Page 17 of Slash & Burn

The look I’d seen in his eyes that morning hit me hard in the ribs, that feeling I’d had that something was up with him. He’d been almost haunted, and now it made a lot more sense why.

“Speaking of which,” he said, letting my hand go to reach into his pocket. “Here you are.”

A sliver of relief went through me to see the key in his hand. It meant he was serious about not fucking up again, and that he trusted me to help him. But I felt like a jerk at the same time for riding him so hard about something that was clearly messing with his head.

“Thanks.” I took it, my eyes locked on the tiny piece of metal as I turned it over in my hand.

“I’ll be okay, Jilly. Just need some time.”

It wasn’t what he said so much as how he said it that made my heart hurt. He was trying to believe that just as much as he was hoping he’d convince me of it. But I knew way too much about anxiety and panic attacks to slough off what I’d just seen.

“You might need a little more than that.” I offered him a lopsided grin, knowing that telling people how to handle their shit was often a really bad idea.

But Grady didn’t get mad or defensive. He got worried.

“You can’t tell anyone. Not Joey, not your boss. Please, Jill, just keep this between us, okay?”

My stomach knotted. Grady was sitting there, still sweaty and agitated from what looked like a pretty serious episode and he was asking me to keep it a secret. It was his life and he was a big boy, but this felt risky. He read my hesitation all over my face.

“If it gets worse, I’ll tell you.” He looked at me with pleading eyes. “I promise, I’ll be fine, and if I’m not, you’ll be the first to know.”

It felt like everything I’d ever known about Grady had evaporated and what I was left with was a version of a man I’d cared for without really understanding. This version wasn’t the made-up fantasy of a teenager. This was the real deal. And he was asking me for help.

“We’re already a team this summer, right?” he pressed, his concern melding with some sort of forced optimism. “We’ll just be a team about this too.”

The idea of being a team with Grady was like a dream coming true. The kind of thing kid-me would have never believed possible. Only not like this. Not keeping a secret that might hurt him.

But he was looking at me now with a tenderness in his eyes that ripped me right open. So, I nodded at him with a loud sigh before I said, “Just don’t make me drag you out from under any benches, okay?”

He laughed, dropping his head back in relief. “No benches. Promise.”

CHAPTER 8

GRADY

When the morning of our next event rolled around, I hadn’t needed any help from Jill to wake up. Wired but not from anxiety or panic or nightmares for once—I’d laid staring at my bedroom ceiling as the sun came up, reliving the feel of her hand on my arm, her fingers laced between mine while she told me that story. Rubbing at the spot on my palm that still felt the ghost of her touch, I pictured her sweet, kind smile right up until my alarm went off.

There weren’t a lot of people in my life that would understand what was going on with me, but Jill seemed to get it. And even though I didn’t like that she was so familiar with this kind of shit, something about that gave me room to breathe, the space to just exist outside the deafening voices in my head that said I was going to be fucked up for the rest of my life.

My worry that someone had seen us, or that she’d tell the wrong person about finding me like that, had faded fast. Jill wasn’t a gossip, and she sure as hell didn’t want the attention she’d get for being the one to find the local hero in the grip of a meltdown. No, she’d keep my secret, and that was all I needed.

Well, that and one other little thing.

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” Jill huffed as I pulled open the door to the sporting goods store in Portland a few days later.

“TechnicallyI’mnot the one making you do anything. This comes from over my head.”

She shot me a dry look. “But you’re enjoying it.”

I tried to hide my amusement as I strode down the center aisle, but she caught me with her glare. “I don’t understand why you’re so upset about wearing my jersey, but I will admit I find your aversion comical.”

When we’d gotten the email after the last event—which went off without a hitch, I might add—Jill’s face had turned red and she’d gone quiet. We’d been scheduled for a photo shoot and the wardrobe instructions had been very clear; she had to be the one in Brawlers gear this time. I’d offered her one of my old jerseys but she’d stuck her nose up, as if the thing would still hold the stench of the last game I played in it.

“It’s ridiculous that I should have to play the part of cheerleader. I’m here for the books, not the sports.”

“You’re not wearing an actual cheerleading outfit. We don’t even have those in hockey. You know that, right?”

Her glare went glacial and I laughed harder.

---