Page 107 of Stick It
We’re nearly home when I feel his eyes on me. “Did you have a good night?”
His question catches me by surprise. The few times Finn has been waiting for me outside class, he’s been like a shadow, silently trailing me through campus and rarely engaging in conversation. He’ll answer questions if I ask them, but he never asks his own, other than to know where or when my next class is.
“If you can call falling asleep and drooling all over Wren’s sofa a good night, then sure.”
“Your body is still healing,” he says. It could be my imagination, but I swear his voice is a tad softer than before. “You need all the rest you can get.”
My response is terse, born from frustration. “Yeah.”
We’re quiet, neither of us saying another word until I pull into the driveway. “Another few days and you’ll be back on the ice.” I know he means for his words to be reassuring, but they aren’t.
Turning in my seat, I face him across the center console. Light from the porch casts his face half in shadow. “And then what? I wait for Kyle to come after me again? What if he doesn’t stop at beating me this time? What if he breaks my arm or leg and I’m out forweeks? Hell, he could fracture my back or give me a concussion so bad that it has me out for the rest of the season. The rest ofmy life!”
Finn’s face is pinched, anguish, concern, and skepticism allwarring for first place. His lips part, but no words come out. He doesn’t know what the fuck to say, because he doesn’t knowwhoto believe. And I get it, I do, but it doesn’t make the situation any more palatable.
Giving him a free pass, I push open my door and move to climb out. He reaches across the space between us, his fingers tightening around my wrist. I pause, looking back at him. “We’re not going to let them hurt you again.” I can tell he means it. That it bothers him that I think he would.
“That’s the problem, though, isn’t it?” I say, looking him in the eye. “You shouldn’t even have to promise me that. I shouldn’t have to be afraid for my safety all because I want to play a game. I shouldn’t have to be scared to fall asleep at night. To be left in the house alone.” Leaning in, I let him see the stark fear I refuse to even let myself acknowledge most days, never mind let anyone else see. “I shouldn’t have to stare into the faces of the men who attacked me every single day and know that they got away with it, and yet that’s the reality we live in. Worse, it’s one I don’t envision changing anytime soon.”
When I tug against his hold, he lets me go, and I leave him behind in the car as I walk into the house.
32
FINN
The gym isempty when I step inside. It’s late—super fucking late. I should be in bed, especially given my lack of sleep last night, brutal practice tonight, and the fact that we have a game tomorrow.
However, as soon as Dylan delivered her killing blow before getting out of the car, I knew I wouldn’t be getting any sleep anytime soon. Instead, I’d texted Kyle to meet me at the gym and made the short walk to campus on foot.
“I shouldn’t have to be afraid for my safety all because I want to play a game.”
“I shouldn’t have to be scared to fall asleep at night. To be left in the house alone.”
“I shouldn’t have to stare into the faces of the men who attacked me every single day and know that they got away with it, and yet that’s the reality we live in. Worse, it’s one I don’t envision changing anytime soon.”
Dylan’s words play on repeat in my head, ripping me open and burrowing deeper with every loop.
I need to know.
I need to hear Kyle say it. That he didn’t attack Dylan.
Because the truth is, I’m starting to believe Dylan’s version. I’m starting to think hecouldhave done it.
And what sort of shitty friend does that make me?
I met Kyle at peewee hockey camp when we were eleven, and sure, he has a bit of a temper and an arrogance issue, but introduce me to a single hockey player who doesn’t have either of those things.
I know he doesn’t like Dylan, but neither would I if it were my position she’d been gunning for. Disliking her doesn’t mean heattackedher.
So yeah, I just…need to know. I need to hear it from Kyle’s mouth because this tug-of-war I’m playing with myself is getting pretty fucking exhausting. I’m like an addict who keeps relapsing, going back for a fix of Dylan, only to wise up and back off until the next backslide.
While I wait for Kyle, I load up the barbell with weights before lying on the bench. Wrapping my fingers around the bar, my muscles strain as I press it up before lowering it. It’s not long before my arms begin to burn, however, the repetition does nothing to clear my mind, nothing to silence the voice in my head that’s been getting louder ever since Dylan shoved out of the car.
“I shouldn’t have to be scared.”
No. She shouldn’t, and the truth is, it fucking shredded me to hear that she is. Dylan is so strong. So tough, never truly letting anyone see how she’s feeling. Bar that night she was attacked, she’s never once shown any fear, but I swear I caught a flicker of it in her gaze tonight.
I push myself harder, doing more reps than I’d typically do. I lose myself in the monotony of it, forcing myself to focus on the screaming of my muscles, the burn searing up my arms, the sweat dripping down my face.
