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After yesterday’s game, I thought we’d be able to rest.
But Coach wanted everyone at the arena bright and early today.
The team is so close to winning this round, he doesn’t want to take any chances. Which means practice on top of practice.
Which also means despite it only being noon, it’s been a long day.
Hell, it’s been a long week.
I’ve been walking on eggshells over when I’m finally going to talk to him about who I am.
I’ve tried.
Lord, have I tried. But with all the shit being spread around about him, the words have been locked inside me and no matter how hard I try, I can’t say them.
Especially not now. They need to win this round. It’s important. If I tell him now, he could lose the game.
That is something I can’t let happen.
Plus, the truth is Aiden needs me right now.
You’re not ready to lose him.
I’ll talk to Mike, ask him to give me more time. Aiden isn’t in a good place emotionally and winning the Stanley Cup is so important to him. Surely, Mike will agree that now’s not the time.
Chickenshit.
Despite the voice screaming at me to tell him, I don’t.
Instead, I follow him into his place, heart still racing from the game.
We’re just inside the foyer when he stops abruptly, causing me to nearly run into his back. I’m too preoccupied with my own thoughts. I halt, letting go of the door. My hand moves to my heart as the door swings shut with a bang, causing me to jump back and shriek.
Aiden turns. Slowly. Eyeing me like prey. My eyes widen at the look I see on his face. I don’t have time to act, and he’s moving closer. His steps are slow, measured. And my heart is hammering in my chest.
There’s nowhere for me to go. No time to act. Not that I want to run away. It’s not fear that has my heartbeat racing or my body warm all over.
It’s the heat in his intense stare.
I tilt my head up to meet his gaze, and despite the sexual tension, he looks tired.
There are bags under his eyes, and his brown hair is ruffled from the cold water he dunks his head in after a game.
Another habit I’ve grown to love.
The scruffy version of Aiden is my favorite version of him. Right after a game is when he’s his most free.
It reminds me so much of when I was a kid, when I looked at him like he hung the moon from the sky, and he looked at me with eyes full of love, the type of love you would give a little sister or best friend.
Maybe that’s it.
Maybe the reason I keep silent is fear that when he knows he won’t just be mad, but he will also be disgusted. He only ever looked at me like a sister, and if he’s thought of me at all through the years, that’s likely how he’s remembered me.
Not like this.
Not like he wants to devour me on the spot.
A shiver runs up my spine, and I look down at the floor, breaking our eye contact.
