Like Fireweed

One

Hey everyone! My name is Eliza and I'm the author of this little story. I hope you'll enjoy it. 

(Please note that English isn't my mother tongue. Moreover it's my first try on a whole story written in English.

I hope the writing will get better as the book goes on. Hopefully it's still something one wants to read. 

I am very thankful for any kind of feedback.

+++++++++++++++++++++

I hadn't seen him for years and I am not prepared to face him now - or ever. Some encounters are too embarrassing to act out in your head, but as soon as I detect him sitting at the gate, I can't help to revisit one of the most mortifying moments of my life. The unfortunate episode of telling him that I loved his brother in a very Sabrina-esque kind of way by confusing him for Nick.

I remember the shock, when I realised that the pair of shoes stuck under the bed weren't Nick's. The humiliation followed by disappointment that the guy growling underneath the wooden reck was Cruz. Cruz who was looking for his brothers's drivers licence because Nick had forgotten the small plastic card, when he headed to the airport.

I don't handle second hand embarrassment moments well in movies. I'm part of the group of people who likes to cover their faces in their hands and hide until the uncomfortable part is over and I'm most definitely part of the exquisite circle of women who ran out after experiencing such a mix up in real life.

My throat thightens as Cruz Hemlock looks up. He isn't Prince Charming that's for sure. Never has been, never will be. He's the kind of man one would hire to play a James Bond villain. His eyes have a different colour. The left one is blue, the other one is brown, there's a scar running across his left cheek and supercilium. To cut a long story short, his face had the leading role in a lot of my nightmares in the last four years.

But being fixated on his face I seem to have forgotten how the rest of him presents.

Tall and athletic with broad shoulders and black hair. Not at all dreadful. On the contrary. As a whole Cruz Hemlock is hot as the puck he likes to chase.

"Noa." His voice is a little hoarse - like an echo from our last encounter.

"Cruz." The strap of my bag cuts deep into my shoulder and even though I'm wearing the most comfortable outfit imaginable, I suddenly feel like my tracksuit is far too tight and my athletes don't provide enough grip to take a stand.

He smiles at me. Compassionately.

At least I think that's what compassion looks like on his face and I hate it. I hate every little movement in the corner of his mouth.

"What are you doing here?" I sound harsh. Gruffer than one should sound after being politely smiled at.

"Mum is getting worse. I want to visit her before it's too late."

 "I'm sorry." I clear my throat. „For how long..."

"I'll stay for the summer."

"You are?" I can't imagine a world where a NHL player could stay for that long. "Don't you have training camps and stuff?"

"If I hadn't had a shoulder injury last spring, yes. Are you visiting Wyatt?"

"I am. But I also am an intern at a NOAA project about red tree corals this summer."

"That's amazing."

"Yes... yes, it is." It feels weird that he compliments my decision of following my step-dad's career path. He's Nathan's son after all and Nathan and my stepdad are on non-speaking terms since Wyatt decided that he liked men after thirty plus years of friendship and never telling his best friend about it before.