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I glance inside to see Erin watching us through the glass while talking to one of her friends. She’s scowling.
I stretch my arms overhead and yawn. My breath emerges in a puff of white before dissolving into the air, reminding me of the temperature. I’m normally hot-blooded, so I don’t usually notice the cold. But I bet Mads is freezing.
“That game wore me out,” I say even though I’m not that tired. I stand and reach out my hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
She hesitates for a moment before sliding her palm inside of mine and allowing me to pull her to her feet. Her skin is cold. My fingers collapse around hers as I try to warm her up.
I lead her into the house and through the party, nodding to my friends as we go. I slide my arm around her and ignore the smirks from my teammates. Madison’s abnormally quiet by my side. She stays that way, gazing out the passenger window on the short drive back to my house. I don’t even offer to drop her off at her place, and she doesn’t ask to go there.
Madison slides her seat belt off and exits the Bronco when I park in my driveway. The house is dark, but I know it’s full of my parents and my sister, who are sleeping in their rooms. Maybe to some, the monotony is boring. But to me, there’s something comforting in predictability. I always know exactly where my family is and what they are doing.
I unlock the front door and let Madison go in first. She pauses inside the foyer and follows me into the kitchen. I fill two glasses with water and hand one to her. She drinks half of it before setting it on the counter. I finish mine, still thirsty from the game earlier.
“Hungry?” I ask, already removing a skillet and opening the fridge.
“I could eat,” she answers, sitting in one of the chairs along the counter.
I grab some bread and cheese and butter, feeling like a short-order cook as Madison watches from her seat. We talk about school and the hockey game. In ten minutes, I have three buttery, golden grilled cheese sandwiches plated and ready to eat. One for her and two for me. I sit next to her at the counter.
“This is really good,” she admits, her voice muffled because of the food.
“I know,” I say. “Everything I do is good.”
I can feel her eyes rolling as I devour half of my sandwich in one bite. I chuckle around the food.
“You are surprisingly good at most things,” she grudgingly admits. “But what I like most about you is your humbleness.”
She smirks, fluttering her eyelids, right before taking another bite.
“I can always take that sandwich back if it wasn’t made with enough … humbleness for you. I normally eat three of them, you know …”
She swivels until her back is partially to me and her food is protected. “No way. I’m finishing every bite of this.”
I have no doubt she would fight me for it. There’s a fire burning inside of Madison that even momentary sadness can’t staunch.
We eat in silence until every crumb has disappeared. Madison rises and carries both our plates to the sink. She rinses and deposits them in the dishwasher, like she has a thousand times before during one of her many visits.
She leans against the counter and yawns.
“Tired?” I ask, standing up. I walk around until I’m standing in the doorway of the kitchen.
“Yeah,” she breathes out.
“Ready for bed?” I lean against the wall as she takes a step closer. “I can grab you a T-shirt if you need something to sleep in?”
“Okay,” she agrees even though we know Oakley has plenty of shirts for Mads to borrow. Clothes she’s already worn a million times in the past.
I switch off the kitchen light as Madison follows me up the staircase. Our footsteps are soft as we try not to wake anyone in the house. Once inside my room, I turn on a lamp beside my bed and glance over at the blonde I barely recognize standing in the doorway. Her arms are folded across her chest, and her hair is a mess. She looks tired but beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed how beautiful she truly is. She’s transitioning from my little sister’s firecracker friend into this almost woman standing before me. And I suddenly have the urge to kiss her. I don’t though. I leave space between us instead, extending my arm to hand her a shirt from my chest of drawers. It’s an old hockey one from a camp I attended three summers ago. I was big even back then, and I can imagine the way the material will dwarf her lithe body even though she’s tall. I envision it landing at her thighs. I imagine the way it will look on her when she’s wearing it and nothing else.
She’s going to own all the guys soon.
My chest tightens with that thought, but I quickly push it away. Acknowledging it will only give it life.
“Thanks,” she whispers, gripping my shirt in her hand.
She turns to leave but hesitates. She swivels around just as quickly, and she’s clutching my waist before my brain catches up to the movement. There’s desperation in her hold. A need. I hug her back just as hard. She feels warm and soft in my arms. My chin rests on the top of her head as I comfort her.
“Thank you, Ollie.” This one has meaning.
