Page 23 of Wrap Around
“Anytime,” he replies, and turns in the opposite direction.
As I reach the stairs and take the first couple steps, something makes me glance back. Stupidity. Curiosity. It’s none of my business, but why isn’t he heading into the primary bedroom with Lily? Are they fighting?
I turn just in time to see him slip into the bedroom across the hall from Adaline’s instead. The one that I thought was a guest room, because it has a queen-sized bed and full bedroom set.
That’s strange. But, again, it’s none of my business.
I turn back around and head down the stairs, feeling off kilter and confused, although I don’t know why.
It just feels like maybe I’m missing something.
CHAPTER 9
SILAS
Something has changed, but I’m afraid to get my hopes up. For the past two weeks, we've been making it work.
Maybe spending time as a family did him some good. Even though the expectations and rules we grew up with were sometimes heavy, Gideon always seemed to thrive surrounded by the church and all his extended family that were part of it. I think everyone always assumed he’d be a church leader like his father. I know I did. Whenever he leads the team in prayer before we go out onto the ice, I remember what it was like to watch him speak. As quiet and broody as he is now, he wasn’t always like this. Gideon Shepherd was someone people once flocked to. I still see that enigmatic young man when he’s talking to someone and doesn’t catch me watching him.
I wouldn’t say we’re friends by any means, but we’ve been working well together. Our game has been improving enough that the local sports casters have commented on the improvement and moved on. Not having our names in their mouths as the team's disappointments is nice. The locker room has become lighter and louder, everyone reveling in the shift in energy that has affected the entire team.
Today's schedule is light. There’s no formal practice, just film review and optional workouts. Most of the team spends time in the gym to stay loose before tomorrow night's game against the Islanders. By the time the weight room clears out, it's just me and Gideon. We're side-by-side on the treadmills, and neither of us moves to another machine when the others open up.
It starts off slow and quiet. Just two teammates running at an easy, leisurely pace. We've both got our headphones in, and we keep our eyes in front of us, studiously watching the little screens on the front of the treadmills, tracking our progress. When I don't think he's looking, my eyes shift over to Gideon's machine, curious. As soon as I notice him looking my way, I snap my eyes back forward.
Then Gideon nudges his speed up. Raising an eyebrow, I do the same.
It escalates from there.
A silent challenge becomes an all-out race.
Five minutes later, we're both in a dead sprint, huffing like we're trying to prove ourselves at an Olympic qualifying event. We're neck and neck, the sound of our footfalls pounding in unison. Sweat drips down my back, my lungs and legs burn, but I'm grinning. This feels good. Familiar. Almost like the past few years haven't stolen everything from us.
I push myself hard, giving it everything I've got. I can feel myself begin to wane, but a split second before I have to admit defeat, Gideon slaps the stop button. Nearly groaning with relief, I do the same, and we slow to a jog, then a walk, both sucking in gasps of air.
"Competitive bastard," he huffs, a small smile playing over his lips as he grabs a towel and mops the sweat from his face.
"Like you aren't?" I say with a laugh.
He shrugs. "You started it."
"Whatever, man. We both know you started that shit."
Hands on his hips and still catching his breath, he laughs. "Neither of us are going to be able to walk tomorrow, much less skate.”
"Speak for yourself. It’s not my fault I have more stamina than you do." I don't mention that my trick for always going faster, harder, and longer than everyone else is that I leave nothing in the tank for later. I use everything I've got in the moment and hope like hell I can conjure up what I need in the final moments.
"At my size, I don't need as much stamina."
A snort escapes me. "That's what he said."
The words leave my lips before I can think better of it. It's one of those knee-jerk responses that comes naturally, even in the most inappropriate of circumstances. The joke doesn't land. It detonates.
Gideon's shoulders stiffen. I watch as that now familiar wall slams back in place. He tosses his towel into the bin and turns on his heel towards the locker room.
"Shit," I mutter to myself, and follow him.
The locker room is mostly empty. It echoes with the sound of running water from the showers. I catch up just as he's grabbing his shower caddy from his locker.
