He shook it off and reached down for her hand, frowning when he noticed how cold her skin was. “Are you sure you’re not getting sick?”
Cindy shifted, not quite looking at him, her smile a little strained. “Positive.”
“You’re sure? Because your hand is like ice.” He covered it with his second one and squeezed, like that would somehow make her warmer. She smiled again, just a quick upturn of her lips, and nodded.
“I’m sure. Honest.” But even her voice was strained, letting him know that something else was going on. He watched her, wishing he could read her mind, wishing she would tell him what was wrong.
Wishing he had said something earlier, when they had time to talk. But he’d been distracted, his mind and body more concerned with other things besides talking. And now it was too late because her flight would be boarding in the next thirty minutes.
He glanced at his watch again and frowned. Make that fifteen. How had so much time passed already?
“I should have paid more attention when we rebooked your flight, made sure we at least flew to Miami together. Or I should have changed mine—”
“Ethan, you’re being silly. There was no need to. Just like you didn’t need to come with me now, not when your flight isn’t for another four hours.”
“Maybe I just wanted to spend more time with you.” The words came out softer than he had intended, his voice a little too husky. Cindy looked over at him, something flashing in her eyes. Whatever it was passed quickly, chased away by shadows he didn’t understand. Then she blinked and her gorgeous green eyes were clear again. The corner of her mouth tilted up in a teasing grin—a real one, so different from the strained smiles she had been giving him since they left the resort this morning.
“I’d call you sweet but I wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation.”
“As long as you don’t slip around the guys, you can call me whatever you want.” He grinned then leaned forward and pressed his mouth against her. The kiss was soft, sweet. And over much too soon. He pulled back with a soft moan, his hand tightening around hers again.
And again he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a permanent goodbye. It didn’t make sense. Hell, nothing that had happened between them this week made sense. Friends. They had been nothing more than friends. Maybe he’d hoped they could be more. Hoped? Hell, he could be honest with himself: he’d more than hoped. He’d fantasized. But he’d never expected more than friendship with Cindy.
Maybe that was the problem, the reason for this uneasy feeling. It was too new, whatever this was between them. And he’d only had five quick days to enjoy it. Five days was nothing compared to what he wanted. Five days, over already, gone too fast. And now he had to wait a month before he could see her again.
That had to be the reason for this unsettled feeling. Nothing else made sense. And he didn’t want to wait another month. Maybe he didn’t have to. There was nothing stopping him from changing his plans again, nothing stopping him from heading back to Baltimore even earlier. All he had to do was change a few things on his schedule at home, not a big deal—
The announcement for Cindy’s flight came through the speakers, garbled and almost too loud. Ethan jerked in the seat, silently groaning. Already? No, it couldn’t be. He needed more time—
Except time was up. Cindy pulled her hand from his and leaned over, grabbing her stuffed tote from the floor then standing. He stood as well, trying to ignore the harsh thudding of his heart beating in his chest. He glanced over his shoulder, saw people lining up in front of the door leading out to the tarmac, then looked back at Cindy. She had already pulled her sunglasses down over her eyes, hiding her gaze. Her head was turned slightly to the side. Was she looking at the people lining up? Or was she still looking at him?
“I guess I should probably go join the crowd, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess.” Neither one of them moved, not at first. Then they both seemed to move at the same time, their arms wrapped around each other. “I’ll call you tonight when I get in. Okay?”
Cindy nodded but didn’t say anything. Did she feel it, too, this odd unsettled feeling? He thought it had just been him but maybe he’d been wrong. He should have asked, should have talked to her about it earlier. Should have talked to her about a lot of things earlier. Five days. He had thought there’d be time. Had thought it wasn’t important. But it was. And now it was too late.
She started to step out of his hold but Ethan shook his head and tightened his arms. “Not yet.”
Cindy looked up at him, her face oddly blank. Then he bent down and captured her mouth with his, the kiss long and deep. Possessing. Claiming. Reassuring. She sighed when he pulled away, the whisper-soft sound tugging at something inside him.
“I’ll call you tonight.” He repeated the reassurance, waiting for her to nod. Then he dropped his arms and stepped back, finally allowing her to move away. He turned around, following each of her steps as she walked to the gate. She paused once, looked back at him and lifted her hand in a small wave, then moved through the door and out onto the tarmac.
Ethan stayed where he was, watching her through the window as she moved across the tarmac with the crowd. Watching as she climbed the metal steps to the plane. Watching as she disappeared through the door. Not once did she look back.
Ethan ignored the flare of disappointment shooting through him. Why would she look back? She probably thought he had left already. And it wasn’t like she would have been able to see him even if she had looked back.
He stood there for several long minutes, waiting for the pounding in his chest to subside. Waiting for the feeling that this was the last time he’d see her to pass.
He was being ridiculous. He’d be talking to her tonight, would see her soon enough.
He turned and headed for the restaurant, hoping they served some of the island’s famous rum. Hoping that a few drinks would help him push the odd emotions away.
Chapter Six
Early September
Baltimore, Maryland
Cindy’s gaze was fixed on the television, seeing without seeing. A small voice whispered somewhere in the back of her mind, telling her she needed to move. To get up. Take a shower. Eat.
Do something.
She curled her knees tighter against her chest and ignored the voice. There was nothing for her to do, nowhere for her to go.
No energy or even the will to move.
She closed her eyes and tilted her head back against the sofa, waiting for the grayness to turn to black. Tired. She was so tired. And drained. She shouldn’t be. She knew that because some small voice filled with reason still existed, far back in the deepest recesses of her mind. Every once in a while, the voice would try to speak up, try to make her remember how things used to be. But the voice grew fainter each day, making it easier to ignore.
Making it easier to forget.
Distant voices danced on the still air of the basement. Not her voices. No, these voices were real. Softly spoken, the words too quiet to understand, too distant to make out. Cindy shook her head, trying to make them stop.
For a minute, they did.
Then she heard footsteps on the stairs. Slow, hesitant. They stopped and Cindy held her breath, waiting. Would they go away? Please, let them go away. She didn’t want to see anyone, didn’t want to talk to anyone.
This was where she needed to be, down here in the basement of her parents’ house, her own little hideaway. Away from the world, away from life. Away from the things she used to know. Footsteps meant someone was intruding, that someone from out there was coming to see her. To talk to her.
She didn’t want to see anyone, didn’t want to talk to anyone. Didn’t want to deal with the questions. She didn’t want to deal, period. It took too much energy to act normal, energy she no longer had.
And she didn’t care. She hadn’t cared for a long time now.
The steps continued—not going up, but coming down. Coming into her sanctuary. Was it her mother, may
be bringing food? No, the footsteps didn’t sound right, they were too forceful, filled with purpose.
Not her father. She hadn’t seen him in…she wasn’t sure. When? No, she couldn’t remember. Didn’t want to remember. There was something there, something at the edge of the grayness that stung, sharp and painful. She shook her head and pushed it away. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, as long as she could stay down here, tucked away out of sight.
Cindy didn’t know who it was, didn’t want to open her eyes to find out. But she could feel someone staring at her. Feel? If she could, she would laugh. The word was all wrong. No, she didn’t feel anything. Not anymore. But she could sense it, maybe with that tiny piece of her before-self that was locked tightly away deep inside the mess she had become.
She forced her eyes open, stared at the intruder for a long minute. Long brown hair, pulled back in a careless ponytail. Brown eyes watching her from behind dark-framed glasses.
Maggie Andersen. Her best friend.
No, wait. That wasn’t right. Not Andersen, not anymore. It was…Cindy frowned, trying to remember.
Frayser. That was Maggie’s last name now. Because her best friend was married now.
Again, she had the insane urge to laugh. Her mind flinched, scurrying away from the word insane, even though she was very much afraid it was true. With concentrated effort, she uncurled her legs and swung them to the side, forced herself to sit up and look at Maggie.
But Maggie didn’t say anything. Maybe she wasn’t really there. Maybe Cindy was just imagining her. Had she finally lost her last bit of tenuous hold on reality?
She should feel something at the thought. Fear. Gratitude. Anything. But she didn’t. Cindy looked away, let her eyes drift closed—
“Bullshit. You’re not going to pull that when I’m here. Sit up. Open your eyes and look at me.”
Cindy forced her eyes open, frowning. It looked like Maggie but it couldn’t be—Maggie didn’t cuss. And she didn’t remember ever seeing Maggie look so…so fierce. And sad. No, she was just imagining things.
But the image-Maggie moved closer, her nose wrinkling in distaste as she arranged the collection of junk on the coffee table into a pile and pushed it to the side. Then she sat on the edge and leaned forward, grabbing one of Cindy’s hands in her own. “You haven’t been taking your medicine.”
Cindy blinked, forcing herself to concentrate on the words the image-Maggie was saying. No, that wasn’t right. Cindy didn’t have hallucinations—at least, not yet. So this really was Maggie, not her imagination.
Cindy straightened, tried to pull her hand from Maggie’s grip. She couldn’t manage even that.
“How long?”
Cindy shook her head, not understanding the question. Maggie sighed, dropped her hand and rummaged through the pile on the table. Her hand closed over a clear brown bottle. She raised it to her face and shook it, frowning when she looked back at Cindy.
“How long since you’ve taken the medication?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why haven’t you taken it?”
“It makes me sick.”
Maggie watched her through narrowed eyes, not saying anything. Minutes ticked by and Cindy leaned back against the sofa, ready to close her eyes and go to sleep. Maggie grabbed her hand again, squeezing until Cindy looked up at her.
“You need to get up. Get a shower. Get dressed.”
“No.”
“Yeah, you do. Or I’ll drag your ass to the doctor’s office looking just like that.”
“I’m not going.”
“Bullshit. You’re going even if I have to carry you.”
Cindy frowned. There was something wrong with that, something she couldn’t quite figure out. She repeated the words to herself, her lips moving silently as she forced her before-self to focus on the words. She repeated them again then looked back at Maggie, still frowning. “You don’t cuss.”
“I do when I’m upset. And scared.”
“Why are you scared?”
“You’re scaring me.”
Cindy frowned again, not understanding the words. “Why?”
“Because this isn’t you, Cindy. You need to go to the doctor again. A new one, one I found. You need to talk to her.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re getting worse and I don’t want you to get worse. And the stupid doctor you were seeing thinks making you a zombie is the answer. It’s not.”
The words were nothing more than nonsense in Cindy’s mind. She squeezed her eyes closed, lost track of what she was going to do and let herself fall back against the sofa. Sleep. She would just sleep—
“Cindy! Come on, stop it.”
Something pulled at her, tugging. Her eyes fluttered open, drifted closed, opened again as she was pulled to her feet. “I don’t want—”
“I know you don’t but you don’t have a choice.”
Maggie led her across the room, down the short hall to the tiny bathroom. Cindy followed along even though she knew she should put up a fight. But she didn’t have the energy—and she didn’t care.
Maybe, if she did what Maggie wanted her to do, her friend would leave her alone. Then she could go back to the insulating gray and numbing darkness that had become her home.
“In the shower. I’ll find clothes for you and straighten up down here while you clean up.”
“Why?”
Maggie paused, watching her. What was the emotion Cindy saw in her eyes? Concern? Worry? But why? Why would Maggie be worried about her?
“Why? Because you need to clean up. Because you have an appointment with another doctor.”
“Why?”
“So you can get better. Because that’s what best friends do. And because I want my best friend back.”
Cindy almost asked where her best friend went. Her mouth closed over the words before she asked them. Something—that tiny little voice of her before-self—told her that Maggie was talking about her. But that didn’t make sense. Cindy hadn’t gone anywhere, she was right here. Couldn’t Maggie see her?
Yes, of course she saw her. She was standing there looking at her. Wasn’t she?
Cindy blinked, wondering once more if maybe this was just her imagination again. Then Maggie steered her to the shower and leaned in to turn on the water. No, Cindy wasn’t imagining that. And she didn’t imagine the sadness in Maggie’s eyes when she pulled her in for a quick hug.
“Get in the shower. Then we’re going to get you better so I can get my best friend back.”
Chapter Seven
Early-November
Baltimore, Maryland
The crowd surged to their feet, their shouts and screams echoing around the arena with a deafening roar. Awareness of the noise barely registered with Ethan. His mind was on a single goal: moving the puck down the ice. The sound of metal digging into ice floated up to his ears, musical and mesmerizing. Blood pumped through his veins with a steady thump-thump as a rivulet of sweat dripped from his temple. A player from Ottawa moved next to him, the motion nothing more than a blur in the corner of his eye. Ethan cut to the left then stopped and spun around, passing the puck to Derek Caulton with precision ease. Caulton caught it on his tape and moved along the boards, closing in on the net before shooting the puck to JP Larocque.
Ethan dodged the Ottawa player, pushing past him with practiced ease to get into position. JP passed the puck to him and Ethan shot it back to Derek. His teammate pulled back with his stick and sent the puck flying fast and low. Ottawa’s goalie dove to the right, his glove hand outstretched, but it was too late. The light over the net flashed red, the sound of the horn nearly drowned out by the crowd.
Ethan clapped Derek on the leg with his stick as they skated back to the bench, congratulating him on the shot. But it was nothing more than a quick gesture, his smile short and brief.
That was the way he did everything now: short. Brief. Quick. Get in, focus, get the job done, get out. No emotion, not anymore.
&nb
sp; Not for the last few months, not since coming back to Baltimore early.
He caught Dillon Frayser’s gaze, saw the question in his friend’s eyes. Ethan did nothing more than nod in his direction before reaching for the water bottle and shooting a long stream into his mouth. He moved his gaze to the ice, up to the giant screen to glance at the score. It was all over but the crying—at least on Ottawa’s part. This late in the third, it would be almost impossible for them to rally back, not when the Banners had a five-point lead.
Almost impossible. Nothing was a given, not in this game.
Not in anything. Ethan knew that all too well. Had learned it the hard way.
He gave himself a mental shake and turned his focus back to the game. Watching, always watching. Looking for the weakness, searching for any opening to exploit. He found a new one and hit the ice for his next shift, eager to take advantage of it.
And he did, dodging around the defenseman and shooting the puck high. It hit the back of the net with a soft whoosh, adding to the Banners’ lead. Three minutes later, Justin Tome tallied another one, ending the game in a decisive manner.
Ethan piled out onto the ice with the rest of the team, stopping to grab the puck before moving over to congratulate Corbin on his first shut-out. He slapped the kid on the back then handed him the puck, moving out of the way to make room for the others before heading back to the bench and making his way through the tunnel.
“Ethan, wait up, man!”
He heard Dillon calling him, paused before reaching the locker room, waiting. He schooled his face, letting the mask settle into place. Casual smile, relaxed posture, just the barest expression of interest in his eyes.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
Dillon stopped next to him, curiosity and a dozen unasked questions flaring in his eyes. He studied him for a few quiet seconds then shook his head, an odd smile on his face.
“Nothing’s up. I was just going to tell you good game.”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks.” Ethan headed up the hallway, his gait long and sure as he moved toward the locker room, Dillon right behind him.
Face Off (The Baltimore Banners Book 10) Page 4