Page 54 of Flagrant Foul
“I have heard that once or twice,” I admit.
28
Teddy “T-Dog” O’Reilly
Wegethome,carrySev’s boxes in, and spend the next few hours unpacking and trying to make sense of how Nadia organized things. It appears she’s gone to some length to ensure that each box contains items that are completely unrelated to each other.
I kind of admire the audacity.
Not that I’d ever admit it aloud.
When we’ve worked through the worst of it, I get my toolbox and spirit level out and mark out where Sev’s framed jerseys should hang. It’s a bit of an effort making sure they’re all lined up and equidistant from each other, but it’s worth it to see the smile on Sev’s face when it’s done.
Plus, I’m a million percent sure I look hot as fuck handling a drill, so that doesn’t hurt.
“Wow,” he says quietly, walking down the hall, tapping my helmets as he goes. “It looks really cool.”
“It does,” I agree.
“Are you sure it’s okay? It’ll leave marks on the wall when I move out.”
“I’m sure you’re not moving out,” I remind him patiently. “So yeah, I’m sure it’s okay. Now, where’s that blanket? Let’s find a place for it.”
He pulls the blanket out of a box that contains a half-empty bottle of shampoo, four pairs of mismatched socks, a phone charger, shin pads, and a car magazine.
I admit I’m expecting the worst, so I’m pleasantly surprised when I see the blanket. It’s crocheted in autumnal tones. The pattern on each square is unique, but the colors balance each other. It’s old, soft from years of heavy use, but in good condition.
Even if it didn’t belong to Sev, I’d like it.
I bundle the blanket currently folded over the back of my couch into the wash, and replace it with Sev’s blanket. It’s unlike anything else he owns, but somehow, it feels like him. I know without asking that the blanket means something to him. Something he’s slept under. Something that’s kept him warm. Something he’s moved from place to place over the years, even though he didn’t have anywhere to put it.
I step back from the couch and admire it. “Looks good.”
“Thanks, Tee.” Something unfamiliar, almost nostalgic, casts dark shadows in his eyes. “It’s, uh, it’s something my mom made for me before she…stopped doing things like that. I know it’s not pretty or whatever, so if you don’t like it, I can keep it in my room.”
I look at him and see a different version of him than what most people see. On the ice, he’s a force. An enforcer. A big, wild man who takes up a lot of space and seems to ooze confidence.
It’s not like that version of him doesn’t exist. It does. It’s just that it’s not the only version of him. There are other versions too. Versions that matter. Parts of him that got hurt somewhere along the line and haven’t healed because he’s never stayed still long enough to let it happen.
“What happened to you that made you think you and your things don’t deserve a place to call home, Sev?” I ask.
He makes a gruff sound and avoids eye contact. “Dunno.” I stay silent until he realizes it’s still his turn to talk. “Nothing. I don’t think that… It’s just how it is. You know me, Tee, it’s just the way I am. It’s not that deep.”
Like hell it isn’t.
“I’ll let you off this time because you’ve had a long day and we have a big game tomorrow, but if we’re going to make this work, I’ll need to know these kinds of things about you. So you’re going to have to get used to talking about them, okay?”
He drops his head, chin almost touching his chest, and exhales deeply. When he looks up, he looks more or less like a meme of a man suffering from extreme exhaustion.
I decide to take a shower and give him a little time to recover from the excitement of the day.
He’s on the couch, and there are boxes of takeout on the coffee table when I come out. I’m wearing soft jersey pajama pants and a matching T-shirt. I deliberated over my attire for ages. I considered wearing his jersey again, but I decided to save that for a day when he has more energy. I think I’ve made the right choice. As much as I remain wholly committed to his seduction, I don’t want to neglect the emotional side of our relationship.
He clocks me, gaze hitting my chest and traveling slowly down my body and quickly back up again.
“Disappointed to see so much clothing?” I ask.
It takes him a moment to work out what the correct response is. “No,” he says, voice lilting up like it’s a question.
