Page 51 of The Save

"Chase, there were, what, fifty or sixty thousand kids playing hockey when you were? All trying to make it? The WHL takes a hundred and fifty, maybe, and then from there?—"

"I know math makes you feel better, Maddie, but my brain doesn't work like that." He folded an arm behind his head and lay back. "I had a shot. I blew it."

"Or you were good enough to get a damn shot."

He shrugged. I twirled his key card in my hand then dropped it on his stomach. "So why did you give me this?"

He met my eyes but didn't speak for a moment. When he did, his voice was low. "Because I'm lonely. And I think you are, too."

I swallowed, dropping my gaze. "So . . . what? We just talk?"

Chase's mouth twitched. "Or study."

My cheeks heated. "I don't even know what that would look like."

He picked up the key and reached across the bed, setting it on the nightstand. "That's okay. Because I do."

_____

I lay on the bed as Chase turned out the lights. "Is this really necessary?"

"Yep. You're an overthinker. You need less stimuli."

I snorted. "Very scientific." It was kind of adorable that he was taking this seriously. "But the problem isn't in what I can see. It's in my head."

The lights flicked off, and I held my breath, trying to figure out where he was. The mattress moved, and he shifted to sit next to me. "Are you the tutor here or am I?"

I blew out a shaky breath. "I thought you said you were only good at hockey."

"I lied. I'm also excellent at jumping into stupid shit I shouldn't because I don't overthink it."

"Like right now?"

"Right. That enough proof for you?"

It was. Surprisingly. I didn't think I'd jumped into anything. Not even a pool. I always dangled my legs over the edge and then, maybe, fifteen minutes later, I'd lower myself in. Chase on the other hand had jumped off the gym roof into the back of a dump truck filled with old foam from the gymnastics centre when it changed locations.

"So what are you?—"

"Nope. No questions." Chase's hand caught my wrist, and I sucked in a breath. "If you catch yourself trying to figure something out, just focus on what you feel."

"But—"

"Trust me, Maddie."

My breathing came in quick bursts as he flipped my hand and drew his fingers over the inside of my arm. "We're going to start small. All you have to do is focus on this touch. If any other thought comes in your head, say, 'no thank you' and refocus."

"I'll try."

His fingers trailed over the sensitive skin on the inside of my elbow, then up to the sleeve of my shirt before turning around and retracing their path. He found my wrist, my palm, then played with the ring around my finger. My brows pinched. The last person I wanted to be thinking of right now was my dad.

His other hand held mine. Was he watching me? Could he see better than I could somehow? Did he enjoy touching me, or—?No, thank you.I focused back on his fingers, now looping in slow, lazy circles.

"Do you like this?" he asked.

"Yes." It was true. I did like it. But I was also aching for him to touch more of me.

"Where else do you want me to touch?" he asked, as if he were reading my mind. "Don't think. Just say it."

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