Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 114951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
I blinked.
I was still stuck on the fact that her stepfather hit her mother.
Apparently, more than once.
“He’s almost five now.” She swallowed, looking at her nails. “I go home whenever I can. Not because I want to be in that house, because if it was up to me, I’d never go back again. But because I need to see him. I need to make sure he’s okay.”
“Fuck, Ari,” I said, and then I was off the bed and on the floor right next to her, wrapping her hand up in mine. “That’s… that’s really heavy.”
She nodded. “I told you, you might not like what you discover.”
“I like everything about you.”
She puffed out a laugh. “Even my toxic family bullshit?”
“Every piece.” I frowned, sweeping a lock of her hair from her face. “He… he’s never hit you, has he?”
Ariana’s gaze slid somewhere behind me. “Not yet. But there was a night with a knife where I got in the way.” She held up her hand, the harsh light of her dorm highlighting the shiny scar across her skin. “That’s how this happened.”
Her answer made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and I pulled her into me without thinking, holding her close to my chest as she fisted her hands in the sleeves of her hoodie and hugged me in return.
“Why doesn’t your mom just leave?”
“It’s not that simple,” she said on a sigh. “Though, trust me… I’ve asked her the same question many times.”
“I get it now.”
“Get what?”
I pulled back to look at her. “Why you believe resilience is born within.”
Her smile was soft at the edges, her eyes searching mine. “You called me Ari.”
“I did. Is that okay?”
That smile widened, and she nodded. “Yeah.”
“Good.”
“Can we talk about something else?”
“Anything you want.”
“Well, we should probably be talking about stages of childhood social development…”
“Five minutes,” I said. “Just a little break and we’ll get back to it.”
“Okay, then. Tell me about hockey.”
I leaned back on my palms, but still stayed close enough that my knee touched hers. “It’s all ramping up now. We’ve got regionals soon, then semi-finals. And then…” I shrugged, picking up the pen she’d chewed to bits with a grimace. “Championship game. Milwaukee. Ours for the taking.”
She snatched her pen from my hand with a roll of her eyes. “You sound so sure.”
“I am.” I straightened, leaning toward her across the pile of notes. “Sure enough that I’ll make you a bet right now. If we make it to the championship game, you have to go.”
She blinked, then laughed — that soft, surprised laugh I was starting to crave. “You’re insane. I’m not flying to Milwaukee to watch you skate around on ice.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head. But the corner of her mouth betrayed her, tugging up. “Fine. What do I get if you lose?”
I tilted my head, and unashamedly, my eyes ran the length of her. “What do you want?”
My voice dropped an octave, suggestive, because I liked the way her breath caught when I teased like that. I liked how she pretended she was annoyed and unaffected by me, but her body told a different story.
And there it was, the reward I was seeking — the hitch in her breath, the parting of her lips, the slight widening of her eyes.
She stared at me for a second, color creeping into her cheeks, but then she smirked back. “Your smoothie punch card.” She pointed her demolished pen at my chest. “I know you’ve been hiding it from me.”
“That’s what you want? Not dinner anywhere you choose, not me running laps around Conte Forum shouting your name — my smoothie card?”
“It’s worth at least fifty bucks in free smoothies,” she said primly, picking up her notebook. “Seems like a fair trade.”
I shook my head, still grinning as I leaned back on my palms again. “All right. You’ve got a deal.”
I extended my hand, and we shook on it.
I’d never been so motivated to win in my life.
• • •
On March 25, 2007, right around midnight, I decided I couldn’t hold back my feelings anymore.
I was on a bus full of my teammates, all of us buzzing after winning our regional game. I could still hear the roar of the crowd in Worcester even back at campus.
We’d buried Miami five–nothing. Frozen Four, baby. We were going.
And all I could think was that I had to tell Ariana.
The bus hissed as it pulled to a stop, brakes squealing against the quiet of campus. Midnight air bit at my lungs when I jumped down the steps, but I barely felt it.
I didn’t even think about it — just took off running across the quad, grinning like a lunatic with my hockey bag thumping against my side. By the time I reached her dorm, my chest was heaving, not from the sprint, but from the thought of her on the other side of that door.