Page 13 of Unsteady

Or completely sends every brain cell I have left into an absolute frenzy, which might explain why I suddenly blurt out, “Do you want to do something about that then?”

It’s a taunt more than it is a flirt, and the old me wouldneversay something so bold. The old version of my controlled, captain-on-and-off-the-ice persona followed a strict three-date rule before any hook ups, which were already a rarity. I didn’t want distractions—I just wanted hockey.

Until hockey decided it didn’t want me.

Maybe I want a distraction from how much I hate what hockey has become in my head.

She hums, a sound that’s both snarky and sweet all at once, her body gliding across to me.

“Put this in.”

I take the earbud from her outstretched fingers, brushing the skin lightly with knuckles as I do, letting the sensation of her nearness coat my stretched, tense muscles. The headphones are old, the cord connecting them dangling between us as she sits on the bench next to me.

Desperate, I spread my legs until my sweatpants are pressed lightly against her legging-covered flesh. She doesn’t move away, only watches me patiently as I put the earbud in my left ear.

There’s a quiet stillness to the music—soothing and just repetitive enough to drown out the mass of older panic taking over my brain. Like the sound coming from the bud in only my left ear is enough to overpower everything else.

Except for the warmth of her beside me. Somehow, that’s more.

FOUR

SADIE

Seeing him this way hurts.

I’ve experienced a panic attack before, but the worst weren’t mine—they were Oliver’s. To the point I could barely help him function before medication. Now, the attacks are fewer and far between, but the sight of Rhys curled in on himself, huffing for breaths like he can’t quite catch them, brings back memories of laying a frozen bag of peas on my brother’s chest so he could settle his nervous system.

Only, I don’t have frozen peas right now.

“Is this helping?” I ask, as Jose Gonzalez’s gentle strums echo in our ears.

He nods, his eyes flickering in a little pattern across me—eyes, mouth, the grasp of my hand in his.

Eyes. Mouth. Hands.

“You’re helping,” he blurts, cheeks red whether from embarrassment or exertion.

I nod. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

We sit back, like every movement is just as in sync, connected by the headphone cord between us.

Music plays, until he slows his breath and I slow my heart. I lose track of how long we’ve been here.

“Music helps me.” And Oliver, though I don’t add that even as I see him for a moment in my head, slamming headphones over his ears as his principal and I verbally spar over his “unbecoming” behavior at school and “lack of parenting” outside of it.

There’s a tickle to my skin, and I look down, seeing Rhys’ hand absentmindedly playing with my fingers in a too-familiar way.

I stand, stepping back.

“Did you skate?” I ask, suddenly desperate to fill the charged silence.

He smiles in that sleepy way, as he continues to climb down from the high. “Didn’t even make it on the ice.”

“Do you want to skate with me?”

This time it’s a cocky grin. “That’s a line. Now Iknowyou’re flirting with me.”

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