Page 45 of The Puck Player

On one hand I’m glad he defended me, but on the other, I hate myself for pushing him over the edge, and for what?

“Arch is right,” Nova cuts in, tossing a few glass bottles into the trash as he turns to me. “Alexander always looks at everything with a clear head and a cool attitude, so it must have taken a lot for him to stray from that.”

Both of their statements seem like they are trying to convey some sort of meaning to me, but what do they want from me? Alexander said it himself, we are just friends, so whatever they think is happening here, they’re wrong.

I don’t bother saying anything in response, just nod between them and offer Daemon a final smile in thanks, before retreating back upstairs. When I get back to Alexander’s room he is pacing back and forth in front of his bed, but stills as soon as I walk back inside, some of the tension leaving him instantly, as if he thought I wasn’t coming back. I don’t say anything as I wordlessly direct him to his desk chair, gesturing for him to take a seat, and when he does I drop down in front of him, laying out the supplies on his desk.

We are both quiet as I take my time cleaning the blood off his hands, and it’s only now I realize it isn’t just Ben’s, but his too. One of his knuckles is slightly cracked, and for some reason it brings fresh tears to my eyes at the thought of him getting hurt because of me.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, knowing those two words aren’t enough, but I don’t think there is anything else I can say. Everything is just a fucking mess.

“Sorry?” he repeats in question, and when my eyes flick up to meet his stare, his brow is furrowed, as if trying to make sense of my apology. “What the fuck are you sorry for?” he snaps, clearly still pissed, but his tone holds nowhere near as much bite as Ben’s did.

“For all of it,” I start lowering my gaze because I can’t bear the sincere look in his eyes, so instead I focus on cleaning his wounds. “For Ben, for being in your room, for ruining the party, for getting blood on your carpet, for you being hurt,” I breathe, listing off just a few of the awful things that have happened tonight, trying and failing to keep my emotions at bay. “I’m just so sorry, Alexander.” I toss the now blood-stained cotton pads aside, and attempt to put the ice packs on the back of his hands, but he grabs them and tosses them back onto his desk.

“Aubree, you listen to me,” he grits, gripping my chin and pulling it up so his fierce gaze can collide with mine. “You did absolutely nothing wrong. I don’t give a fuck about my room, or the damn party, as long as you are okay,” he tells me, searching my eyes as if to try and decipher how I’m feeling, but his care only makes more tears fall. “Come here,” he sighs, leaning forward and pulling me against him, and for the second time this week I sob into his chest. I’m not sure how long we stay like that, but it’s long enough for his masculine scent and steady heartbeat to calm me completely, and when I pull back he ignores the pain in his knuckles to once again swipe away my tears.

“You really need to ice your hands,” I choke out, slowly slipping away from his touch, not trusting myself to be so close to him right now, and he has the audacity to roll his eyes at me.

“Oh yeah? Patched up a lot of bloody knuckles have you?” he asks with a scoff, and I can’t help but smile a little.

“Actually, my dad punched a wall in the hospital the night my mom died, so…” I trail off, shrugging my shoulders, rising back to my feet so I can clean up, but before I can move away Alexander tugs on my hand.

“Aubree, I’m sorry if I scared you, I don’t know what came over me,” he starts, but I cut him off, lacing our fingers together and squeezing gently.

“It’s okay, you were just having my back, that’s what good friends do, right?” I ask, once again finding myself praying at this moment, except right now I’m praying for him to call bullshit.

I want him to take the word friends from me and tear it apart, to tell me that he didn’t do this to be my friend, but because he couldn’t bear the idea of Ben touching me.

Instead, he nods slowly. “Yeah, right,” he breathes, agreeing with me, and I force a flat smile to my face, just in time for us to be interrupted.

“Bree,” Evie says gently, and my head snaps over to the door to find her, along with Jake, Archer, and Daemon all standing there. When she sees my tear-stained face she rushes inside and pulls me into her arms. “I’m so fucking sorry, babe.” Her words are muffled against my hair, causing emotion to rise inside of me once more, but it’s as if the tightness of her hug holds me together completely.

“We got you guys some food,” Jake cuts in, stepping forward with Daemon to put some plates on Alexander’s desk, and I can’t hide my smile as I spy the mac and cheese, especially when Daemon adds a couple of cans of pink lemonade next to it.

These guys. These fucking guys who I have only known for two months, are showing me more kindness that I have ever known. I doubt Ben could even tell you the color of my eyes, let alone my favorite comfort food or drink, and the thought turns any sadness to solace. I shouldn’t be sad it’s over, I should be grateful it’s finished before I wasted anymore of my time with him.

“Thank you,” I say, not addressing any of them in particular, because right now they’re all here showing me support, and I couldn’t be more grateful.

“Downstairs is all locked up, but Daemon and I will keep an eye on things,” Archer finally cuts in, silently communicatingsome sort of look with Alexander, and all he does is nod in response.

“Oh, well I should probably head home,” I start, looking between them all, and every single one of them defaults their stare to Alexander.

“Absolutely not,” he snaps, rising to his full height and towering over me in that way he always does. “You’re not going home, not when that prick could turn up at any time, you’re staying here.”

At the reference to Ben his anger is once again palpable in the air, and I shift uncomfortably, especially having to have this conversation with an audience. “Alexander, I can’t stay here,” I reply, flicking my eyes between him and our voyeurs, not that they seem to care, and I’m starting to realize just how close-knit of a group they are.

“Aubree, you either stay here, or I’ll be following you home and staying at your place with you, so pick your poison,” he demands, and I can feel the attention of all of them awaiting my answer.

I don’t say yes, but I don’t say no either, instead we remain in a stand off until Archer clears his throat. “Well, I think that's our cue,” he laughs, breaking the tension, and when I turn to him, he is eyeing both Alexander and I knowingly, before focusing on his teammate. “Ice your hand before Cap comes in here and kills you,” he adds, rolling his eyes, as he starts to usher the rest of them out of the room.

Alexander barely waits for the door to be closed, before he moves to his dresser and pulls out another one of his jerseys. “Here, you can shower in my bathroom, I’ll use the one down the hall,” he starts, grabbing some clothes for himself, before he leaves without another word.

Well okay then, guess I am staying here.

I make quick work of washing up and getting changed, trying not to look in the mirror when I pull Alexander’s jersey over my head, scared I might like the view too much. Then I wolf down the food to try and soak up some of the alcohol I drank, before sitting awkwardly at his desk, waiting for him to come back.

When he eventually walks back in I immediately wish he hadn’t, because he is only wearing a pair of black, basketball type shorts and nothing else. I swallow thickly at the sight of his bare torso, with ab upon ab just completely on show, as he stalks toward me and grabs one of the drinks Daemon placed down. He doesn’t bother with the food, and honestly, even after the shower he still seems too stressed to eat, so I don’t say anything. Instead, I do what any normal girl would do in his half-naked presence. I stare at him until I feel like my eyes might start to bleed.

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