Page 121 of Player Misconduct
The light filtering through the blinds is thin and gray—the kind of Seattle morning that can't decide if it wants to rain or just threaten to. My studio apartment is smaller than I remember, the walls pressing in like they're trying to remind me of something I've been working hard to forget.
This is what safety used to look like.
Small.
Contained.
Predictable.
My life in a nutshell. And then I wished for too much. I let my heart want things.
I blink at the ceiling, my hands sliding over my belly. Niko shifts beneath my palm, a lazy roll that feels like he's settling in for the morning. At least one of us slept.
I didn't.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it: the hallway, the cameras, Tarron's hand on my arm–tightening, Aleksi's face going hard and dangerous in a way he does right before he takes out an opponent on the ice. The sound of bone on bone. The flash of phones lifting, capturing, recording.
"Get your hands off her."
I squeeze my eyes shut, but the memory doesn't fade. It just loops, over and over, until my stomach churns with acid about the whole thing.
For a second, one reckless and foolish second, I wasn't alone. I knew Aleksi wouldn't let anything happen to me. I felt it in my bones, in the way he moved, in the way he said my name like it was the only word that mattered.
And then he didn't let anything happen.
And somehow, that made everything worse.
Tarron said that the medical board already has my file open. What the hell does that mean? And from the press coverage of what happened last night, it won’t help anything.
I push myself upright, my body heavy with exhaustion and something so deep it throbs, something that feels like grief for a future I can already see slipping through my fingers.
The apartment is too quiet. The movers are coming tomorrow to take the last of my things to the house,Niko’s house…but right now, my life still fits in boxes and half-packed closets. Atrue visual for how my world feels right now. Unsettled and a little chaotic.
If I look at it, I'll remember the rooftop. The telescope. The way he kissed me like I was something worth keeping.
And I can't afford to remember that right now.
The shower runs hot enough to hurt.
I stand under the spray, letting it scald my shoulders, my back, the places that ache from a night spent curled too tight, my muscles never really relaxing. Steam fogs the mirror, erasing my reflection until I'm just a shape, all blurry.
Niko rolls again. He's bigger now, more insistent, his movements less like flutters and more like declarations.
I'm here. I exist. You can't pretend I don't.
"We're okay," I whisper to him, my voice cracking on the words. "You're okay."
I don't know if I'm trying to convince him or myself.
When I step out, the air is cold against my damp skin. I dry off slowly, methodically, like if I do it right, I can piece myself back together. I tie my hair up, braid it tight, the way I used to when I needed to feel in control. During med school, during first year residency, when my drunk mother would call me needing something… mostly just to get her more booze since she was too drunk to get up and get it herself.
I pull on leggings and an oversized sweater. Aleksi's sweatshirt, but I realize too late, the scent of him still clinging to the fabric. I almost take it off. Almost.
But it's warm, and I'm cold, and the thought of having him close is still comforting.
Breakfast is a ritual of normal and mundane. No fancy blueberry pancakes, or ones he poured to make them look like animals. They were getting better too.
I have to practice before Niko gets here.He claimed, but I know he did it for me too.
