Stay

by Jennifer Sucevic

“Good. So why don’t you tell me how your classes are going so far. It’s been a little over three weeks now. Are you feeling overwhelmed by the workload?”

  Something within me instantly settles because this is the easy part. School is the easy part. Except for last year, I’ve always excelled scholastically. Especially in math and science. So steering the conversation away from what caused my anxiety attack to my academic work load feels like safe terrain. No racing heartbeat. No frantic thoughts. No panicking.

  This I can handle.

  “My classes are going really well.” After the disaster of last fall, I have to admit that it feels good to be doing well.

  “And working in the tutoring center hasn’t added too much stress?”

  “No.” Immediately my thoughts turn to Cole and the fact that he’ll probably be popping in from time to time. “I really like tutoring. It fits into my schedule and I’m enjoying it more than I thought I would.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. It really sounds like you’ve got a good handle on everything. And other than one anxiety attack, everything is going well for you.” She smiles before jotting down a few more notes. “That has to feel good.”

  I inhale another deep breath before slowly releasing it because she’s right. “It does feel good.” Not only am I excelling, I’m actually enjoying my classes which is a complete contrast from last year when I felt like I was drowning in my coursework almost from day one. Being here feels like a second chance and this time, I’m not going to blow it.

  Glancing at the clock on the wall, Dr. Thompson begins to wrap up our session. “We have about ten minutes left, is there anything else you’d like to discuss before you leave?”

  For just a moment I chew on my bottom lip. “The guy who grabbed me…” Feeling a sudden surge of awareness, my words trail off. The mere thought of Cole has my insides prickling. It isn’t necessarily a bad thing but he affects me way more than I want him too. More than I’m comfortable with.

  And he doesn’t seem to take no for answer. Which, honestly, with what happened last year, should really bother me… but it doesn’t. Tutoring him, grabbing some dinner with him, it only made me like him more. And just like I originally suspected, he’s way too easy to be around.

  Leaning towards me, she presses the issue when I say nothing more. “What about him?”

  “He’s in one of my classes. He also showed up at the tutoring center the other day.” Why am I even bringing this up? I wish I could suddenly backtrack and suck the words back in again. I don’t want to discuss Cole with her.

  “Does he make you uncomfortable, Cassidy?” She seems genuinely concerned that this guy might be harassing me. Which, of course, I know he isn’t...

  Cole definitely makes me feel uncomfortable… but not for the reasons she’s alluding to. “No, he’s not bothering me like that. And I haven’t felt like I was going to have another anxiety attack when we’ve been together either.” Only the night we met.

  “So how do you feel about him then?”

  I shrug, almost afraid to admit that he’s the first guy in a really long time to make me feel anything remotely sexual. After last year, I just kind of shut down. But for some reason, Cole is different. For one, I haven’t been able to run him off. And although that felt really threatening at first… it no longer feels that way. “I’m not sure,” I finally admit, “scared. Nervous.”

  But sort of excited too... Even though I think the words in my head, I decide to keep them to myself for the time being.

  Cole forces me to feel things I’m not quite ready to feel.

  I can’t deny that there’s something about him that attracts me. And it’s not just his looks either. Although hot damn, he’s way too good looking for his own good. And the more time I spent with him, the more I actually like him. Which, for someone like me who is fairly anti-relationship, is kind of a problem. Because I don’t want to like him anymore than I already do.

  I don’t want to like him at all...

  Dr. Thompson pauses before pulling off her thin black glasses. “Do you think it’s a good idea to get involved with someone right now?”

  I sigh, not really surprised that she’s hit the nail on the head. Even though we’ve only been meeting for a little under a month now, she seems very good at what she does. Astute. Intuitive. “Probably not.” Actually, it’s the worst possible idea. I know it. And Dr. Thompson knows it as well. The only one who doesn’t know it is Cole.

  “How come?”

  Oh she damn well knows why it’s a terrible idea… but she wants me to verbalize the thoughts out loud. It’s a cheap counseling trick. But it works.

  “Because I need to focus on school, pulling my life together, and getting healthy.”

  “I think those are completely valid reasons, Cassidy, for taking a break from relationships. Just remember, it’s not forever. The fact that this boy has, for some unknown reason, triggered an anxiety attack is concerning to me. Getting healthy is your first priority and then, when you feel better able to handle stress, you can slowly start thinking about relationships again. You’re finding success here at Western and we don’t want to derail that.”

  She’s right. I mean, of course she’s right. Honestly, I didn’t need her to confirm that getting involved with Cole will more than likely end in complete disaster for me.

  Chapter Seven

  “This is going to be so much fun! Thanks again for coming with me tonight.” Snuggling down in her jacket, Brooklyn bounces excitedly on the hard bleacher seat as her eyes track the hockey players skating by the Plexiglas that surrounds the ice. “That’s him, number fifty-five!” A ridiculously dreamy look fills her large green gaze. As she sighs, her warm breath escapes into the frigid air of the rink. I can’t help but roll my eyes even though she isn’t paying me the slightest bit of attention. Nope. Her focus is solely trained on her brand new crush.

  Number fifty-five.

  Shifting around in my seat, I watch the players fly by. A small sigh leaves my lips because this is surprisingly more painful than I thought it would be. I haven’t skated in more than nine months. And right now, my fingers are almost itching to wrap themselves around my old fiberglass hockey stick. Staring sightlessly at the ice, my mind tumbles back as I try to recall a time when I’d been off skates for more than four or five days, let alone almost an entire year. This is the first time since leaving school last year that I’ve dared to step foot back inside an ice rink.

  My gaze travels around the arena. The sights and sounds- even the smell, are all the same. My breathing actually hitches as I fight to suck in air.

  Up until last fall, I’d played hockey my entire life. House teams, travel teams all of which had led me to a scholarship playing at a Division I college. But last year I’d imploded under the intense stress and pressure and had been forced to leave in disgrace before the first semester even ended.

  And watching Westerns men’s hockey team out on the ice has it all rushing back at me. Old wounds are made surprisingly fresh once again. Not wanting to dwell on the past, because I’ve already done too much of that, I try shaking off the web of memories that are trying to tangle themselves around me.

  Finally picking up the thread of our conversation, I say, “No problem.” But at the moment, it does feel like a problem. One that’s eating me up from the inside out.

  Once again I focus my attention on the guys as they run through their warm up routine of stretching, passing drills, and taking shots on goal. It’s like a well-choreographed dance. One I miss. The ache in my heart suddenly intensifies until it’s almost overwhelmingly tender. It’s almost difficult to believe just how agonizing it feels to sit here watching them.

  After the bottom fell out last December, I completely shut down and refused to think about hockey. And for a long time, it worked.

  Thankfully the horn blows and the scrimmage begins. The puck is dropped at center ice and the action starts. Because the game is so fast paced, I’m able to forget about the
past and just focus on watching the players move the puck up and down the ice with a ridiculous amount of speed. The game ends up being an exciting one with the score only separated by a goal or two. Our school team is the Western Timber Wolves and the visitors are the Capitals. There are so many times that both Brooklyn and I are jumping to our feet and screaming at the top of our lungs. And we’re not the only ones either. Apparently Western fans are rabidly loyal.

  And I love it.

  I love a fanatic crowd. It ups the energy level in the arena. What I love most is that I’m able to lose myself in the fast paced action of the game. I don’t have to think about the past or how I crumbled under the pressure.

  Brooklyn doesn’t know jack shit about hockey but she is, as usual, her exuberant self. I seriously love that about her.

  “Go the other way!” Then she screams at the top of her voice, “Hurry! Faster!”

  I almost laugh at how silly she sounds. A couple of people in the seats surrounding us turn their heads as well but she looks like she’s having so much fun that they end up smiling before turning back to the game.

  Every time a whistle blows, Brooklyn looks at me for a quick explanation.

  “Off sides,” I say. Then I explain exactly what that means.

  Another whistle.

  Her intense gaze shoots to mine.

  “Penalty for high sticking,” I mutter with a roll of my eyes. Because at this point, they really should know better.

  Whistle. Brooklyn slides a brow up waiting for an explanation as to why the action has stopped.

  “Icing.” Again, should know better than to slap it all the way across the ice. Dumb.

  Whistle.

  “Penalty for holding.” I grumble before bellowing, “That was a crap call, ref, open your eyes for a change! Here, I think I’ve got a spare pair of glasses for you!”

  Brooklyn bursts into peals of laughter before yelling, “Yeah, crap call, ref! Totally crappy call!”

  We grin at each other before we both plunk down onto our seats and reach for our shared box of popcorn.

  Whistle.

  That one I don’t have to answer because it’s obvious.

  Fighting.

  “Crap call, ref!” Brooklyn yells again.

  I shake my head. “No, it was actually a good call. Not in our favor, but it was the right call to make.” I sip my diet cola watching as one of our players skates over to the penalty box. You can tell he’s still mouthing off to the player he’d just been brawling with.

  “Whose team are you on?” She asks this as if she knows a damn thing about hockey. What Brooklyn likes about hockey are the hot guys who look even more strapping, and thus hotter, with all their padding and gear. And… well… she’s not exactly wrong about that.

  I just roll my eyes in answer.

  When the game finally ends, the crowd goes wild because the Timber Wolves have managed to pull off a win. From what I can tell, their team looks solid. They have a lightening quick offense and a solid, not to mention huge, defense. This is where the strapping comment comes in to play. And the goalie was pretty amazing as well. Not much slid past him tonight. Even though it was bittersweet to watch, I can definitely see coming back to catch a few more games during the season.

  “We’re all heading over to a little bar after this to celebrate, you in?” The unexpected rush of adrenalin from tonight’s win has Brooklyn bouncing on the edge of her seat with even more energy than usual.

  I groan. “You never mentioned going out after the game.”

  Although Brooklyn knows I’m not much of a partier, she doesn’t understand the reasons for it. And even though we’ve been friends for a really long time, I just haven’t been able to bring myself to tell her the whole sordid story.

  She smiles brightly before stating the obvious. “If I had told you, you wouldn’t have agreed to come with me tonight.”

  I narrow my eyes because she’s right, of course. And even though being here brought back a lot of painful memories, I’m glad Brooklyn talked me into coming with her. Honestly, I haven’t had this much fun in a really long time. Until tonight, I hadn’t realized just how much I still miss playing hockey.

  Interrupting my thoughts, she gives me a sad pouty face with pleading hands. “Please, please, please,” she begs prettily. Already I can feel myself weakening. “We’ll have so much fun!”

  Argh… I don’t want to go.

  I don’t want to give in.

  I don’t…

  “Oh, fine, fine, fine!” Grrr. I hate when she talks me into this stuff because, more often than not, I always end up regretting it. “But I’m not staying long.” One hour, tops. Then I’m heading back to the dorms.

  Satisfied, because she’s once again gotten her way, Brooklyn beams at me in response. “Yay! Now you can meet Austin. He’s sooo cute and sooo nice. I really like him, Cass.” She gives me a meaningful look. “He could totally be the one.”

  I almost snort.

  The one for what?

  Today?

  Tomorrow?

  This week?

  Next week?

  Yeah, sure, we would just see about that. Brooklyn has a real propensity for hopping from one guy to another at the speed of light. In the three weeks we’ve been rooming together, she’s been out with about four different guys. Number fifty-five is forth in that line up. Needless to say, the other three guys are still texting and calling but she’s already moved on. So, do I really expect this one to last any longer than the others?

  The answer to that question is a big, fat nope.

  After the majority of fans empty out of the stands, Brooklyn and I meander our way to the lobby to wait for Brooklyn’s new flavor of the week. The girl definitely has a type- hot, athletic, and likes to have a good time.

  Just like she does.

  It takes about twenty minutes for the guys to filter out of the locker room which is pretty typical. The coach will usually talk to the team (or if they lose- yell), discuss what had gone right (or if they lose- wrong) and then they have to shower and change.

  Brooklyn squeals as her guy saunters out of the locker room with a big smile lighting up his face. And just like I suspected- hot and athletic. In true Brooklyn fashion, she runs and jumps into his outstretched arms before wrapping her legs around his waist. A good number of his teammates hoot and holler in response. As if that PDA isn’t shocking enough, she then proceeds to kiss the hell right out of him.

  Watching the pair of them is a little like gawking at a horrific traffic accident. You don’t necessarily want to keep staring… but you feel helpless to tear your eyes away. No matter how much you might want to.

  “Huh. So I guess the tables have turned and you’re the one doing the stalking now.”

  My heart skips a beat as I spin towards the deep male voice filling my ears. Although I don’t have to turn to know exactly who I’ll find standing beside me.

  Cole.

  “Damn… I guess you caught me.” I almost cringe as the words fly out of my mouth. My heart starts beating in overdrive. Yeah… the last thing I need is for him to think that I’ve turned into one of his little fan girls.

  Because I am so not a fan girl.

  Clearly not taking me seriously, he chuckles. And yep, there are those gorgeous dimples of his coming out to play. As has been previously mentioned, they seriously drive me to distraction.

  “You know you kind of suck as a stalker, right?”

  “Sorry, I’m still trying to get the hang of it. Remind me to ask you for some tips. You seem to be a real pro.”

  My belly dips as he continues to grin happily down at me. I almost wince realizing that what is currently taking place between us is totally counterproductive to what I need to happen.

  Which is for me to distance myself from him.

  “Well, for one, you’re supposed to stay out of sight. You know- hide in bushes, peek around corners, wear disguises, follow discreetly from a distance. That kind of thing. Maybe we can
get together later on and I can give you a stalker one-oh-one crash course. Stalking for dummies… or something like that. Totally free of charge, of course.”

  Dimples.

  Again with those damn dimples.

  If he’s trying to wear me down, those dimples are the way to go. And he must know it. Because he flashes them at me rather ruthlessly.

  I blink my eyes trying to shake myself free of the thick fog that always seems to settle over me when he’s near. “No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary. You’ve given me quite enough to go on already.”

  He steps just a bit closer, invading my space. My heart clutches almost painfully at his nearness. At the fresh clean smell of him. “I don’t want to brag or anything but I’m one of the best.”

  “Great,” I point to an area about twenty feet away, “I think I’ll just go stand over there for the time being.”

  His eyes continue holding mine before he asks, “So, did you enjoy the game?”

  And that’s when it hits me. Like a ton of bricks. “Oh my God,” I gasp in surprise, “you played!” Then I shake my head. What a stupid thing to say. I mean, duh… of course he played. His hair is all shiny and wet and he smells… well, he smells damn near edible. All masculine and…

  I really have to stop thinking like that. I’m supposed to be distancing myself from him not trying to inhale him.

  Thankfully unaware of the diabolically dangerous thoughts renting space in my head, he winks, a smile still curving his generous lips upward. “See, you’re way better at this whole stalker thing then you give yourself credit for.”

  My eyes flare wide before I shake my head. Because the last thing I need is for him to think that I’m some newly turned Cole convert. “I’m totally serious- I didn’t come here to see you! I didn’t even know you played hockey.” Almost desperately I point to Brooklyn who is still wrapped around number fifty-five. “That’s my roommate over there. I came here with her tonight.” Then I reiterate one more time. “I really didn’t come to see you.”

  Brows raised, he laughs. “Wow, okay, I got it. You definitely did not come here to see me play hockey tonight. Alright then. Ego completely crushed.”