Page 113 of Unsteady

She comes, and it's just like every time I’ve seen it before—like she’s a little surprised, like it catches the careful, controlled girl totally off guard. And then, her lips spread into a little sleepy smile and she looks down at me

I’m overwhelmed withthatfeeling again—the want to keep her here, protected and safe and mine. Until I’m biting down on my tongue, desperate to shove theI love you, I love you, I love youback down my throat.

I’m not sure how much longer I can hold it back, but I’m desperate to keep her. And this—her melting into my arms and kissing my shoulders, peppering me with gentle movements that I copy until we’re laying with our heads at the footboard, whispering quiet secrets into the glittering dark—this is more than enough.

THIRTY-EIGHT

RHYS

We won. Again.

Fucking finally.

The team is riding the high, Gym Class Heroes blaring somehow louder as I walk through the tunnel into the dressing room. I smile brightly as my team smacks my back, Freddy and Dougherty skipping around and singing with a few of the more outgoing underclassmen.

Every single one of them deserves this; not to mention it pushes our points finally high enough not to give me as much worry before the Cornell game next weekend. Harvard still looms on the horizon, one of our top competitors this year, but for tonight—a win is a win.

“A motherfucking Reinershutout!” Freddy shouts, whistles blaring all around as he takes the sacred knot of rope, looped from cut strands of conference-winning nets, and hands it to Bennett, declaring him our player of the game. Everyone cheers as Bennett, still in his thick leg pads, but stripped down to a long sleeve compression shirt up top, stands and accepts it with a nod.

I know better than to expect any sort of speech, and he doesn’t offer anything other than, “Couldn’t have done it without my defensemen and this entire team. Go Wolves.” He lifts the long drape of rope again, before sitting back against his cubby.

Coach Harris smiles, because he knows his star goalie in the same way I do, appreciates his quirks and rituals. He’s built trust with Bennett, with us all, but I know personally how much he’s worked with Bennett.

He nods at all of us once, and leaves with a quick, “Enjoy your evening, boys. Don’t be stupid,” tossed over his shoulder.

But it’s Toren Kane, sitting sullenly in the corner with his arms crossed over his chest, sweat dripping from his wet black hair, that he pats on the shoulder as goes.

Something pulls tight in my chest at the sight.

Freddy is already announcing the party at the Hockey Dorms—which will be massive, as our Halloween parties always are. And if the large bags of face paint that currently sit on our kitchen counter are anything to go off of, he will be forcing any of the unprepared underclassmen into designated costumes.

We, as a team, usually go all out.

But, consideringmy girlfriendbailed just before the second period via text, I have other plans in mind.

My girlfriend. Two weeks later and it still tastes just as fucking sweet.

Last night, I’d gotten her to agree to attending one of my parents’ schmoozy galas with my face buried between her thighs.

I shower quickly, changing into gray sweatpants and a neon orange shirt that saysI’m Only Here for the Booswith a ghost sporting heart eyes—a gift from Freddy his freshman year when I said I was too busy to dress up before we went downtown. Definitely part of the way he’s wormed his way into my heart as one of my best friends. Since then, the cheesy shirts for every major holiday have become a sort of strange tradition between the two of us.

I’m gone before Freddy can try to stop me, only telling Bennett where I’m going. I know the drive like the back of my hand now, as I spend any of my minimal free time with her—and being with Sadie often means running her brothers around, getting them dinner or picking them up from practices.

Still, I’ve yet to have a run in with her dad. Which, I’m sure, is a very purposeful thing for her.

If I’m involved in the plans, we never end up at her house for the night. She avoids it—even if it means I end the night helping her tuck sleepy kids into an air mattress on her dorm floor. Sometimes I can convince them to sleep at the Hockey House, where Liam and Oliver get showered with endless attention of whatever players are at our house—playing games with them until Sadie turns her stern voice on and forces them to their respective beds.

Beds I purchased impulsively one day and put into the unused room at the end of the hall.

I know she’s home tonight, because there’s only a handful of reasons she would cancel. Aurora attended the game, our new loyal fan, but she gave me a quick shake of her head to tell me Sadie wouldn’t be showing.

The street she lives on is dark, no real decoration, all porch lights off except theirs. I knock in a pattern before stepping back so she can see me in the peephole before she answers.

“Holy shit,” I mutter, smiling broadly as I take in her appearance at the front door.

She’s dressed in a brown, fuzzy onesie—complete with a floppy hood—a big plastic pumpkin bowl full of candy hefted on her waist, and a tiny Darth Vader hanging onto her leg.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, but there’s nothing but joy on her face, hidden lightly beneath my favorite little furrowed brow expression.

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