Page 84 of Hidden Goal

“I didn’t expect anyone to be up this early,” I say, sitting down beside him.

“I’m always up early.” He takes a sip from his cup before looking at me. “You don’t want coffee?”

“I don’t do well with caffeine,” I admit.

He doesn’t say anything annoying, like he’s made up of ten percent water and ninety percent coffee or something else I’ve heard too many times in my life. Instead, he crosses hisarms, puts his feet up on the coffee table, and sinks back a little further into the couch.

The room is silent besides the rumbling of the SportsCenter highlights but it’s not awkward or uncomfortable. There’s something about Silas’s presence that I actually find comforting, which is odd, because prior to this semester, I couldn’t tell you this kid's name. I didn’t know a single thing about any of the players on my dad’s team. I knew Noah was the captain, and the list ended there. I wrote every single one of them off as guys who could never be trusted. I would have rather performed my own appendectomy than get to know any of them. The last few weeks, however, whether through small interactions of my own or from stories Noah has shared with me, I’ve learned that they’re not so bad.

“Is that going to be you, too, one day?” I point to the replay of the Toronto game last night.

“Going pro? Nah.” He shakes his head. “I started playing for fun in high-school, didn’t think I’d actually be good at it.”

“So, what do the cards hold for you?”

“Real Estate.”

I must not control my shock very well because he laughs. “My family owns The Miller Group, it’s one of the largest real estate development companies out on The Cape.”

“Bayview Beach?”

“Mhmm.” He nods his head and runs his knuckles over his close-cropped beard.

“Is that where you're from?”

“Born and raised.”

The only thing ‘beach house’ about Silas is the fact that he hardly ever wears a shirt. Other than that, it's hard to picture him in a backyard a stone's throw away from the shoreline. Although, from the way he talks, his tattoo-filled body, and his brute force on the ice, I can’t really get a read on him at all. He's an enigma, and I kind of like that.

For a moment, I let myself wonder if Noah had come froma family of real estate developers, would he still feel the pressure to be so fucking perfect all the time? While his dad might be the driving force behind his NHL goals, Noah is the one who gives all of himself to everything he does, so I’m not sure if anything would change much.

It feels like a fist squeezing around my heart when I think about the pressure that he’s been carrying around in silence for so long. Noah is surrounded by people who love him and who want the best for him, yet he’s been carrying these burdens alone. I have no idea how long he’s been suffering, and honestly, I don’t even think he knows how long it’s been. It feels like he only admitted it to himself when he released some of that stress with me. I might not have all the answers for him, but he at least knows I’m here. As long as he continues to talk to me, I will always continue be here for him to lean on, and hopefully make some of that weight he’s carrying feel more manageable.

Noah bounds down the stairs, his hair still wet from his shower as he enters the kitchen and heads straight for the coffee pot.

“You need a top off, Milly?” he calls out.

“I’m good.” Silas stands from the couch, stretching his arms overhead. “I’ve gotta get going. I have some stuff to take care of before the game tonight,” he says. “Later, Starshine.”

“Later.”

They bump fists, and Silas grabs a sweatshirt before heading toward the stairs.

“See you at the game later, Sav.”

“Good luck tonight.” I call after him.

“Oh, King—Sage texted early this morning, said her friend was having a baby and she won’t be there tonight, so you’re in charge of leading the warm-ups.” He knocks his knuckles on the wall before heading up the stairs.

I look to Noah, who only nods. He grabs his cup androunds the large kitchen island, plopping down on the empty stool.

I get up, and as if he had been waiting for me, he catches my wrist in his hand and pulls me to stand between his legs. I lock my hands together at the nape of his neck, and without another word, he drops a kiss to the tip of my nose. My eyes fall shut when he moves to my forehead, and then another kiss lands on my cheek. Like it’s second nature, I run my fingers through his hair and get lost in his touch. I know I have somewhere else to be, but right now, this is the only place I care about.

“We should get going,” I whisper, half-heartedly. “I still have to shower and change before meeting my dad and Leo.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” he asks between kisses.

I giggle and gently push against his shoulders. If he keeps kissing my neck like this, we’re never going to get out of here.

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