Page 59 of Facing Off
“Sonya, how are you feeling?”
I feel Hughes’ eyes on me as he puts his own coveralls on. He hasn’t looked away. Like he urgently has to figure out what makes me feel better.
As if he cares.
All of a sudden, the corners of my eyes sting.
I grind my teeth down, ready to lash out in defense, telling anyone who listens that I’ve got random allergies! Because hell no. I’mnowhereclose to crying. I can’t cry. The last time that happened…
Was so long ago.Agesago. I was a little kid.
“I didn’t expect you to bring me here,” I admit, my voice strained.
“In a bad way or in a good way?” Hughes asks, searching my expression.
A beat passes. Part of me wants to be rude and terrible, hoping it finally pushes him away for good, but I also can’t deny the truth. Guilt splashes in my stomach. I’m being so horrible to him, but if he wasn’t with me today, I don’t know what I would have done. His easy warmth makes me feel okay, somehow. Like someone actually sees me without flinching at my edges. “…Good way.”
His shoulders drop and he grins, relieved.
We’re almost dressed. The problem is that my coveralls have a zipper that goes down my back. I’m twisting and turning, but I can’t seem to find it.
“Let me.” His offer is automatic, but I shake my headno.
“I can do it.”
He’s done more than enough. If I let him do more, I’ll be embarrassed and horrified all over again about…all of it. Because I’m not the kind of person who has panic attacks. I don’t need to be held by a guy to breathe again, to sleep over at his place and be taken care of, to be fed a delicious breakfast, or rescued from the hospital.
I don’t do any of that stuff.
It’s needy. Reliant.Risky.
And the sooner I remember all that, the faster I’ll get back to my old self. Which begs the question, what am I doing here? Why did I say yes to this?
I don’t have an answer, except I got fired. My ballet career is…
No, I can’t think about that right now.
With my world spun upside -down, I’m operating on unfamiliar instincts. Desperate to not fall apart again. Tofeel the kind of rage that makes me stronger, not weaker. To get properly mad so the world feels solid below my feet once more.
Hughes steps behind me. With his padding on, he’s even larger than before. But his touch? It’s gentle.
“Hey, Sonya darling. I know you can do it. You can do anything and everything you want because you’re never not spectacular. But just for today, rely on me. If it makes you feel better, we can pretend later you didn’t.”
I freeze. This aching vulnerability pinches my chest. How does he know that’s what I hate, and what I’m most afraid of?
Help.
His knuckles are a whisper against my spine as he zips me up. Afterwards, he hands me a helmet. I put it on, but don’t have a chance to secure the chin strap or lower the visor. Hockey reflexes beat me to it. His fingers are quick, decisive. Confident.
My breath catches.
Stepping back, Hughes’ mouth curves. My stomach somersaults when I think I catch him murmuringabsolutely fucking deadlyto himself. It’s a low, fond observation.
But I can’t dwell on that.
He moves quickly, opening the door for me. Then he hands me a baseball bat. “You ready?”
“Yeah.”
