Page 92 of Kitty Season
“Do you have anything to apologize for?”
Do I? Brady’s blow-up plays in my mind. “No. I don’t think I do. Maybe? He was kind of mean, but maybe I was babying him. I’m not sure.”
“And that’s why I want you to let Brady rest, and for you to take care of yourself. When he wakes, it’s possible he’ll be up to talking and you could get your answers, but you may not, too. This is going to take time Quinn. The boy had his dream snatched away from him. He needs time and patience.”
“I can give him that.”
“Of course you can. You’re the most sweetest, remember?”
As Mom suggested,I rest. Tucked on the sofa beneath a blanket, I devour Brady’s cookies, leave a reminder on my phone to replace them, then turn on ESPN.
The boys are on the ice warming up, the buzz of the crowd, the nervous energy of the players is tangible even through the screen. I can’t hear what they’re saying as I have the volume low so I don’t wake Brady, but the telecast has cut to a shot of Troye, his post-season stats flashing in a banner at the bottom of the screen. He’s not fully dressed yet, not above the waist, anyway. His shoulder pads just resting atop of his thin base layers, his Bears cap on backwards. He looks … delicious.
The camera person may think so too, as they pan up and down several times. “That’s my man,” I say to the empty room. Adding,one of my menin my mind.
“What about me?” Brady says, his voice still so soft from sleep. “I’m your number one goalie. The dreamy hockey boy you can’t wait to get back to training ‘cause my stinky pads turn you on.”
Tears I don’t want him to see soak my cheek in one agonizing beat, so I keep my eyes fixed on the blurred images dancing across the TV. “Brady, that’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it? Quinn, you love hockey boys so much, you’ve collected two of them.”
Every word of advice Mom gave me earlier is forgotten as I toss my blanket and jump to my feet. “Fuck you, Basse.”
“Don’t think you have to worry about that anymore.”
“That’s a very cruel thing to say, Brady Basse. I’m very disappointed in you. But I also know you’re hurting right now, and sometimes when people are hurting they lash out at those they care about most.” I think of my dad, and the fights we’ve had over the years.It’s because he cares so much,Mom always said. Lord, I hope she’s right.
“I’m not being cruel. I’m being honest.”
“No, you are and you’re hurting me. When we started this, I never would have believedyouwould be the one that broke my heart.”
“I’m not breaking your heart, I’m saving it. This.” He throws out his arms, pointing to the collection of mine, his, and Troye’s things that are scattered around the room. “All this ending is inevitable. You’re into hockey players and that’s not me anymore.”
“You think I’m only interested in you because you play hockey?”
He shrugs, his face so indifferent, eyes so cold that I can hardly recognize him.“You proudly declared yourself a Bunny. What else am I supposed to think?”
“Brady. That’s enough.” We both spin towards the door and find Noah standing at the open door. The spare key Brady had given him when they first became friends still wedged in the lock.
“Yeah. You’re right. It is. Now get out of my room. Both of you.”
“Sorry Brades, I can’t do that.” Noah steps inside so calmly it’s almost creepy, closing the door and making his way to me where he tucks me in under his arm. “You okay, Quinny?”
“Yes.” I eke out. “I think so.”
“Good.” He smiles down at me, his slow and steady breathing the antithesis of my fraughtness. “Lotte is in the car outside with some of your things. I want you to go with her, okay?”
“But Brady?—”
“I’m going to stay with Brady. Go. I promise I’ll call you if anything happens.”
“Okay.” As I turn, I glance to Brady and for a perfect moment I see my beautiful blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy, but then he blinks, and blinks again, his eyes narrowing as he winces against the light.
Then he frowns.
And he’s gone.
Quinn is here? Why is Quinn here?
