Page 33 of Wrap Around
I nod, even though he's not looking. Fair enough. "I'll shower now, I guess."
Grabbing my toiletry bag, I slip into the bathroom with my heart hammering. I hate this. I hate the silence and the heaviness and the way my stomach knots every time I'm in close proximity to him, but pushing him isn't going to help anything. We're all too tired to deal with any kind of extra stress, and talking about my feelings isn't fun on a good day.
I start the water and strip out of my clothes. It's not until I step out of the shower onto my piled up discarded clothes that I realize I forgot to grab clean ones. No shirt, no boxers, no sweats or pajama bottoms. Just me and a bag of travel-sized soap, standing naked and cursing under my breath. The clothes I brought in with me landed in apuddle when I first took them off, and now I've trudged over them even more. So on top of being travel-gross, they're sopping wet. I definitely can't put those on even just to step out and grab some clothes.
I open the door a crack. "Gideon?"
He doesn't answer, and I think for a moment that he's fallen asleep. With a hand holding the tragically tiny towel around my waist, I sneak out of the bathroom to rustle through my bag. I manage to pull a pair of boxers on before I realize that he's awake and watching me. My cheeks heat.
"Sorry, I, uh, forgot to bring any clothes in with me."
He turns over on his side, facing away from me. I pull on a t-shirt, set my duffle on the floor, and pull back the blankets. I sit for a moment, staring over at his back.
"You played great today," I murmur, even though I know what his response will be.
He exhales sharply, letting out what might be a sardonic huff of laughter or a sigh. "Didn't matter, did it?"
"It matters to me. I'm glad that we're at least playing well together again."
He doesn't look at me, doesn't say anything.
"Gideon," I try again, softer this time. "Are you okay? I wish you'd just talk to me. Or someone. Please?"
He sits up suddenly, wincing as he swings his legs off the bed. His hands grip the edge like he feels the need to hold himself in place.
"What do you want me to say, Silas? That I'm fucking exhausted? Not just from traveling and playing shitty, or from fucking up my knee. But because being around you constantly is an exercise in self-control. Because I just want to… to…"
My breath catches when he finally meets my eyes. There's so much turmoil there, it reminds me of the day we told his parents that Lily was pregnant.
"I thought I could handle this, for Lily and the baby. But I don't know that I can. And I don't know what the hell that means, or what to do about it."
If I thought my heart was aching before, it had nothing on the way it hurts now. I feel like my chest is imploding.
"You could talk to me," I say. "Tell me what–"
"I can't tell you shit, Silas. I shouldn't be talking to you at all. I damn well shouldn't be sitting in a hotel room less than three feet from you."
"Why?"
"It's too fucking much!" he bellows, wincing when he stands from the bed. He paces, pushing his hands through his still damp hair. "I… I need to take a walk. Maybe get some more ice or something."
He's gone before I can respond, the click of the door latching echoing through the room.
I lie back down, heart aching. Something is going to give soon. I can feel it.
The next day, we hit the ice for morning skate ahead of our fourth game. Back-to-backs are always tough, but we're three games into a long stretch away, and it's starting to wear everyone down. Legs are heavy. Tempers are short.
Coach keeps it light this morning, instructing us to do justenough to stay warm without draining the last of what little battery we have left.
It's going to be a rough game. I can feel it already. Allentown has been on a tear this season, and we're running on fumes.
We're halfway through some light drills when one of the trainers calls Gideon over to the bench. He skates over, taking a slow turn, carefully planting his bad knee to propel himself over. It's subtle, but the trainer catches it. I breathe a silent breath of relief when the trainer has Gideon follow him to the back.
I'm just out of the showers when Gideon comes out of the trainer's room. He's in sweats now, hair wet, and limping worse than he was this morning. When he sees me, he stops dead in his tracks.
"They're benching me," he grits out. "Hope you're happy."
"What? No— Why would I be happy about that?"
