Page 37 of Rebound
I chuckle and untie my hair. “It’s like the ICL, but for hockey. The hockey association saw the success of the ICL and figured they’d do the same with hockey. Now Tamil Nadu has a team and I’m their coach.”
“Did you accept it because I’m pregnant?”
“Partly. The offer came in long before we reconnected. Everything just seemed to fall into place perfectly.”
She twists her lips to the side, eyes still fixed on me. I wish I could read her mind and understand what she’s thinking instead of her intense piercing gaze.
“Why have I never heard of this before?”
“It’s not as popular as cricket,” I say with too much frustration. Her eyebrows pop and I sigh. “Sorry. We’re winning medals and nobody cares.”
“I care.”
“Do you, really?”
“Okay, I could care. It’s just not my thing.”
“Hockey?”
“Sports.”
I laugh. “Says the girl who was at a sports summer camp for six years.”
Her expression shutters and I want to take the words back. We’ve mentioned it in passing, referencing having known each other back then. But we don’t talk about it. I wish I knew why and how far I can push Tamara before she really snaps. I also don’t really want to find out.
“Anyway…thanks for breakfast.”
“Tamara…” I start, ready to apologise, explain myself, crack a joke. But she’s rinsing out her plate and loading it into the dishwasher before I can get a word out. Then she’s gone. I stare at her empty chair and silently curse myself. I’m still sitting there an hour later when she appears dressed for work, my eyes trailing over her formal attire as she walks out of the house.
Thirteen. Cheap shot
Tamara
ARGH.
It’s non-stop, never ending. The charming, the flirting, the taking care of me; it’s too much. I’m conflicted between enjoying all of it or continuing to be a bitch and keep my distance. The problem is, we’re living together and the only distance that exists is when we’re in our bedrooms. The rest of the time he’s everywhere I go. I know he’s basically my flatmate, but this is ridiculous.
The boy I knew at camp wasn’t sexy. He was cute and sweet, he had floppy hair and dark brown skin from being in the sun too long. When he smiled, the world lit up and so did I. Our kisses were imprinted on my heart for years after he ripped it to shreds and I loved him so intensely, I didn’t know who I was without him. Someone on the internet referred to Patrick as sex on a stick and they’re not wrong.
The floppy hair is replaced with long dark locks that are either pulled back in a manbun or loose around his shoulders; both are distracting. And he’s not cute anymore. Noooooo, Patrick’s dangerous. I’m pretty sure if I touch him, I’ll catch fire. It’s really fucking annoying.
Here’s the thing—I’m not just keeping my distance because of what happened in the past. I’m also protecting myself. There’s no guarantee he’s going to stick around and I don’t want to get attached only to have him leave me. Again. I don’t blame Patrick for needing time to wrap his head around the pregnancy; it took me a few days before I even told him. But keeping us in this barely-friends situation is probably the safest thing to do.
Dr. Sunita’s going to have a field day when she finally hears all the ways I’m misbehaving. I’d like to think she’d understand my stance and why the space is important. It’s been twenty years and outside of a few passing thoughts, he’s never featured in my thoughts. Being around him again should be easy—my sadness and anger would simmer and we’d be fine as acquaintances that were once in love—but I was wrong. Knowing what he’s like as an adult really makes this difficult. To the point where if I start a dirty dream that includes even a single one of his hair ties, I force myself awake.
It’s inconvenient and my sleep is disturbed, which is so very fun.
I walk through the main doors of my office building and remind myself to smile. Vera’s the queen of resting bitch face and I love her for it. I’m not sunshine, but scowling is not my thing. So when the security’s smile fades at the sight of my expression, I realise I’m probably projecting something different. In the crowded elevator, I close my eyes and count as far as I can while breathing slowly. So by the time I step into the Bold Lines lobby, I’m myself again.
There’s absolutely no way I’ll let Patrick and his constant presence ruin my mood or day. Especially since I have so much to do. The receptionist greets me as I head towards my cabin, where my assistant waits with a fresh mug of hot tea.
“You’re a life saver!”
“Kumar Anna?1 said you looked mad when you walked in,” she tells me and I sigh.
“My morning started off rough, but I’m okay. I’ll apologise to him on my way out.” I unpack my laptop and iPad before taking a sip of the tea. Meh. It’s the exact same tea leaves I use at home, but since Patrick started making my tea, it tastes better. This is…okay. I don’t tell Pallavi that. I appreciate the effort she’s taken to have this ready for me. “All right, walk me through my day.”
She spends the next five minutes running through my schedule and I nod along, making my own notes.
