Page 94 of Revolve
Kian walks into my room. “I made you soup. Summer said it was disgusting, but I threw a bunch of hot sauce in it, so you won’t even taste anything else.” He’s carrying a tray with a vase and a a sunflower, like he’s my mother.
“It’s bright green,” I say, staring at Kian’s bowl of soup.
“The broccoli and spinach really dominated the color. And taste. And smell.”
“Thanks. Now do me a favor and toss it out the window.”
Kian scoffs. “I busted my ass in that kitchen for you, and this is the thanks I get?”
“If you love it so much, drink it yourself.”
He makes a face, then puts the tray on my bedside table. “Yeah, no, it tastes like spicy sewer water.” Kian sits on the edge of my bed. “How’s Sierra?”
I’m sure he knows about yesterday. It’s not like we were being quiet. But he isn’t being invasive, as usual. He watches me with sympathy.
My head is pounding, and my bedsheets feel like the warmth of her. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“’Cause she’s not here.”
I shrug. “I don’t usually have girls stay over. You know that.” Even putting her in that category feels wrong.
“It’s okay, buddy, you still have me,” he says, fluffing my pillow.
I must have a bad cold because I say, “Yeah, at least I have you.”
Kian beams. “Want to have a movie marathon? I’ve got the director’s cut,” he suggests. Kian’s ritual when he’s sick, aside from complaining about it, is watchingTwilight: Extended EditionorShrek 2in the living room, where everyone can see him act like he’s dying.
“I should sleep,” I say, and he nods before clicking my door shut behind him.
Hours later, my eyes open from a soft touch on my forehead. That’s when I see her, like a dream. Barefaced, hair in a braid, wearing one of her scarves.
My heart stops. “Hey.”
Sierra runs a palm over my cheek, almost guilty. “Did I get you sick?”
“Took one for the team,” I say, and she just stares, probably thinking our extra training or our shower the other night has something to do with it. It might’ve, but I’d never say that to her. “You didn’t do anything, Sierra.”
“Lidia said practice was canceled. I thought after last night you regret—”
“Sierra,” I cut her off, knowing if she finished, I wouldn’t be ableto handle it. “There is nothing about last night that I regret. You would have known that if you stayed.”
I don’t mean for it to sound accusatory, but it does, and it makes her green eyes go wide.
“I should have told you I was leaving. But we’re not—”
“It’s fine. I’m used to it,” I say, brushing it off. “But I am sorry that I fucked up our training schedule.”
Sierra’s hand drops from my face. “You think that’s what I care about? I’ve seen how hard you push yourself. It’s ridiculous what you’re putting yourself through. You need the rest.”
“I want to do it.” I sound defensive. “Coach got me on first line for the Yale game.”
She smiles faintly. “You deserve it.”
“You should come. It’s a home game,” I say. “Practically your duty as my partner.”
Sierra raises a brow. “Yeah? Some unwritten rule for figure skater–hockey player duos?”
“Exactly,” I say. “I think you have to wear my jersey or something too.”
