Stupid. That’s really stupid, Jenna.
Crap, crap, crap. What do I do?
It seems like it takes hours for me to decide, but ultimately, I throw caution to the wind. My curiosity is far too great.
Give me two minutes, I text back.
I don’t wait for his response. I shoot off the couch and jet into my room, stripping off my pajamas. I grab a pair of jeans out of my closet and shimmy into them. Next, I grab a T-shirt and jam it over my head, threading my arms through the sleeves as I run into the bathroom. Nothing can be done about my wet hair, and I don’t have time for makeup.
Shit.
I brush my teeth, leaning over to give them a quick scrub. When I pop back up to look in the mirror, my eyes catch on the scars. “Shit.”
I run back to the closet, whip off the T-shirt and yank a turtleneck off a hanger, struggling into it and feeling like I just ran a marathon. I barely get it pulled over my stomach when there’s a knock on my apartment door.
“Shit,” I mutter and run my fingers through my semi-damp hair. This will have to do.
I force myself to walk calmly across my small living room, putting my eye up to the peephole. Gage stands there, distorted from the fish-eye lens but still looking amazing.
I unlock the door and pull it open. “Hey.”
Gage smiles, hands tucked into his pockets. “You sure it isn’t too late to visit?”
“No, not at all,” I assure him, stepping back in a welcoming gesture. “I watched the game. You were incredible tonight.”
“Thanks,” he says as he walks in. “You didn’t go?”
I shake my head. “Too much work to do, so I settled for watching it on my iPad while I did some stuff on my laptop.”
“All work and no play,” he quips, leaving the rest of the cliché hanging.
“Well, I did have wine,” I say, closing the door behind him.
Gage laughs. “Party animal.”
“Can I get you something? Wine? Or water? Those are the two choices.”
He shakes his head. “I’m good.”
Those hazel eyes bore into mine, and for a second, we have a weird staring contest where neither of us speaks.
Finally, I blurt, “Why are you here?”
Gage shrugs. “Had a crappy night. You make me smile, so I thought I’d come get my bucket filled.”
Crappy night? Off the end of an amazing game?
I motion toward the couch, and he moves to one end. I plop down on the other, resting my back against the arm and tucking my legs under me. “So, why was your night crappy?”
Gage angles slightly toward me, propping an ankle on his knee and slinging his arm across the back of the couch. It puts his hand within a foot of me—completely innocuous, but his closeness flutters my nerves.
“Coen Highsmith got into a scuffle tonight with someone at Mario’s,” he says grimly, rubbing his jaw as if it aches from gritting his teeth. “I’m worried about him.”
I recall Coen walking out of the conference room when Brienne told the guys about the documentary. While she by no means cares if Coen doesn’t want to participate, the manner in which he left was rude. I also read about his recent arrest in New York and subsequent two-game suspension.
“I imagine it’s hard on him… losing all his teammates. The guilt of surviving.”
Gage nods. “Yeah, I know that’s what’s driving his behavior. I confronted him about it tonight… tried to offer help… but he just won’t take it.”
I twirl my fingers in my lap, glancing at them briefly. “Sometimes… you can lurk in the dark for so long, it’s hard to leave the security it becomes.”
“See… that’s just it.” His voice is laced with frustration. “I don’t understand how he can want to stay in that place. Why doesn’t he want out of it, especially when he’s offered help?”
“Because when it’s dark, you can’t see anything else.”
“So it’s hopeless to try?” he asks, and my heart melts over the fact he’s anguished for one of his friends.
“It’s never hopeless to try. You should always try. Because the hope is that you break through.”
Gage nods again, as if he hadn’t considered that but sees the point. “I called Callum. He’s going to figure out some type of intervention.”
I smile with encouragement. “Then I say you had a productive night, on and off the ice.”
Gage smiles back, brighter than my own. “And just like that, you helped fill my bucket.”
Tipping my head, I ask, “What does that mean?”
“It’s a children’s book that I bought for one of my nieces, and we read it together all the time—via FaceTime, of course. But it says everyone has a bucket, and we fill it with kindnesses to and from one another. I wave at you with a smile as we pass by, and that fills up your bucket. You’re surprised I noticed, took the time, and you smile and wave back. It fills up my bucket.”
“I love that,” I say on a swoony sigh. “And I guess the opposite… people can do things to drain our bucket, or we can do things that drain others’?”
Gage grins and points a finger. “Simple concept, and a great way for kids to understand the importance of how our everyday actions and words affect people. But I’ve always felt adults need that lesson too. Being aware.”
It’s now that I understand Gage isn’t just a nice guy but a good man. So self-aware and aware of others at the same time. Just like the day we met… he was aware in an instant that he’d done something to take from my bucket. Rather than leave me that way, he made efforts to fill it back up.
And he came to my house tonight knowing I’d refill his bucket. It’s a thought that scares and humbles me, for I haven’t felt like I’ve had a lot to offer people in a very long time.
“There was another reason I wanted to come by tonight,” he says casually, and my breath freezes in my lungs. “I wanted to let you know I canceled that double date Nolan wanted me to go on. It was supposed to be tomorrow night, but I texted a bit ago and called it off.”
“Oh,” I murmur, my head spinning with why he would do that and why he would bother making a trip over here to tell me.
“I’m not one to beat around the bush, and while I try to read the room to make sure I know what I’m dealing with, I have to admit I’m a little confused where you’re concerned.”
I frown at him. “I think I’m confused too.”
“Well,” he drawls, giving me a sheepish smile, “I want to ask you out. I wanted to the other night before Nolan interrupted us. And then… you pushed me to go out with a stranger, and you left very quickly, and then that made me unsure of what you might be receptive to.”
“You wanted to ask me out?” I murmur, hands falling to my lap again. A little dizziness hits me because I’ve been admittedly crushing on Gage—I mean, I stalked him online because he showed me kindness—but I never in a million years thought he would have any interest in me other than friendship. It’s why I pushed him to go on that date because it kept me in a safe bubble, shielded from potential rejection.
“Yeah, I wanted to ask you out,” he says, amused that I’m surprised.