into her mouth. She chews it thoughtfully, her expression careful. “It’s not exactly like Mom’s.”
“No.” I shake my head, eating my second bite. “It’s better.”
Claire beams and I smile back.
“What’d you mean before? About me being too hard on myself?”
“Oh.” She flicks her wrist dismissively. “You’ve always been this way. Don’t you remember the skills competition at hockey camp? The one in Muskoka?”
I chuckle, recalling a memory I’d forgotten until Claire jogged it. “The competition between the cabins,” I say, remembering that summer in Muskoka, Ontario. It was the summer I met Austin and the rest of the Merricks. “Claire, you were like seven.”
“Eight,” she corrects me. “But I remember hearing you and Noah and my brother fight over the outcome of that competition for months. You were so angry with yourself for missing that shot.”
“It cost us the competition!”
She laughs at my intensity, her eyes twinkling. “Except Austin and Noah missed first.”
“Yeah, but it was riding on me. I needed to make the shot.”
Claire shakes her head. “It wasn’t all on you. It was on them too. You always carry everyone’s burdens. What about the time Mom’s car ran out of gas in that snowstorm?”
I groan, recalling that night with perfect clarity. The weight of my guilt still sits in the pit of my stomach when I think about it. “I should have filled up her gas tank. I borrowed her car.”
Claire shakes her head at me. “East, you borrowed her car three days before that snowstorm hit. That wasn’t on you.”
“It was full when she gave it to me and only thr
ee-quarters full when I dropped it off,” I say.
Claire smirks. “See what I mean? You find ways to shoulder responsibilities you shouldn’t and then you beat yourself up over them. What happened today? On the ice?”
I shake my head, placing my fork down and leaning back in my seat. “I was slow as shit. I missed two goals and got shoved into the boards too many times to count. It felt like Austin and Noah were covering for me.”
“Oh, so you played like someone who hasn’t played in three months?”
I smirk at the sarcasm in her voice. “Listen smartass, my entire future is resting on this moment. This season. If I don’t perform, the Hawks might not resign me next year.”
“You’re contract is up?” she asks, her mouth dropping open as it clicks.
“In ten months.”
“Then you’ve got ten months to sort out your shit, Scotch. But no way in hell are you playing anywhere but Boston.”
I laugh at the resolve in her tone. “Just like that, huh Claire?”
“Just like that. You can throw your little pity party for the rest of the night, but tomorrow, you get back on the ice and start working toward what you want.”
I run my hand over my jaw, grinning at her. She’s so beautiful in the candlelight. Her eyes sparkle, her mouth purses thoughtfully but it’s her presence that shifts the energy of the house. Just having her here infuses my veins with a bit of optimism when I’ve been filling them with poison for too long.
She catches me looking at her and smiles softly, shyly. It’s so damn sweet I want to remember it for always. Claire has always had a larger-than-life personality. She’s a force in any social setting. But sometimes, when it’s just the two of us, she relaxes a little, some of her hype releases, and she’s too tender for her own good.
“I’m glad you’re here, Claire.” I mean it too.
One side of her mouth pulls up. “Me too. Life with Mama and Daddy Merrick is stricter than rehab.”
I snort, shaking my head at her. Everyone I know avoids talking about rehab like it’s a trigger for me. Everyone except Claire who cracks a joke about it. “You think so, do you?”
“How was it, really?”
“You’re the first person to ask me that.”
“So tell me.”
I chew the corner of my mouth, considering my words. If anyone else asked, I’d toss out some generic bullshit about it being tough but necessary, an important learning experience on my recovery journey. But at the compassion, not pity, in Claire’s eyes, I admit the truth. “It fucking sucked. It was hard. Every damn day felt like a battle I’d most likely lose. It still feels that way. Like I’m constantly fighting to push water uphill. To not screw everything up.”
Claire leans forward, her expression serious. “I’m proud of you, Easton.”
I snicker, covering up the slice that rips through my chest at her words. “For what? I haven’t done anything worth being proud of, Claire.”
“That’s not true.” She shakes her head and bites her bottom lip. “If that were true, then neither have I.”
“What?” I sit up straight. “This again? What are you talking about?”
“Look at me, East.”
“I am.” I let my gaze scan her face.
“That’s not what I meant.” She grins before sobering again. “I’m a twenty-four-year-old, unemployed mess. Up until last week and the generosity of you and Noah, I still lived at home with my parents. They pay for my phone bill. I’m painfully single. Every time I go out and meet a guy, we click no problem. We go on a handful of dates but nothing ever comes of it. My best friend Rielle is a workaholic, my sister moved to New York, and Indy is pregnant.” She shrugs, her eyes flaring with an emotion I can’t place.
I hold my breath, a lump forming in my throat.
“I feel like everyone in my life is five steps ahead of me and no matter how hard I try, I can’t catch up. So if you feel like I shouldn’t be proud of you, someone who’s made it in his career of choice, someone who has financial stability without anyone else’s help, someone who’s owned up to his mistakes and taken active steps to rectify them, someone who tries every single day to do the right thing, then where does that leave me?”
6
Claire
Easton’s mouth twists at my words, anger rippling over his expression. “Don’t try to make me feel better, Claire.”
“I’m not.” Okay, maybe I am…but just a little.
Easton shakes his head. “You’re more than I’ll ever be. I know you’re bummed right now about not having the perfect job. And yeah, I get how much it sucks that everyone in your circle seems to be moving forward and you feel stuck. But Claire, trust me”—he looks directly into my eyes, a gravity to his stare I’ve never felt before—“it just means something bigger and better is coming for you.”
I snort and raise an eyebrow. “Now who’s trying to make who feel better?”
Easton’s eyes glimmer as he leans back in his chair. He runs his hand over his forehead, his finger catching on the scar that splits his eyebrow. He always rubs it when he’s nervous, unsure, or downright angry. What is he right now? “I promise you, Claire, we are nothing alike.”
His words are honest but they still scrape at my soul. I know we’re nothing alike. Easton is a guy who could have the world at his fingertips if he so desires. And I’m me, the kid that everyone worries about and indulges. “Yeah, I know.”
At my tone, his eyes darken, Mediterranean blue. “I didn’t mean…” He shakes his head. “That’s twice now that you’ve misunderstood my words. I’m not explaining myself well.” He sighs. “You’re a better person than I’ll ever be, Claire. That’s what I mean when I say we aren’t alike. And I’m happy you’re here. Really. I’m sorry I didn’t make you feel welcome the way I should’ve.”
At his confession my eyes pop and my mouth falls open. Some of the hurt I was preparing to wallow in dissipates. “Seriously?”
He scowls at me. “What do you mean? Of course I’m being serious.”
“Well you sure did a killer job rolling out the welcoming committee.”
Easton laughs. “I’m sorry I was a dick to you.”
“Wow, what is happening? An apology? From Easton Scotch.” Embarrassment blooms in his face and I laugh, pointing at him. “Now, you’re blushing.”
“I forgot what a pain in the ass you are.”
I smirk, my heart thumping at his reaction. “You really don’t hate having me around?”
He scrapes a hand along his jawline. “Not as much as I should.”
Uh, what? I narrow my gaze, asking what the hell that means, but Easton spears another piece of chicken and sets it on his plate. “Tell me about all these jobs you’re applying for.”
“Wait, what?” I try to catch up to what just happened and how he thought that subject change was subtle. It was jarring.
Easton chews a piece of chicken. “These jobs. Why are you applying for so many? I find it hard to believe you’re not qualified for anything.”
I flip him the middle finger and he snickers. “I’d say it was a tough job market but I feel like that’s everyone’s excuse,” I mutter.
He looks up, his gaze sharpening. “It is a tough job market.”
“Whatever,” I sigh, grabbing another piece of chicken.
Easton regards me thoughtfully. “If you could do any job you want, have any position, what would it be?”
“Why?” I ask slowly.
“Holy shit, you’re distrustful. I don’t remember you being this skeptical, Claire.”
“I don’t remember you being so dismissive and aloof either,” I shoot back.
He sighs. His gaze lingers on mine as he chews the corner of his mouth. “You’re right. I have been a dick to you, to most people, since the first time I went to rehab. I guess a lot has changed in the past year.”
“Why?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Because I messed everything up, Claire.” His voice is gruff. He
clenches the fork before it clatters to the plate. “I am a fuckup. And you, you would always look at me like I’m this great guy—”
“You are a great guy.”
“Like I somehow didn’t disappoint every single member of your family.”
“You didn’t disappointment me.”
He snaps his mouth closed and lifts his eyebrows.
I wince at the dare in his eyes. “Fine, you did disappoint me when you stopped talking to me. We used to be friends, East. You used to look out for me.”
“I’m looking out for you right now,” he shoots back and I can tell I hit a nerve because his mouth tightens and his eyes blaze. “I’m protecting you from me.”
From him? Is he delusional? Other than my feelings, I know Easton would never intentionally hurt me. “What if I don’t want you to?” I whisper, my voice huskier than I intend. My thighs clench together as I stare at Easton. Intensity rolls off of him in waves and I wish, not for the first time, that I could drown in it. In him.
He swears and shakes his head, breaking the momentary spell. “I’m sorry I was shitty.”
I shrug.
“I mean it. You didn’t have to do this.” He points to the dinner I made.
“I wanted to do something nice for you,” I admit.
“I know, Claire.” His expression softens. “You always do right by me, kid. I really hate that I hurt your feelings. I never meant to.”
The “kid” bit stings but the rest of it, the sincerity in his tone and the truth in his eyes, acts as a salve. “Apology accepted,” I mumble.
Easton catches my eyes. “Tell me about your dream job.”
“Okay,” I agree. “I would own my own business.”
He rears back, his surprise evident.
I snort. “Weren’t expecting that, were you?”
He shakes his head and at least it’s honest.
I wrinkle my nose. “Everyone always underestimates me.”
Easton freezes, his nostrils flaring as if I’ve pissed him off. “I didn’t mean it like that, Claire.”
I lift a hand to stop him but he shakes his head.
“No, really,” he says. “I think you can do anything you want. Absolutely anything. I’ve just never heard you mention your own business before. You always talked about design. Then you went through that animation obsession, remember?” He chuckles. “You only wanted to work for Disney. So much so that you were going to apply to be a character at the Magic Kingdom and ‘work your way up.’”