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Of course, golden boy Becker would be here to witness my moment of weakness—with his beady brown eyes, his perfect head of sandy hair, and his extremely annoying smile.
My God, I’ve never met someone as easily riled up as Kaia Karras. It’s likely because I’ve spent the last three years perfecting the act. Toiling over different ways to get a rise out of her. All I have to do these days is throw her a tiny half-smile, maybe cock my head to the side a little, and her entire body tenses up. It’s one of my favorite pastimes.
She’s in her element now, confidence radiating from head to toe—from her wide smile to her self-assured posture to the notable pep in her step. She’s a fucking vision, isn’t she?
“Well, I’m sure you killed it. You’re gonna top your girl Kaia, no doubt.” “I’d definitely fucking like to,” I say, grinning at the innuendo that’s slipped right over poor Rai Rai’s head. “That’s one thing I know for sure.”
“Sure, in some cases, but not with us. Trust me, there’s nothing but a thick, solid, completely impenetrable line separating the two of us.” “Yeah, alright.” She shakes her head, muttering something about overcompensating under her breath. “So, if we see him tonight, then you don’t mind if I shoot my shot?” “By all means, go right ahead. Just know he has an ego about the size of his daddy’s bank account.”
For some reason, I’m rattled by the thought of her hooking up with one of my teammates. It’s not because I want her for myself—to date her or anything like that—but it’s just the principle of the matter. Kaia Karras is mine to fuck with.
“If you want to set real boundaries with me, Karras, I’ll respect them. But something tells me you get some sort of sick enjoyment out of our bickering.” He licks his lips, his gaze cutting to me for no more than a split second. “I know I sure as hell do.”
I want someone who wouldn’t let my family steamroll her. Someone who’s fiercely independent and who can handle my hockey career. She needs to have ambition, drive, a sharp mind, and an even sharper wit. And she’s not just someone’s fucking arm candy, that’s for damn sure. If I really wanted to torture myself, I might admit that my description sounds a hell of a lot like a girl I already know . . . one who won’t even bother to look at me right now.
“You’re a lot of things, Becker,” I say, shaking my head. “All of them particularly annoying.” His expression turns serious again, and my heart stutters as he says, “You know, I missed you last week.” “What?” “I missed talking to you,” he admits, his gaze intense. “This ignoring shit you’ve been doing? Yeah, it doesn’t really work for me.”
“Look, if you’re pissed at me, then just tell me. Fight with me. Yell at me. But don’t shut me out. I don’t like seeing you everywhere, knowing that you’re just gonna look the other way.”
My fingers absentmindedly pick at my hair, and I know I need to distract myself before I completely zone out. It’s something that happens whenever I get overly stressed. I pick, and pick, and pick until my thoughts finally shut off—until there’s nothing to worry about besides the incessant aching of my scalp. It’s a compulsion I can’t control. A mindless distraction that I crave.
“What if I told you that I’m willing now?” I propose, taking a step closer. “Yeah?” she asks, arching a challenging brow. “Who’d you have in mind, then?” Surprising myself, I blurt out the word “Me” without a split second of hesitation. She stares, blinking back the shock. “What?” “You must know I want you, Karras,” I admit, my heart hammering in my ears. “I’ve wanted you for as long as I can remember. And if you’re looking for just one night, then count me in.”
“You still think I don’t like you?” I lean back, running a frustrated hand through my hair. “Kaia, I fucking adore you.” Her brow furrows. “What?” “I admire the hell out of you. I think you’re smart, funny, witty, beautiful.” I stop myself before I get truly carried away. “There’s never a dull moment when we’re around each other.”
“If you’re struggling, I wanna be the guy you call for help. The one who can make you forget about everything else and just . . . be in the moment.”
I mindlessly pick at my hair again, my mind wandering back to all my least favorite places. Ruminating on the worst, darkest thoughts I’ve ever had, until I have no choice but to think of Holden instead.
I desperately pull at another strand of hair, letting the pain distract me instead.
It helps, at least a little bit, to imagine that I’m not alone in this. That I have someone, someone who might actually get me, to help me forget about all my worries.
It’s the fact that I’m here, in a hotel room, hundreds of miles away from the one person who makes me feel the most alive—a feeling I don’t often experience outside of the rink. It’s the fact that I can’t stop thinking about her, even when I know I shouldn’t.
“If it wasn’t obvious by now—I kinda give a shit about you, Karras.” I tense up in his arms. “Ah, I see.” “And I think you give a shit about me, too.”
“No.” He takes a step closer, tips my chin up with his thumb. “I’ve been thinking, and I want more for us. I think we’re already headed in that direction, but I want to make things crystal fucking clear. I want you, Kaia. And it’s for more than just sex, or . . . for good banter when I’m bored. Do you feel the same?”
And I’m really more of a homebody myself. I basically only have one friend, and I’m pretty screwed up in the head. I mean, God, I can barely shut off my fucking brain most of the time. I overthink everything. And also, you were right before—I do take every tiny piece of criticism to heart. I’m not some happy-go-lucky little sweetheart. I can’t be that girl even if I wanted to be.” “You think I don’t know this already?” “You might think you do, but whatever you think you know, I’m worse,” I say, my voice breaking. “There’s nothing fucking wrong with you, Kaia,” he says fiercely, pulling me even
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“If that’s what’s holding you back from giving this, us, a real shot, then let it be known—there’s not a world in which I do better than you. I want you, Kaia, every conceivable part of you. Tell me you want me, too.”
“I can tell that you’re not. And you know, just because someone’s your blood, your family, it doesn’t automatically mean you have to put up with them.”
I expose a tiny patch that’s missing at the top of her head and make a mental note to ask her about it later.
I want this girl. I want her in all the ways that matter. I want to be the one she turns to when she’s feeling down, the one she laughs with, the one she dreams with. The one she trusts with every tiny secret and insecurity.
We’ve reached a level of comfort where silence is louder than words.
I’m so tired, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t stop ruminating, and I’ve been picking at my hair so much that my scalp is bleeding again. The symptoms of my compulsions have become more noticeable than ever. It’s something I’ve gained control over throughout the years, but when my anxiety flares, it picks back up again. I used to pull from spots all over, but now it’s centralized to one smaller location at the top of my head. There’s a bald patch there, and every time it starts to grow in, I just can’t help myself—I pluck all the tiny hairs away. And now, over this past week, the
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“I’ve been scared,” she continues, her voice barely above a whisper. “Scared of getting hurt, scared that you’d look at me differently. But I realize now that by pushing you away, little by little, I’ve only made that more likely.”
“There’s something else, too. I have this . . . habit.” She hesitates for a moment, hands shaking. “When I’m stressed or anxious, which is basically all the time, I . . . I pull my hair out. Sometimes in chunks, sometimes in little pieces. I have this spot, right here.” She moves her hair to the side, showing me the missing patch I noticed a few weeks prior. “It’s been getting worse lately. And I’m not doing a very good job at hiding it anymore.”
“Kaia, you don’t have to hide anything from me. We all have our struggles, our insecurities. It doesn’t make me think of you any differently, make me want you any less.” She sniffles, tears welling in her eyes. “I just didn’t want you to see this side of me, I guess. All the broken parts that I’m still trying to put back together.” “I get that. But Kaia, I don’t need you to be perfect. All I want from you is your trust.” “And you have it. Do I have yours?” “You do.”
And as we both drift off to sleep, Kaia’s hands, her body, her soul intertwined with mine, I know that we’ll tackle whatever comes our way, side by side, using trust and open communication as our foundation.
