Page 23 of Stay
Why am I even bringing this up? I wish it were possible to backtrack or snatch the words from the air. I don’t want to discuss Cole.
“Does he make you uncomfortable?” Concern threads its way through her voice that this guy might be harassing me. He isn’t, of course.
While Cole makes me feel uncomfortable, it’s not for the reasons she thinks. “No, he’s not bothering me like that. And I haven’t felt like I was going to have another anxiety attack when we’ve been together either.”
She tilts her head. “How do you feel about him then?”
I shrug, almost afraid to admit that he’s the first guy in a long time to make me feel anything remotely sexual. After last year, I just kind of shut down. For reasons I don’t understand, Cole is different. I haven’t been able to run him off. Even though that felt threatening at first, it no longer does.
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “Scared. Nervous.”
But sort of excited too.
As that realization flits through my head, I decide to keep it to myself for the time being.
Cole forces me to feel things I’m not quite ready to explore. I can’t deny there’s something about him that attracts me. And it’s not just his looks either. The more time I spend with him, the more I like him. For someone like me who is fairly anti-relationship, it’s kind of a problem. I don’t want to like him anymore than I already do.
I don’t want to like him at all.
Dr. Thompson pauses before pulling off her thin, black framed glasses. “Do you think it’s a good idea to get involved with someone right now?”
I sigh, unsurprised that she’s hit the nail on the head so quickly.Even though this is only our third week working together, she’s really good at what she does. Astute. Intuitive.
“Probably not.” Actually, it’s the worst possible idea. I know it. And Dr. Thompson knows it as well. The only one who doesn’t know it is Cole.
“How come?”
Of course, she realizes why it’s a terrible idea, but she wants me to verbalize the thoughts out loud. It’s a cheap counseling trick. But it’s one that works.
“Because it’s important that I focus my energies on school, and pull my life together so I can get healthy.”
“I think those are valid reasons to take a break from relationships. Just remember, it’s not forever. The fact that this boy has triggered an anxiety attack is concerning. Getting healthy is your first priority and then, when you feel better equipped to handle stressful situations, you can think about relationships again. You’re finding success at Western, and we don’t want to do anything that will derail it.”
She’s right.
In all honesty, I didn’t need her to confirm that getting involved with Cole will more than likely end in disaster for me, but it’s probably good that she did.
7
CASSIDY
“This is going to be so much fun! Thanks again for coming with me tonight.” Snuggling into her jacket, Brooklyn bounces excitedly on the bleacher seat as her gaze tracks the hockey players skating by the Plexiglas that surrounds the ice. “That’s him, number fifty-five.”
A dreamy look fills her large green eyes. As she sighs, her warm breath escapes into the frigid air of the rink. I roll my eyes even though she isn’t paying me the slightest bit of attention.
Nope.
Her focus is trained on her brand-new crush.
Number fifty-five.
I shift in my seat and watch the players skate past. Not that I would admit this to Brooklyn, but this is surprisingly more painful than I’d imagined it would be. I haven’t skated in more than nine months. At this very moment, my fingers are almost itching to wrap themselves around my old fiberglass hockey stick. As I stare at the ice, my mind tumbles back, trying to recall a time when I’ve been off skates for more than four or five days in row, let alone almost an entire year. This is the first time since leaving school last year that I’ve stepped foot inside an ice arena.
Blinking back to the present, my gaze travels around the space. The sights and sounds—even the smells, are the same. My breathing hitches as I fight to suck in air.
Up until last fall, I’d played hockey my entire life. House teams and then travel teams. All of which led me to a scholarship playing at a Division I college. But last year, I’d imploded under the stress and pressure. I’d been forced to leave in disgrace before the first semester ended.
Sitting in the stands and watching Western’s men’s hockey team has it all rushing back. Old wounds, I’d assumed had scabbed over, have been made surprisingly fresh again. It takes effort to shake off the web of memories trying to tangle themselves around me.
