Brenna

When we arrive home, I'm exhausted. My head hurts, and I'm pissed at myself for ruining our date. The area surrounding my stitches is tender, and the remnants of the impact are throbbing. Although the headache is bad, I'm thankful I don't have a concussion. It means I can still play hockey.

At the entryway, I wipe my shoes against the mat, leaving behind streaks of mud and snow. If the mess upsets Mom, she says nothing. After I've kicked off my shoes, Hunter and Mom file in behind me. They're exchanging words that are incoherent to me. I can't think about anything else except the conversation with Shea. About how I shouldn't compare myself to anyone. That I should speak to my father. That he'd come with me.

Leaving Mom and Hunter behind, I head into the kitchen, choking on a silent sob. Shea was right. Bottling everything up isn't good. I've been putting myself through hell by doing that. There are people surrounding me; people I can talk to and trust. I suppose I never wanted to feel like a burden to them.

Ever since I can remember, my independence has been dominant. It results from being raised by one parent, which is never a bad thing. I don't give a fuck about what other people say. Not all kids need both parents. When you speak against this, you're disregarding women who have had kids through sperm donor or men who have adopted. Single parenting needs to be normalized. And I'm not trying to take away from the happiness that comes with having two parents. All I'm saying is the same level can be achieved with one parent.

I've always been happy with Mom. It's been us against the world. All I'm upset about is the lack of truth, even if they were trying to protect me. I'm proud of who I am thanks to Mom raising me. 

Normalization and emotions aside, there are still internal issues I need to deal with. Like my addiction to exercising and my inability to stop checking nutritional labels. Being on the lookout for healthier options isn't a bad thing. What's bad is how I've been handling it. Especially after the holidays.

I think back to the conversations Shea and I have had. Particularly the one at Scandia.

Moderation.

That word has never felt so heavy in my chest.

Sighing, I sit down at the island and rest my face in my hands. Junk food is good in moderation. Stress is okay in moderation—it spurs you on when you're being lazy. Exercise is healthy in moderation. To say I balance my life is a lie. Nothing's balanced. It hasn't been for a while now. Over the years, I've become caught up in life, never stopping to take a break. My lack of awareness has made things worse. To where I ended up in the hospital.

My eyes find the hospital bracelet still wrapped around my wrist.

It makes me cringe. It makes shame spread through my chest. Shame that pairs with the original level of shame I felt regarding my body image and the stress of having an addict for a father.

A tear slips down my cheek. Shea was right. I need help climbing out of the rabbit hole.

Just then, Mom enters the kitchen. I quickly wipe the tear away, glancing at her.

"Hunter and I are going to pick Shea's vehicle up," Mom says.

A frown encompasses my face. "Why are you going? I can help Hunter."

Mom shakes her head. "You need rest, Brenna."

I open my mouth to protest, but Mom cuts me off with a glare. Pressing my lips into a flat line, I direct my gaze in the opposite direction. There's no use in arguing with her. And maybe she's right. I'm exhausted. All I want to do is sleep.

"Fine," I sigh. "I'll make some tea while you're gone. Or maybe I'll go to bed."

Mom leans over the island and ruffles my hair while pressing a kiss to my forehead. "We'll be back soon, sweetie. Take some time for yourself."

I suppress a sigh. There's an underlying meaning to her words. Mom knows me too well. She knows I need time to process everything on my own. She'll probably take Hunter out for a burger or something to give me space. It's a kind afterthought, and I'm giving Mom the credit she deserves.

However, being alone isn't something that sounds appealing. Right now, I want to talk to Shea as much as I want to sleep. I want his arms wrapped around me while I cry. While I pour my fucking heart out to him.

Removing my phone from my pocket, I strain my ears for any noise. Some shuffling is going on outside of the kitchen. It sounds like someone's pulling on a jacket. An understandable necessity. Since we left the hospital, the temperature has dropped. It's also snowing again. 

As the front door opens, muffled words echo into the kitchen. I can't make out what Mom and Hunter are discussing, but part of me doesn't care. Whatever they're saying about me... I don't want to hear it.

I wait until the front door has shut and I no longer hear muffled voices. Once they've left, I dial Shea's number. Although it's late, I'm sure he's still awake. Shea's a night owl. Sometimes, I'll message him at midnight the night before a game, and he'll be awake.

Holding my breath, I listen to the dial tone. On the third ring, Shea picks up. I expel a deep breath of relief. A spark of happiness fills my chest, chasing away the gloomy emotions that have settled around me. Although he had to pick up Chelsea, I wish he wouldn't have left the hospital. I missed having him by my side.

However, that spark of hope fades when he speaks. Shea's voice is groggy with sleep and he sounds disoriented.

"Shit," I say. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry. Go back to bed, Shea."

Through the phone, I hear the creaking of mattress springs. He yawns. "I'm awake, Bren. Don't worry about it. I'm exhausted, but sleep refuses to comply. What's up?"

I chew on my thumbnail. The emotions coursing through my veins worry me. They're potent and powerful. Too much for my heart to handle. I need someone to confide in. Someone to cuddle with until the tears are gone, and I can fall asleep. And that person I want, the one I'm longing for...

That's Shea.

The thought makes my cheeks burn. If someone told me I'd be dating Shea Smith a year ago, I'd have punched them. Hell, I'd have punched him. Unless we're playing hockey, there isn't a bone in my body that wants to make Shea fail. I want him to go to Boston without the weight of his parents fighting on his shoulders. I want to tell him how amazing he is for caring for his sister. There's an exponential amount of things I want, and I associate almost every single one with him.

Within months, the tables have turned. Shea's been integrated into my group of friends, and he's brought along a few of his, expanding our group and making it better. These past few months have been the best. Working with Shea is easier than hating him—even if we're still rivalries on the ice. We both understand that our relationship can't impede how we perform on ice. Both of us want to make careers out of hockey. And while Shea has a better chance than I do, I appreciate his support and respect. I also support and respect him. 

"Are you home?" I ask.

The instant that question leaves my mouth, I feel like an idiot. Of course he's home. That's where he went after he picked Chelsea up.

He loosens a deep breath. I hear a door close. "No. Things weren't going well at home. I brought Chelsea to KJ's house for some peace. Poor kid is struggling. She keeps blaming herself for Mom and Dad's fights."

I feel ten times worse. The last thing Shea needs is me dumping my issues on him. He's already worried about his sister. Stressed because of his insufferable parents. "You know what? Never mind. I'll see you at school tomorrow."

"Bren," he says. The grogginess from his voice is gone, and all I can hear are the deep, velvety undertones. "KJ won't mind. If you need to come over, then come over. KJ's dad's house has enough spare rooms for everyone."

The dam bursts free, and tears starting leaking from my eyes. "A-are you sure?" I stutter. "I don't want to intrude."

"Don't fault yourself for being emotional. It feels like there's a hole in your heart. I understand that, Brenna. Maybe not in the same context, but it feels like you're running, right? Never able to stop. Never able to escape what's chasing you." He expels a deep sigh again. "Teenagers have it the worst. We're always trying to adhere to the norms. To impress our families. To be these perfect fucking human beings despite still learning lessons. People have invalid opinions about teenagers and new adults, and it pisses me off."

My lips pull to one side. Seems like I'm not the only one suffering from internal turmoil.

"Yeah," I choke. "Couldn't relate more to what you just said. Are... are you sure KJ wouldn't mind?"

Through the phone, I hear running water. The clinking of glass. "For once in your life, Brenna, don't worry about other people. Worry about yourself. If you need support, come here. I'd offer to come to your house, but I need to stay with Chels."

Chewing on my bottom lip, I nod. "I'll be there in fifteen."

Shea takes a sip of water (I can tell because of the long pause) before saying, "See you soon."

After hanging up, I fire off a quick text to Hunter, telling him I'm going to Shea's house. Then I ask him to tell Mom a little white lie. Although Mom is on better terms with Shea, she wouldn't want me going there right now. I ask Hunter to say I've gone to Ella's house.

Hunter responds with a thumbs-up and tells me to be safe on the roads. I promise I'll text him as soon as I arrive at Shea's house. Telling him Shea's house is also a little white lie, and it's because I don't want to explain why Shea's at KJ's. They live in proximity. So that's that. It's not like they're on opposite sides of town. Hunter knows I'm in the Kettle Valley areas. That's all that matters. 

Gathering my belongings, I pull on a coat and head outside. My vehicle is parked in the driveway, a light dusting of snow covering it. Mom and Hunter will be back soon, so I don't have time to start my vehicle and wait for it to warm up.

By the time I've backed out of the driveway, I can still see my breath.

I suppress a shiver, knowing the heating will kick in and I'll be with Shea soon.

* * *

Shea opens the door before I knock. He ushers me inside without a word, pressing a finger to his lips.

A crease forms between my brows. As far as I know, everyone within the house is sleeping. It's polite to be quiet, but Shea's making it more intense than need be.

"Ella's here," he murmurs. "She's grabbing a glass of water from the kitchen."

"And that concerns me because...?"

Shea holds up one finger. "First, she doesn't know I'm awake." He raises another finger. "Second, I know what'll happen if she sees you." And there's another finger. "Finally, watching you share time with another person isn't on the docket. I know you and Ella will be up all night talking."

I snort, despite him being correct. Ella and I have become closer over the past couple of months. I enjoy talking to her. "You want me all to yourself?"

He shrugs. "Didn't want to sound like a possessive jerk."

Warmth spreads through my chest. "You're not possessive if that's what I want, too."

Although Shea's glancing over his shoulder, I can see the genuine smile on his face. As well as the blush spreading across his cheeks.

I direct my gaze to the small table in the entryway. It's covered with little trinkets from vacations, as well as a bowl with keys in it. But I'm not thinking about the decorations or keys. Men blushing should be normalized. We shouldn't love it. But I can't help myself. It's too damn cute.

Just then, a thought occurs to me. "How does Ella not know you're awake?"

Shea rubs the back of his neck. "I may have heard her coming downstairs, and I may have hidden in the laundry room." He gestures down the hall to the first door on the left. I'm assuming the laundry room is there.

"You didn't want to talk to Ella?"

He sighs. "You're not the only one who's stressed, Brenna. Sometimes, when I'm stressed, I isolate myself. Before Ella was awake, I was in the kitchen eating Nutella and bananas. Alone. I like being alone sometimes."

My lips twist to one side as I fight off a smile. "That's a delicious combination."

Shea doesn't respond. Instead, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, glancing over his shoulder again. The light reflecting from the far wall suddenly disappears, and I hear Ella's footsteps as she pads up the stairs to KJ's room.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

Shea runs a hand through his hair, making it look even more messy than before. It's been a while since he last had a haircut, so his hair is brushing his shoulders. Any hairstyle would work on Shea, but I prefer his hair shorter. Looks pretty damn good when it's styled, too. But, yeah, I'm not a fan of his longer hair. 

"Nope," he admits. "I'm worried about you. I've been receiving phone calls all night from my parents. They want us to come home and solve this like a family, which is pretty fucking gutsy of them considering they're acting like toddlers. Attending university in Boston is looking more and more like a pipe dream." He pauses, and I don't think he realizes one hand is resting on my shoulder, his thumb skimming the bare skin of my neck. "Did I mention I'm worried about you? And that I can't sleep even though I'm fucking exhausted?"

The last question isn't invalid. Shea looks exhausted. There are dark circles beneath his eyes, and his hair is a disaster. His black cotton T-shirt is wrinkled, too. And so are...

Oh fuck.

He's wearing his boxers. They're a patterned with a simple plaid and they hang low on his hips.

As much as the view pleases me, I'm overrun by my emotions. Any second now, I'm going to crumble.

I flash him a weak smile. "Once or twice."

He stares at me for several seconds, and I'm unable to read the emotions in his hazel eyes.

Until he pulls me into a bone-crushing hug. "Fuck you, Harrison. I almost had a heart attack. Don't scare me like that again."

The way he says my last name breaks something inside me. Although Shea's having a rough time, too, I can't prevent myself from crying. All these pent-up emotions are too much for me to handle.

I bury my face in his neck. "I'm fucked up."

He tightens the hug. "Brenna, you are far from fucked up. You're a teenager with the world against you. You're resilient and beautiful, and what's fucked up is that they expect strong people to remain strong. We're not allowed to cry or express our frustrations, and it must be ten times worse for a woman."

"That's not an excuse," I croak. "I know how to regulate my emotions. Yet here I am, suffering from an eating disorder and almost giving my boyfriend a heart attack. Plus, I don't have the courage to talk to my dad. Why can't things go back to being easy?"

Shea snorts. "Easy is a pathway for the foolish. If you're handed everything, how do you learn lessons? How do you become a better person? Easy never comes with good company."

Hearing Shea speak such words increases my overload of emotions. Everything he's doing proves how much he's changed, and it makes me want him more.

His voice catches. "Do you think it's easy to take care of my sister? To worry about what will happen if I can't go to Boston University? Or what happens if I do? To think about all the shit I pulled with you? There are so many skeletons in my closet, trying to fuck everything up. It's overwhelming. You want to scream at the world. But you can't. Keep your head screwed on right while everyone else surrounding you can lose their shit. That's what we're supposed to do. It's unfair, Bren. I know what it feels like. I don't understand what you're going through, but I'm trying. Just know I can fathom how it feels. But I can understand it better if you talk."

He expels a deep breath, ending his spiel.

I can hear the emotion in his voice. There's pain and passion. His voice burns with the remnants of emotional pain and the sparks threatening to discourse his future. But I also see the underlying passion; the need and want to achieve every desire within his power. It's like the expression he gets when playing hockey. No wonder Shea's captain. Realizing this now makes me feel like a fool. Although Shea was an asshole and didn't deserve my respect, his wrongness also blindsided me. Too consumed by the explicit drama to see his outstanding traits and respect them. Even when people are jerks, you can still respect certain attributes, so long as you call them out on their negative and disrespectful shit. So long as they improve themselves.

And if he's brave enough to display his emotions, to trust me...

"If my dad is trying to get help, then I want to meet him. Officially. And I want you to come with me." I pause, squeezing my eyes shut to regain my composure. "My first counselling appointment will be soon. Mom will call tomorrow. I have to stop looking at labels and overworking myself." I expel a deep breath. "It's difficult to say that, considering how stubborn I am."

He tightens the hug again—if that's possible. "I'm proud of you. And of course I'll come with you. You don't need to ask. I won't drop your hand."

Pressing my face against his neck, I stifle a giggle. "The Taylor Swift reference is phenomenal."

He loosens a husky laugh. His hot breath makes me shiver. "Taylor Swift is the music industry, Brenna. Everyone knows that." He pauses, pulling away from me. There's a small frown on his face. "Was that your stomach?"

My cheeks turn pink. "Yes. I'm hungry."

Looping his arm around my shoulder, Shea leads me into the living room. "Come on. I know places. Let me get changed, and we'll go."

I glance at the digital clock on the microwave. KJ's house is open-concept, so it's easy to see into the kitchen from here. "At ten-thirty at night?"

Shea shrugs. "Why not?"

A smile curves across my lips. "Fine."

He chuckles, his hazel eyes twinkling. "Fine."