Page 100 of Perfectly Grumpy

I tilt my head, studying him. “You don’t have to do this, Tate. I know how you feel about small spaces. It’s not worth the anxiety just to win.”

He leans against the wall and tips his head back, like he’s trying to find a calmer place. “I’ll never get over it if I refuse to do hard things. Now, turn off the light, because we need to win this game.” He swallows hard, his jaw set.

I flick off the lights, and suddenly, we’re plunged into darkness. The air feels thicker, and I immediately feel Tate stiffen in the darkness.

“Does this make it worse with the lights out?” I ask.

“Depends on whether I let my mind win,” he says, his voice tight.

I reach for his shoulder, my fingers finding the knotted muscles. “I’m here—if you need me.”

That’s when I feel his hand on my arm, a gentle pull, guiding me toward him. He’s tugging me closer in the dark, as if to sayI need you closer.

When I’m finally right next to him, I notice his skin is cool, his breathing shallow. He hangs on to me tightly, like I’m the one saving him from drowning now.

I’ve spent my career helping hockey players look brave for the public—crafting their image into something that makes them appear impenetrable even when they’re scared. But there’s more courage in this moment, in Tate allowing me to see him vulnerable, than in any moment I’ve experienced before.

“Tate, look at me. Even if you can’t see me.” I feel him shift, and can barely make out the outline of his face in the dark. “I promise to help you through this. But you have to breathe with me.”

“I can’t see you, Sunny.”

“But you can feel me, right? Feel my breath?” I take his hand and place it against the side of my rib cage. “Match mine.”

I wrap my arms around him, tucking my head against his chest where I can hear his heartbeat—too fast, but steady. For a moment, we just stand there, pressed together in the dark. Not saying a word. Breathing in time.

When his breathing finally falls into rhythm with mine, I feel his muscles begin to relax, his arms settling more naturally around me. That’s when I become suddenly aware of our close proximity, the way my body responds to his, wants to be closer to him.

“How do you feel now?” I whisper, not letting him go.

“Not as panicky,” he says, his breath grazing the shell of my ear. “Maybe even almost fine.” He pauses, then says, “This feels like slow dancing without the music.”

A soft laugh escapes my lips. “Maybe we should practice while we’re here.”

“So I get better for next time?” he asks.

“Tate, if I get the job in Kansas City, I might not be here next time.” The words tumble out before I can catch them, hanging in the darkness between us.

“So, this might be the last time?” he asks and there’s something in his voice that’s suddenly more serious. Like he’s realizing what this week means for both of us. His hand finds mine in the dark, and then ever so carefully, he places it on his shoulder before our fingers entwine and we begin to sway in the tight space.

“We can’t really move our feet,” he adds, “but that means I also can’t step on your toes either.”

“And there’s no music,” I say.

He rests his cheek against my head and the tenderness of the gesture makes something in my chest ache. “Pick whatever song you want, Sunny.”

“Ah, so you’re using me to distract you from this small space,” I note with a smile he can probably hear in my voice.

“Is that wrong? Because you’re a good distraction.” His fingers trace small circles on my back.

“It’s not wrong to admit you need someone.” I press my lips together as a memory rolls in, something I haven’t thought about in years. “My mom used to hold me like this during thunderstorms when I was little.”

“I’ll have to remember that. I’m very good at snuggling during storms,” he says.

“Well, I haven’t been afraid of thunderstorms since I was ten,” I say. “Not that I don’t still wake up. I’ve never been able to sleep all the way through one.” I suddenly imagine Tate holding me during a storm, his strong arms cradling me against him. It’s incredible, the way a touch from the right person can heal you. Tate makes me feel safe in a way I’ve never felt before.

“You and your mom had a special relationship, didn’t you?” he asks, as we gently sway in the dark.

I nod, swallowing down the familiar feeling of sadness that bubbles to the surface whenever I think of Mom. “We did. I can’t believe how much it still hurts some days.”

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