Page 94 of Puck to the Heart
“You don’t have to be.”
Ash shifted in the metal folding chair, making it squeak in protest. “You can go back up.”
“I don’t think I will.”
“Olivia—”
“Do you remember the concert?”
“I’m not the one with brain damage. Yet.” His voice sounded so broken.
“Ash.” The reprimand in my voice was mild, but still there.
“I remember.”
“Do you remember what happened?”
“A lot of things happened at that concert.” He really was low if he wasn’t going to tease. Little jerking motions jarred his limbs, giving the look of a marionette as he twisted his hands together.
“It was the best, worst night of my life. Butspecifically, you helped me through a panic attack when you hardly knew me. Remember that?”
“I’m not having a panic attack.” Desolation clouded over him, slowing his flat words and pulling his shoulders down.
“Not exactly.”
“What’s the point of this? I have to get back to the game.”
Damn. He’d never shut me out so completely. Maybe I needed to take a different approach.
“Ash. Why are you hiding back here?”
“I’m not hiding.” Rising so quickly the chair toppled backward, he towered over me. The skates added inches to his already considerable height, and the pads made him even wider.
The man was enormous.
His size might be intimidating, I realized, if he were barreling down the ice toward you at thirty miles an hour. Ash had the potential to be terrifying, being so large. Some men wielded their size like a weapon. But Ash wasn’t scary because he wasmyAsh. So many things he’d done for me, been there for me, kept me from falling apart. It was my turn. Wrapping my arms around him as best I could, given the layers of foam and plastic, I held him, ignoring the reek of his sweaty gear.
“I fucked some guy up, and I can’t get a fucking handle on myself.” Short, panting breaths interrupted his words. A crack split his sentence in two.
“He’s going to be okay, Ash. It’s a minor concussion. A job hazard.” It wasn’t the best outcome, but not the worst either.
“Yeah. Yeah, I know. I just… still don’t know what I’m doing.”
“I do.”
“What?”
“Know. What you’re doing.”
“Care to enlighten me?” A faint trace of his usual self flickered back to life, buried beneath the doubt.
“You’re underestimating yourself. Just like you saideveryoneelse does. You’ve acted the part so long, you believe it now.”
Only his breathing, sawing through his lungs like he just ended a shift on the ice echoed through the room.
“Of course, I believe it. I’m failing. Coach never should’ve let me try. Everyone who thought I wasn’t good enough was right.”
“Why, exactly, do you think you’re failing?”
