Page 153 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter
For a very brief moment, I let myself consider Oliver. The fact that I’m going to see him today. I’m going to come face-to-face with him at least once this weekend—it now seems inevitable. I shudder, my stomach twisting. Before I can touch the cuts, my mouth waters.
It’s the only warning my body usually gives before I vomit.
I take my foot down and fall forward over the toilet just in time to throw up. It’s all yellow bile and water, and it burns in my mouth. I spit, then flush and put my foot up. Back to business, the only thing my mind can focus on. Because my body is clearly revolted at the thought of Oliver.
I dig my nail into the deeper one, nearly gagging again as pain flickers out from the spot. Unlike other pain, it doesn’t travel up my leg. It’s so localized, it’s easy to focus on my ankle instead of my brain. I add another nail and press harder, imagining this pain as a river that sweeps him away.
After a long minute, I stop. My fingernails are coated in blood, and I close the bandage over the cuts. I put everything back to normal and use the toilet, wash my hands, and eye myself in the mirror. My hair is piled on top of my head, I’m not wearing a speck of makeup. My face is sickly pale, minus the dark half-moon circles under my eyes.
The selfish part of me wants to run away. Leave the airport, catch a taxi home, hole up again.
I leave the restroom, and of course I can’t take the easy way out.
Penn waits for me. He’s across the hallway, leaning against a pillar with his feet crossed. He wears a backward ball cap paired with his suit.
His gaze drinks me in, from my toes upward. It finally reaches my face. My eyes.
He winces. I understand that. I, too, have been perpetually disgusted with my image.
I head back to the gate. He follows like a shadow. He doesn’t say anything—why would he? Shadows don’t talk—and keeps some space between us. But his attention sticks on me, and for the first time in a week, I’m too hot for my skin.
Penn is not the feature in my nightmares.
I make it to the gate without running into anyone else. Perri and Dad are in the same spot, but now they’re surrounded by the FSU hockey team. I stop short, and Penn pauses beside me.
“Have you been checking your phone?” he asks in a low voice.
Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him. Don’t?—
My eyes automatically move sideways, taking in the sight of him without turning my head. I don’t want to see the little details, like that he’s freshly clean shaven, and his tie is the tiniest bit crooked.
“No.” I jerk my head toward our crowd. “It’s in my bag.”
“I meant?—”
“I know what you meant.” I cross my arms over my stomach. “I’m well aware of your intentions.”
Almost without meaning to, I pick Oliver out. He’s slouched in a far seat, head down, scrolling on his phone.
“Does he know I’m here?”
“No.”
“Really?”
“I saw the back of your head when we were coming up to the gate, but he’s been?—”
“I don’t care how he’s been,” I interrupt.
He stays silent.
“If you care at all about me, you won’t let him near me.” I face him fully. “Don’t make me beg, Penn.”
Green eyes meet mine, and a sad smile curves his lips. His expression is so fucking apologetic. I graze the inside of my ankle with my opposite heel. If I was alone, my face would scrunch up. I’d let out a sharp exhale. But since he’s here, I bottle that up and save it for later.
Not willing to see if he’ll actually do it, I lift my chin and head back to my father and stepmom. I keep my expression so blank, I could be mistaken for an ice rink. They smile at me, and I drop into the seat between them.
“Sorry,” I whisper to Perri.