Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 130275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
The aftermath of an emotional purge.
“Sav …” he whispered, voice hoarse and deep from exertion.
“I’m here,” I said and found the nerves to add, “for you.” I swallowed and made myself repeat, “I’m here for you.”
Cael’s hands gripped tighter onto my coat, and then he slowly reared his head back. His face was red and blotched; his eyes were haunted. But, to me, he’d never looked more beautiful. Cael withdrew a hand from where it had been wrapped in my coat and stared down at his palm. It was still chill-burned from where it had been pressed against the ice.
He looked out at the ice that was spread out before us. The string lights above made the rink glisten like it was made of a million opal jewels. I wondered what Cael saw when he looked at it. Whether it looked like heaven or hell, or somewhere in between.
A stray tear escaped the corner of his eye. I instinctively reached out and brushed it from his cheek. I stilled when he turned his head, worried I had gone too far. But then Cael wrapped his hand in mine and brought my hand to his lips. He brushed a chaste kiss on the back of my hand and my heart thudded to a sudden stop.
He moved my hand north and pressed it against his cheek, skin cold and damp. And he left it there, as though the warmth from my hand was transferring much-needed heat to his frostbitten bones.
“I’m a hockey player,” he said, his whispered words as loud as a scream in the quiet, sleeping square.
I squeezed his hand in my own. A small smile broke through his desolate expression. He turned to me, eyes like blue-tinged molten iron ore as he said, “You do that when I’m breaking.” I held my breath, unsure if that was a good thing or not. He exhaled through his nose and squeezed my hand right back. Two firm squeezes. “It keeps me anchored,” he admitted, and, although it was night, my chest filled with sunlight. “How do you know when I need it?” He searched my face, looking for an answer.
“Because I recognize the signs.” The pulse in my neck fluttered as I said, “Because I often break too.”
Cael wrapped his hand tighter in mine, and he stared out at the rink—I simply stared at him. This boy had me completely enamored. “I’m a hockey player,” he said again, but this time with more conviction. His voice cracked when he said, “But I can’t play anymore.”
“Why?”
Cael’s shoulders dropped. “Because it was our thing.” Of course, I knew he meant Cillian. He seemed to think as much of Cillian as I thought of Poppy. But there was a distinct difference. His pain was much different from my own.
He’d had no closure when Cillian died.
“I was good, Peaches,” he said, and I melted at the use of that nickname falling so affectionately from his lips, especially at such a troubled moment. He reached out and ran the fingertip on his free hand over the edge of the ice rink. “I was really good.”
Cael shifted off his knees to sit on the ground. I followed suit. “Hockey isn’t just something I played. It’s who I am—was,” he corrected and shook his head. “I’m so confused.” His throat was thick as he pushed those words out. I squeezed his hand twice, and he gave me an echo of a thankful smile. Then he gave me two right back, and my heart raced. “I played at first because Cill …” He shifted where he sat, the topic clearly uncomfortable. “Cill played, and I just wanted to do whatever he did.”
“But you loved it,” I said, not a question. I could hear the joyful inflection hockey inspired in his voice.
“I love it.” The use of the present tense wasn’t lost on me.
“I lost them both that night,” Cael said, and broke my heart again at the gutting agony lacing his voice. “I lost Cill and could never face the ice again either.” He paused, and a wistful expression settled on his face. “We were so tied up together that I don’t know how to exist alone. Brothers, hockey players, each other’s biggest supporters. I attended his games, he attended mine. We trained at the same facility. We practiced on the frozen pond at our house all winter long and mourned it when summer rolled around. We lived for the cold. Hockey was Cill, and I am hockey. Cill was me and I was him and now it’s all blown to hell.”
“Cael—”
“We were meant to play together in college.” He looked at me from the corner of his eye. “Harvard.” Chills whispering words like “destiny” danced up my spine. I knew this, of course. But I was proud of him for opening up and telling me. I squeezed his hand. “He was in his junior year when he …” Cael couldn’t finish that sentence. His head lowered. “I got in. Was meant to go this past fall. But I couldn’t do it with him gone. We never got to play together for the Crimson. And now we never will.” I laid my head on his shoulder in support. “I’m so fucking lost.” I hugged his arm, when he asked, “What about you, Sav? Why can’t you move on?”