Page 70 of Rookie Season
He nods. “Okay, I won’t.”
And then Noah Downsby slips into bed behind me, pulling my back to his chest and wrapping his arms around me. He holds me like that, tight and covered and protected, as I drift off into a dreamless sleep, safe in his arms.
CHAPTER 29
NOAH
When I wakeup in the morning, I’m in Ally’s bed, with my arm slung around her waist. She fell asleep in my jersey last night, and the sight of her lying next to me, blonde hair strewn over her pillowcase and lips slightly parted, makes my heart clench. She’s sound asleep, as if opening up about her assault made her sleep like the dead. Like sharing that with someone was such a weight lifted from her shoulders that she was able to sleep deeply.
I, on the other hand, did not sleep well. I wanted nothing more than to fall into a contented sleep with my body protecting hers, but I couldn’t shake the anger pouring through my veins at the bastard who tried to force himself on her. And then blamed her for the whole thing.
What kind of man does that? No, not a man. A boy. I want to strangle him with my bare hands.
Easing my arm away from Ally, I slowly slip out of bed. I’m careful not to wake her, and Harry Styles quickly takes up my warm spot, curling behind Ally’s back. I nod my thanks to the furball and tiptoe out of her bedroom, crossing the hallway to mine and throwing on some workout clothesand tennis shoes, then grabbing my phone and headphones. The only thing that can keep me from hunting this asshole down and breaking his arms off is an intense workout.
I skip breakfast and coffee, heading straight to the gym in our building. It's early, so the gym is empty, and I’m grateful for that. I settle my headphones over my ears and turn on the heaviest metal music I can find. Maybe the screams of Metallica will help me work this hatred out of my system.
In college, I did some boxing on the side for cross training, and now, I head straight for the punching bag. I desperately wish I knew what Ally’s attacker looked like so I can picture his face as my fists meet the punching bag over and over again. I grunt and seethe into my workout, kicking and driving my fists into the cold leather bag with all the strength I can muster. Sweat pours down my face and my back as the music thrums in my ears. Every beat, every hit helps bring my anger down to a controllable level.
I keep going, knowing I don’t want Ally seeing me like this—out of control. I don’t even likefeelingout of control. It’s all too much. But this protective urge is all consuming. It’s bringing up all of my old fears that I worked out with my therapist after losing my parents. It’s reminding me why I’ve stayed focused on hockey and haven’t allowed myself toreallyget close to anyone. My friendships have mostly been surface level; my relationships with women have been superficial. And now I remember why.
I have no concept of time or how long I’ve been working out my anger, when someone taps me on the shoulder. Startled and reacting on impulse, I whip around and swing at the air, only to find Fisher in front of me, holding his hands up and mouthing,whoa there.
Sliding my headphones off, I gasp for breath. My chest is rising and falling rapidly, and I bring one arm up to wipe thesweat off my brow. “You can’t just sneak up on me like that,” I finally say through my labored breathing.
“Sorry, Downsby,” he says. “But I was worried you’d murder the punching bag…and honestly, I’m kind of fond of it.”
I don’t laugh, and I can feel Fisher’s eyes on me, sharper than usual. “What’s wrong?”
Hanging my head, I rest my hands on my hips. My breathing and heart rate are starting to slow down. I want to answer him, but I can’t bring myself to say the words out loud. This must be how Ally felt the past several months, holding everything in and unable to bring the words to life.
When I don’t answer, Fisher’s expression registers some kind of resigned understanding, and he sighs. “She told you, didn’t she?”
My head slowly pulls upward until I meet his gaze. I tilt my chin in a barely perceptible nod.
Fisher is quiet just long enough for my anger to swell again. I drag a hand through my sweat-soaked hair and grit my teeth. “I was an asshole to you for inviting her to room with us. I was blatantly rude to her because I didn’t want her here…and you were just trying to help her. I’m sorry.”
Fisher crosses his arms. “It’s okay; you didn’t know.”
“It's not okay,” I say, my voice raised. “I want to murder him.” I clench my fists at my sides.
“I know.”
I blow out a breath, shuffling my feet as my mind spirals. “If something happens to her?—”
“Noah. It’s going to be okay.” Fisher cuts me off. “She’sgoing to be okay. Ally has us now.”
Taking a deep breath, I let his words soak in. I roll my lips together and then nod. “You’re right. She has us now.”
But repeating these words doesn’t ease my worry at all. Imove to walk toward the gym exit, squeezing Fisher's shoulder as I pass him. He shoots me a somber smile. “You want to stay and work out with me?”
I turn to look at him, filled with a whole new level of gratitude and respect for my roommate. He might act the fool, presenting himself as a total playboy, but he saved Ally from the unthinkable—and for that, I will be eternally grateful to him.
“Nah, I think I’ve murdered the punching bag enough for one day.” I grimace. “I’m gonna take a walk, clear my head.”
He lifts his hand in a wave as I leave the gym and head outside. The cool, salt-tinged bay air hits my face, and I inhale, closing my eyes and allowing it to dry my sweat. I start walking, knowing I can’t see Ally yet. She’ll know I’m angry, and I don’t want her to regret opening up to me last night. It means so damn much to me that she trusted me like that.
All the feelings coiling in my gut are similar to what I felt after losing my parents. The debilitating fear. The horror of barely allowing myself to breathe when Andie was driving home from work each day, and the relief I felt every time she walked through the door unharmed. That fear eased over the years, but I still find myself checking in frequently on her and the girls. And then Mitch, too, as he became part of our family.
