Spiral (Off the Ice Book 2)
Spiral: Chapter 11

Bunny Patrol

Kian Ishida: WTF was that interview?

Aiden Crawford: One minute he’s sulking in the car, the next he’s declaring his love on a live broadcast.

Dylan Donovan: Who is this girl? I’ve never seen Eli so worked up.

Kian Ishida: Never? Did you forget the time we accidentally broke his precious Staub pans trying to play ping pong?

Sebastian Hayes: He confiscated our phones for a week like we were teenagers.

Cole Carter: He even refused to make me breakfast. I was living on beans.

Sebastian Hayes: We know.

Our afternoon game ended in a loss, and yet another game without a goal from me. No surprise there. In the highlight clips I watched before bed, Marcus Smith-Beaumont shook his head when I missed. My assists are no longer enough to keep me afloat. It’s like a fucking curse, and now I feel desperate to break it. Desperate enough to put myself in a relationship on national television with a girl who doesn’t even want to talk to me.

At least, that’s what I’m telling myself, because nothing can justify the reaction I had in front of those reporters. It was so visceral, I couldn’t just sit there and let them speculate about a girl who doesn’t deserve anything negative said about her. After I left the conference hall, Mason just stared at me, speechless, until I had to head into the locker room before the game.

I didn’t bother reliving my words for Aiden. He found out on his own after the game, and laughed at me like a fucking clown. He even replayed the audio from the clip on the Bluetooth.

Today, as I head out of my morning physical therapy session, everyone knows about it, hence the stream of texts and pictures of the guys laughing while watching the interview.

As I hop into my car, Coach Kilner’s encouraging text is the first thing I see. Well, encouraging only if you know the inner workings of our college hockey coach.

You didn’t play like shit yesterday. Get that damn goal already.

I’m sure he saw the interview or one of the guys showed it to him, and this is his way of bringing my focus back to the game. Or at least trying to show me that that is what matters.

An incoming call rings in the car. I answer it and turn up the volume. “I try to stay away from tabloids, Eli, you know I do. But when my son declares his relationship status on live television, I’m bound to hear about it.”

I curse under my breath, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“Hey, no cursing. Your father and I want to know what’s going on with you.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking straight. It’s nothing serious.”

My dad barks out a laugh. “If it wasn’t, it sure as hell is now. That girl will be waiting on a wedding ring with that kind of declaration, son.”

Either a ring or her fists. It depends on how much I just screwed up. “Trust me, it’s really not like that.”

“However it is, we want to meet her. You better bring her home during your offseason.”

“After game seven,” adds my dad. “We want to see that cup in your hands.”

My dad isn’t a hockey fanatic, but he likes to pretend he is for my sake.

I chuckle weakly. “That’s the plan.” Once they’ve caught me up on their day and I don’t spill about the ultimatum, I hang up and look at my texts to see that Sage hasn’t messaged. I’m sure she’s seen the interview.

Dropping my phone in the console, I pull out of my parking spot. But as I merge onto the highway, I realize Weston isn’t far from here. Before I know it, I take the exit toward Sage’s apartment. I need to see her.

Brick-covered buildings line the entire block. Squinting, I stare out my car window to read the numbers. It was dark when I dropped her home after our date, but I still remember which door is hers. I step on the brakes, jerking in my seat when I realize what I’m doing.

There’s nothing creepier than showing up to a girl’s apartment when she hasn’t answered your calls. Yet here I am, making a fool out of myself for the second time this week. I’m mentally scolding myself for thinking this was a good idea.

As I’m reluctantly peeling away from the curb to drive home, something pulls my gaze to the golden numbers on the door at the corner of the complex. The fourteen gleams like a polished ring, and I grip the steering wheel to force myself to drive away.

Either the stress is melting my brain, or I took some brutal hits in yesterday’s game, because I’m out of my car and jogging toward her door. There’s a light drizzle of rain as I head toward the number calling my name.

The short black fence, with absolutely zero security, screeches open with a flick of my hand. The concrete path that leads to her apartment is covered with yellow, overgrown grass and weeds that stick out of the cracks. I read the welcome mat laid out in front of her door. COME BACK WITH TACOS.

My smile disintegrates quickly when a drop of water lands on my head, making me look up to where the porch ceiling leaks a rusty brown liquid. I wipe it away and move to the side before I force myself to stop delaying. I knock and wait with a tapping foot, just as a series of rusty brown water drops trickle onto my face. Stepping to the side again, I bring up the hem of my shirt to dry my face.

“That’s one way to assure I won’t slam the door in your face,” Sage says.

Pulling my shirt back down, I see her eyeing where I just covered my torso. Sage stands there in heels and a black dress that reminds me of the one she wore to the auction. A curly tendril of hair frames her face, and her hazel eyes shine brighter with dark eyeliner accenting her almond-shaped eyes.

I clear my throat. “I’ve never had a door slammed in my face.”

“I’d happily be your first.” She swings it closed, but the move is slow. It only takes my hand against the door to stop her from closing it.

She sighs, opening it wide again. “Are you going to say something, or are you here to rob me?” She hikes a thumb behind her. “I don’t have much, but I’m sure my candle collection can get you a few bucks.”

“I’m not here to rob you.”

“You sure? Because you just showed up at my apartment without an invitation.” Sage crosses her arms. “I know you think I’m your girlfriend, but this is a lot even for me.”

With her eyes on me, it’s hard to come up with words. The ones I rehearsed for days don’t make sense anymore. “What I said at the conference—”

“Was a mistake,” she interrupts. “You were right. We don’t know each other. I wasn’t thinking when I suggested pretending to date. It was a mindless idea. One that should never have been said out loud. Now, if you will excuse me, I have somewhere to be.”

She turns to grab her purse from the coffee table in what I assume must be the living room. I’m not sure because the kitchen and the couch are all in the same place, which would be normal if there wasn’t a rack with all her clothes there too.

When she puts her purse onto her shoulder, she doesn’t look at me as she comes outside. I move back to give her space to lock the door. Sage jiggles the doorknob a few times and manhandles the door to get it to shut securely.

“Can I at least apologize?”

She sighs. “I heard your voicemail, Eli. No need to drag this out. Don’t worry about announcing I’m your girlfriend to the world. It’s only a matter of time before they pin you with the next girl of the week.”

I wince, knowing she watched the interview and heard what they said about her.

Then she drops her keys into her purse and descends the short steps.

“Where are you going? I’ll give you a ride,” I offer.

She walks past me, but I follow her anyway, watching as she sidesteps the cracks on the pavement and the muddy pockets of puddles left over from the earlier downpour.

“You can’t possibly walk in those shoes.”

“They’re fine, and I’m taking the train. That’s what us gold diggers like to use.”

The jab finds my sternum. “Let me drive you.”

“I don’t take rides from strangers.”

“I’ve seen you use Uber.”

“Fine, I don’t take rides from assholes,” she shoots back.

I wince, and if I’m not mistaken, she does too, but I deserve it.

“Sorry,” I say. We’re already way past my car, but she halts on the sidewalk. “I’m sorry for making you feel less than or like I didn’t want to be attached to you. That was never my intention, and questioning your character is not why I refused your offer.”

She gives me nothing, but I know if I don’t explain now, I’ll only make this worse.

“I know firsthand how the media and the fans act. The comments you got these last few days? Those are mild compared to the stuff Brandy, our team photographer, got on her social media when she was seen with me. The stuff they were saying about her isn’t even worth repeating, but I’d never want you to go through that. I never wanted to hurt you.”

There’s a beat where she’s silent and all I hear is the rain and the buzz of the streetlights.

“Well, you did hurt me,” she whispers.

“I know.” My voice is heavy with regret. “And I’m sorry. Being impulsive has never benefitted me, so I avoid it at all costs. I couldn’t throw caution to the wind and say yes to you.”

Caution to the wind? I rub my face in my hands and then look to see that she’s still giving me her back. With a few strides, I stand in front of her.

“Hear me out, Sage.” When she steps to the side, probably to head to the Weston train station, I stop her with a touch to her arm but drop my hand just as quickly.

“I’m late, Eli.”

Eli. “We can talk in my car on the way there.”

“You don’t even know where I’m going.” I watch her defenses crumble, but not fully.

“Then tell me. I’ll take you.” Doing something for her might just be for my own ego, but I need to know she doesn’t hate my guts for invading her privacy.

She gazes down the sidewalk before looking at me. Hazel on brown. “So you show up at my apartment unannounced, and now you’re forcing me to get into your car?” she deadpans.

“You’ve been in my car before.”

“That’s because of the auction. You could still be a part-time body parts collector.” She eyes me skeptically. “Your actions are proving that theory.”

My nervous laugh doesn’t help dampen the allegations. “Just tell me where you’re going, and I’ll drop you off. You can take a picture of my license and send it to a friend if you want.”

She laughs, and as good as it feels to hear that, I don’t feel at ease yet. “I have no friends, remember?”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, you can give me a ride.” She pulls out her phone. “I’m headed to the Pint.”

“Downtown?” My curiosity isn’t concealed well, and when she nods, it only makes me wonder why she’s going to a bar. But I don’t ask because there’s only so much I can push.

Inside my quiet car, my mouth feels dry as I try to come up with words.

Sage’s ringing phone cuts off my thoughts, and she answers. From the bits of conversation I catch, I know she’s talking to her brother about a mix-up at the pharmacy with his medication. The next twenty minutes of our car ride are spent with her calling multiple people. I drive slower, but I can’t delay our arrival any longer.

Sage hangs up just before I turn in to the roundabout at the front entrance. She’s ready to hop out, but on instinct I lock the doors.

She whips her head around to me. “This is creepy on so many levels.”

“I think we should talk about what I said at the press conference.”

Sage checks the time on her phone. “It’s fine. Just forget about it.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

She searches my face like she’s trying to believe that I just said those words.

“My date is waiting for me, Eli.”

“What?”

Everything halts. There’s a mess in my brain, and her words make it so much worse. I had just announced Sage as my girlfriend, and she’s going into this bar to meet another guy?

“I’m meeting someone here for a date, and you’re making me late,” she clarifies.

My mouth feels numb. As she reaches for the handle again, I finally unlock the car doors, the collective click resonating. She casts a fleeting glance in my direction, a trace of what I interpret as pity in her eyes.

“But people think you’re my girlfriend. Won’t this be … improper?” I protest.

She shakes her head, as though hoping my words might make more sense that way. I feel like I’ve bared my soul, but she reacts as if I’ve thrown sand at her.

“You said yourself that the possibility of us is unbelievable,” she says sharply. “And ‘improper’ happens to be my middle name. Goodbye, Eli.”

There it is again. The damn Eli and not Elias. She’s started calling me the nickname when I screwed up, and now she’s sticking to it. I don’t even know why I care; nobody calls me Elias.

Sage climbs out before I can say anything else. Watching her retreat into the bar, I’m restless. As I sit in the driver’s seat, still staring at the door, I’m hoping she’ll run right back to my car. Minutes drag as my gaze remains fixed on the black-framed doors where the Pint’s logo—a foaming beer mug—is etched into the glass.

When someone behind me honks, it jerks me back to reality.

My fake girlfriend just went on a date.

I’m about to drive off to head home like I know I should and reevaluate my life choices. Instead, I pull into an empty spot and park. Then, before I can second-guess myself, I exit the car and head inside the Pint.