Page 30 of Riding the Pine

He stares at me for a long moment before tilting his head, narrowing his eyes to take in my appearance. I don’t reply, can’t, I’m trapped in just how much he looks like my brothers. He has Ares’s eyes, Apollo’s jaw, and Artemis’s floppy-long hair.

When I don’t reply, he huffs out an impatient sigh. “¿Te puedo ayudar?”

I rub my clammy palms on my thighs and suck in a quivering breath. It’s now or never.

CHAPTER 13

Scott

OCTOBER 2022

I’m running on the treadmill in the gym, somewhere between the third and fifth mile. We have a few machines at home in the hockey house, not much, not a full gym by any means, but for those of us who like to do a lighter workout sometimes, there’s enough to keep us out of trouble.

Free weights and that kind of thing, but there’s no space for a treadmill. At least that’s what Justin keeps telling us. For those of us who like to run, we either have to run outside—my nipples pucker at the thought—come to the on-campus gym or hit the gym close to the rink.

We have options, we’re very lucky. And my money bags best friends have made sure the team has nothing but the best equipment at hand. They deny it was them, but whispers from the older guys on the team suggest that the gear they had before the twins came to UCR and the equipment we use now are very different. And the only thing that changed was the addition of three very rich kids to the team.

I find it hard to believe it’s a coincidence when I see how generous they are with their money.

My legs burn, sweat trickles down the slope of my nose and drips onto my bare chest. The gym’s empty so I’ve tossed my shirt over the handles of the treadmill to my left.

My phone’s playing some 80’s rock tunes making me want to burst into song, but I restrain myself—mostly because I can’t breathe, not because I’m too shy to perform in front of an empty gym.

I crank up the incline on the treadmill. Apparently, today I hate myself. Calves are starting to pulse, and even my butt cheeks are getting tired.

My phone vibrates in the cupholder in front of me. It’s Raffi. While we’re teammates, and housemates, I wouldn’t say we’re BFFs, so seeing his name on my screen has my feet slowing down while the belt keeps turning.

Narrowly missing falling on my face, I hit the emergency stop button and find my footing. It’s not graceful, and a snicker behind me tells me I’m no longer alone, and someone else witnessed my almost-facepalm.

“S’up?”

I press a hand to my chest, my heart’s racing and lungs burning from the whole running-like-a-T-rex-was-chasing-me thing. I feel accomplished, though admittedly exhausted. Legs wobbly, I grab my water bottle, and it’s empty. There’s a refill station in the corner, so as I wait for Raffi to tell me what’s wrong, I get my water on.

“Raffi?”

He’s silent, I don’t know if he butt-dialed me or what, but there’s no noise coming out of his face hole.

“Yeah, I’m here. I just… I don’t know how to put this.”

Something in his tone sends a bolt of ice down my spine. “What’s wrong?”

Suddenly the water doesn’t matter, the aching muscles don’t matter, the beads of sweat idly trickling down my back don’t matter.

“It’s Athena.”

My blood runs cold in my veins, and my racing heart splutters behind my ribs.

“She’s here at the hockey house.”

I release the breath I’d absently held while waiting for news of her demise, and a near-hysterical giggle escapes me. Damn near all of the books we read in book club have the heroine releasing a breath they didn’t know they were holding. I’ve always wondered how someone simplyforgetsto breathe, until now.

As I tune back in, Raffi’s still talking, and I’ve missed what he’s said.

“Go back. What’s she doing there?”

He clears his throat, but it sounds more nervous than anything. “I found her here, I swear.”

“I believe you. What’s wrong with her?” I’m already slipping my shirt on and making my way out into the parking lot to grab my car and get to her, but I need him to keep talking, to reassure me she’s okay so I don’t break the fuck down.

---