Part Eleven:
A Little Sweat & Studying
Reality hit me like a tonne of bricks as I walked through the double doors of the Iona ice rink late on Thursday afternoon. No, literally, it hit me square in the face, like a perfectly timed bitch slap or a slap-shot puck that accidentally rebounded off a nearby wall and flew at me with ludicrous speed.
I hadn't realised until this very moment how little Trevor and I had spoken in the days since our escapade at the mall.
Swallowing the lump that had started to form in the back of my throat, I took a deep breath, holding my chin high, and made a direct beeline for the boy in question. It had been days since our last study session and regardless of whatever issues had formed between us, Trevor and I had shit to do and grades to bring up.
I tried to ignore the downhearted drop in my stomach upon realising that the senior boy was in fact wearing a shirt this time. Shaking the strange pang of disappointment from my mind, I slapped a spurious grin on my lips, despite the trembling in my hands and erratic heartbeat within my chest. I knew this was a bad time to face him, but I needed a place that would catch him off guard and corner him into speaking to me. I figured, if he had an entire team of hockey players watching on, he wouldn't do anything that could possibly make him look bad. And, besides, Trevor never turned down the opportunity to talk to a girl, especially not in front of his team.
Walking with purpose, I pushed my shoulders back, an illusion of mock confidence present in my body language. I watched as his eyes flickered to my own, three emotions flashing through them seemingly all at once. Surprise was the first, fear being the second, and frustration the final. He tore his gaze away from me, focusing back on the practice game at hand, trying—but failing—to pretend he hadn't seen me in the first place.
With a deep sigh, I turned on my heels, fully ready to storm back out of there and never return. If Trevor wanted space, then I'd give him space, eternally. Fine by me. His loss. I'm not sad at all. Pshh.
With one last glance over my shoulder in the hockey captains direction, I caught sight of a divine realization, an image before me that proved that—yes, angels were real, truly sent by the heavens above and taking on the appearance of literal Gods. Trevor skated for the puck, his back hunched and his knees bent as an excited all-out-teeth-and-all smile graced his beautiful face. His stick whacked the puck like thunder, sending it careening at an overwhelmingly rapid pace towards a poor mere mortal on the other side of the rink. A boy with brown hair reached his stick out before him, attempting to catch or hit the puck back—whatever it was that hockey players did—I wasn't sure, though, he instead managed to knock it off course, sending it flying towards my face faster then I could say I accept my fate.
This is it. This is how I die. Death by gorgeous hockey player smacking me in the face. Here lies Milly Jones, cause of death, literal angel hits me in the face. Yippee.
However, right as I squeeze my eyes shut, tensing my entire body in fear of having a soon-to-be mangled face and slight concussion, the sound of my name being shouted, as well as skates tearing obnoxiously on the ice broke through my fear. I peaked one eye open, just to make sure that I hadn't been mistaken, and the puck wasn't still flying at my face. When all I found was Trevor standing beside me, his arm stretched out and his gloved hand hand open—now holding a puck in his pal—directly in front of my face, I slowly opened the other, giving the boy my full attention.
"Thank God," he huffed, seemingly out of breath. "Your face is way too pretty how it is. It'd be a shame if it got all messed up on Alex's account."
With a furious blush that probably had me resembling a beetroot, I avoided Trevor's intense gaze and alluring smirk. Taking a subtle step away from the boy, I tried my very best not to give in to my emotions, and kept my attention exclusively on his large hand as it stayed perched in front of me, the puck still trapped between his fingers.
"R-right," I mumbled, my voice barely a whisper, and for the first time in almost a week I was faced with the hard truth that was that Trevor had hurt me a lot with his words at the mall, and in turn, I was sadder then I originally thought. Now, being faced with him in such a vulnerable way, I wasn't sure how to act or what to do. He hadn't apologised to me, and I was almost certain he wasn't going to, but I couldn't help it. It was like he was the moon and I was the tide and I was being pulled to him. I desperately wanted to be close to him again, which is probably why I came here in the first place, but here I was, getting exactly what I wanted, and I didn't have a single idea on what the hell to do with it. With my rapidly dwindling confidence, I fought back the tears that burned the corners of my eyes, clutching my hands to my chest and turning to leave. "This w-was a mist-take. I-I should go."
He jumped over the boards, stick and puck staying behind as he reached for my wrist before I could so much as take a step away from him, and with a gentle grip that basically swallowed my entire lower arm whole, stopped me in my tracks. I didn't turn back to face him, afraid that if I turned around, I would crumble under his gaze and end up looking like a weak, pathetic little girl. Just another one of the stupid girls who fell for him after a hook up.
I couldn't believe the way I was feeling towards him, only angering me more. I was on the very brink of crying now, and the only way I knew how to bite back a sob was to hold my breath.
"Wait," he begged, his voice pleading, and I almost thought he was going to tell me he was sorry. "Since you're here, do you maybe think we could get in a little studying?"
I sighed deeply, my shoulders deflating at the sound of his words.
"It's okay if you don't want to," he mumbled, his grip on my wrist still there as I concentrated on my hammering heart. "It's just, well, there's a history test coming up on World War II and"--he scratched the back of his neck, chuckling nervously--"you know how I am with that one."
Taking a deep breath, I summoned the courage I needed to face him, and slowly turned to look at the boy. His eyes were hopeful and his lip was between his teeth in a way I knew would have me done for.
Don't say yes, don't say yes, don't say--
"I guess that'd be okay," I mumbled, silently scolding myself for being so stupid.
"Okay," he grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet in sudden excitement. He turned to face the benches, dragging me off towards them as he babbled on about how much practice he was going to need in order to pass. "You can set up all our stuff here. I'm gonna have to keep switching between history and hockey, do you think that's okay?"
Without a word, I nodded, dropping my backpack to the floor.
"Great," Trevor beamed as he walked backwards towards the rest of his team still on the ice. "My history books' in my bag in the locker room, think you can get it for me?"
I nodded once more, still not wanting to say a word in fear I might accidentally burst into tears right there in front of his entire hockey cohort. Instead, I turned towards the locker rooms, determined to get in and out as fast as I could. Yanking Trevor's gym bag from his still-open locker, I shoved the thing on the floor, crouching to my knees and unzipping it with so much anger, I thought the zip might break.
I was hit in the face with the scent I had so often placed as Trevor's almost immediately. Being so overwhelmed by the smell of vanilla and sea salt, I physically had to turn away to stop myself from doing something stupid like screaming as loud as I could or bursting back into the rink and reaming him a new one. With a heavy heart, I reached into the bottom of his bag and pulled out the history textbook, fully intent on leaving it wide open on the sticky floor of the changing room.
I set up on the bench with an array of books around me and the textbook open to a page I figured might help. Maybe, if I just focused on tutoring, I would be able to swallow back the tears long enough to make it home.
Letting my gaze flicker to the messy haired boy, I experienced him once again sending a perfectly time puck towards the boys on the other side of the rink. The sound of an all-too-familiar voice shouting the words 'fuck yeah, Zegras!' caught my attention, and I was reminded for the first time that day that Jack still existed, and that he was as gorgeous as ever.
Trevor made the effort to skate to the area I was set up in several times throughout his practice, and each time I read him a new question based on his upcoming test. His teammates would throw the occasional dig towards him for ditching hockey for a girl, but he seemed to shrug them off with confidence and a cheerful smile. I, on the other hand was a strange mix of uncomfortable and pleasantly surprised at the fact that Trevor was answering ninety percent of the questions I threw at him correctly.
Finally, when his practice was moments from being over, he bounded over to me with glistening skin and an exhausted expression evident on his features. He'd since taken his hemet off, giving me a perfect view of his tousled hair. I glanced up at him through my lashes, still amazed that after an entire half an hour, my body was still fighting back the urge to cry because of him.
He crouched down in front of me, his elbows resting on his knees and a sweet grin on his lips that had me entranced.
I gulped back my fears, turning my attention to the question before me. I cleared my throat, hoping my voice wouldn't sound as broken as I felt. "Who was the President of The United States when Pearl Harbour was attacked?"
Furrowing his eyebrows and tilting his head to the left in deep thought, Trevor took a moment to process the question in his head. With overwhelming anticipation, I took another glance up at him through my lashes, watching as his eyes lit up like a bonfire when ignited by gas.
"That guy," he said, clicking his fingers as if doing so would make the answer come to him. "The one . . . what's his name again? That Frank guy? Franklin D . . . Roosevelt?"
I snapped my attention to him, eyes wide and mouth hung open at his answer. Without a second thought I jumped to my knees before throwing my arms around the taller boys neck and launching myself into him, causing the both of us to collapse to the ground in a heap of tangled limbs. Things became excruciatingly awkward in a matter of seconds, when I realised what the hell I had just done, and how uncharacteristically affectionate it was of me. Hesitantly, Trevor's arms laced their way around the small of my back, and soon enough, I was being held tight against his chest.
My heart flipped-flopped in the worst of ways, and before I knew it, the first of many tears were cascading down my flushed cheeks. At this point, I wasn't even sure what I was crying about anymore, only that I simply couldn't stop. In a pathetic attempt to suck in a breath and stop myself from breaking down completely, my breath hitched and instantly gave my emotions away to Trevor.
Using his hands to push me off him as gently as he could, he sat up and scooted closer, taking a moment to assess my bloodshot eyes and damp cheeks as drops of water dripped from my chin. Trevor frowned, running a hand through his sweaty hair as a disheartened pout pushed out his lower lip. He reached for me without thought, using the tips of his fingers to place a few loose strands of hair behind my ears. With sad eyes, Trevor cupped my cheeks in the palm of his hands and brought his thumbs up to wipe away old tears and make room for fresh ones.
"What's wrong?" he pleaded, shuffling just the tiniest bit closer still, making it feel as though we were the only two people in the rink.
"You, idiot," I cried, allowing myself to open up to him, even if my mind was waving red flags all over the place, warning me to close back up. "Where have you been? It's been days!"
Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Trevor contemplated whether or not he should be honest with Milly and let her know the reason behind his absence. That, in reality, it was the feelings he was very quickly developing for the smaller girl. He couldn't outright tell her about his jealously in fear that she would only push herself away, so admitting that he was growing completely and totally obsessed with her was off the table.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, feeling almost as deflated as he sounded. "I didn't think you wanted to see me after what happened at the mall."
"Of course I did idiot," I snapped, pushing lightly at his muscular chest. With an over exaggerated pout, I let a bubbling laugh slip through my lips. "You're sweaty. It's gross."
Trevor quirked an eyebrow in my direction, a subtle smirk growing on his pliable lips. "If I give you a big, sweaty cuddle, will you forgive me?"
With a giggle, I ignored the blush that was quickly rising to my cheeks. "Not likely."
"Well, too bad," he shouted, pulling me in by my waist and holding me firm against his chest. I pushed back the icky feeling of his glistening skin and the dampness of his hockey jersey and bunched a fist of the fabric between both hands, squeezing my eyes shut and holding onto him like I never wanted to let go.
How the hell did we end up here? A month ago I would have been repulsed by the feeling of the hockey captains chiselled arms around my body, but today, here I am being completely squished by him, and totally okay with it.
"Do you forgive me yet?" Trevor whispered, his words supressed as he nuzzled his head further between the crook of my neck and shoulder.
With a deep, shaky breath I pulled away from him ever so slightly, using both hands to cup the back of his neck and intertwining my fingers in the ends of his hair.
"Not a chance," I mumbled, smiling sweetly up at him through my lashes.
He blinked. "Not even a little bit?"
"Nope," I grinned before snuggling my way back into his arms with butterflies in my chest.