Page 46 of Left-Hand Larceny
I want to prod, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea. Instead, I peel off my sweat-soaked hoodie and toss it onto a chair, then shove down my sweatpants, leaving me in the black swim trunks I always wear for ice baths. The cold air bites at my skin, but I barely feel it. Because when I glance over, Sadie doesn’t look away.
She’s not just looking, she’s watching. Studying. Something slides across her features when our gazes lock. Like she’s caught herself doing something she shouldn’t and doesn’t know how to stop. Her gaze snags on my chest, then darts away, her lips parting to suck in a breath.
I climb into the tub, wincing as the ice water closes around me, and lean back against the edge. I can’t help wondering what she sees when she looks at me. I know I’m in good shape. I’m a professional athlete, being a goalie demands it, but a summer out of commission has affected my muscle tone and mass. I’m nowhere near where I typically like to be for the season.
I lose a lot of weight over the course of eighty games. I try to bulk before pre-season or I’ll never make it through safely. Not when I burn thousands upon thousands of calories between the pipes. Most players lose five to ten pounds a game just in water weight alone. My pads increase that number. Add in pale,freckled skin, orange-red hair, and my complete lack of time in the sun, and I’ve never thought of myself as someone women want to stare at. Not if there are other options.
Sex is good, fun, and it’s easy to pull a partner for a night of fun. I know that it has more to do with my job, my salary, the small amount of notoriety my name brings to the table that helps me pull in women. I’m not like Vic or Spags, all easy charm and smiles. Robbie is more like me, but he avoids social interactions with a glare and a glower.
I’m just…Ragnar.
Quiet. Big. A little awkward outside the rink. Okay, a lot awkward, and yet I don’t think I’m misunderstanding the look on her face. The heat in her eyes. It’s thrilling. Enough that I’m extremely grateful for the frigid water temperature to hide just how much I don’t mind her perusal.
“You have a tattoo,” Sadie says suddenly, her voice a little breathless.
I glance down. The black ink on the left side of my chest curves along my pectoral muscle—a series of strange, looping symbols. I fist the sides of the tub and wet my lips. Has she seen me shirtless before? She must have. Right? Except normally I wear the team’s athletic shirt when I soak. It helps protect some of my skin from the extreme chill. Today I sweat right through it and couldn’t bear to let it in the tub with me.
Even if she’s seen me shirtless before, this is the first time she’s noticed. I shift my body in the tub, looping my arms over the edge closest to her, anything to block her line of sight to my groin.
“Y-yeah,” I say, tracing the curves of each symbol with my fingertip. “It’s m-my sister’s n-n-name.”
“Wait, really?” She leans forward slightly, curiosity lighting her face.
For a moment, she reaches for me, hand outstretched, like she wants to touch. Then I watch her fingers curl into fists as she drops her hands to her sides. I wish she’d trace each letter too. K. A. T. R. I with the little accent. N. She wouldn’t recognize them. That’s the whole point of the stylized letters. But she’d be touching me. My bare skin.
The summer my sister turned eight, she read some mystery series where the kids wrote notes to each other in code. She insisted we use it for our pen pal letters so that Amma couldn’t snoop into our conversations. Not that Amma has ever stooped to snooping, but to Kat, it was important. Together, we designed a system of lines and dots. One for each letter in the alphabet. She grew out of it a year or two later. The snail mail stopped too. Now I get snarky little text messages. In English, so she can practice.
“That’s… wonderful.” Sadie’s mouth tips into a soft smile.
“S-so she’d know I w-was a-always thinking about h-her.”
Sadie’s smile wobbles, lips trembling, and I whip my eyes to hers, looking for a sheen of tears.If a single one were to fall… I can’t guarantee what I’d do.
“I wish…” she starts, then bites her lip. Shakes her head.
I tip my head toward her, water dripping from my hair down the sides of the tub.
“W-wish what?”
Her eyes dart up to meet mine. Big. Vulnerable. With a hint of a suspicious sheen under the harsh fluorescent lights.
“I wish my family was like that,” she says quietly. “I mean… they love me. I know they do. But sometimes it’s like…” She trails off, hugging her arms around herself. “Like I’m a guest they’re trying to mold into the right kind of daughter.”
My chest tightens painfully.
“Sadie…”
“Sorry. I’m tired. Didn’t sleep much. Emotional, you know?” She shakes her head again, forcing a too-bright smile I don’t believe.
I shift even closer without thinking. Close enough to smell her shampoo, something light and sweet, like honey and clean soap. As close as the tub will let me.
“Is that w-why you c-couldn’t sleep? Your f-f-family?”
She flinches, just a little. Like she wasn’t expecting me to notice. Then she shrugs, trying for nonchalant and missing by a kilometer.
“Sort of. They don’t really get how I… how my brain… works, I guess. They mean well, but…” Her hands flutter helplessly. “It’s complicated.”
I want to pull her into my arms and tell her she doesn’t have to explain. That she doesn’t have to fix it. That it’s okay to be hurt even by people who love you. It’s even okay to forgive them, if that’s what you choose. Or not.
