Stick Your Landing (All In #3)

19. Finley

19

Finley

“Where are we?” I ask Zach after he directs me to park anywhere in the lot.

Now that his concussion symptoms have subsided, he can drive but I insisted because… well, I guess I’m not ready for it. I avoid the reason for my concern the way I avoid the fact that Zach is my brother’s teammate. Both are boulders waiting to come loose as we head down this winding road.

“My apartment,” he answers.

He waits for me to exit the driver’s door before walking toward a nondescript brick apartment building.

“This is the place you wanted to take me? I think I’ve given you the wrong impression.”

“No, High-flyer,” he says, playfully grabbing my waist while I swat at him. “I’m grabbing some clothes before we go where I want to take you. If it means you see where I live to prove I can be responsible, who am I to stand in the way?”

He pauses at the first landing and holds his arm out wide waiting for me to pass him. “Second door on your left."

I pause beside him to whisper, “I bet your neighbors don’t know a Calder Trophy winner lives among them.”

A laugh bursts from Zach’s chest. It’s cute the way he laughs, an understated heh-heh-heh he sometimes covers with a hand, as if he’s self-conscious about it. The most adorable laugh lines stencil into his reddening cheeks. I don’t wait for him to respond and continue to the door marked 124. The doormat beneath my feet reads, Welcome to the Sin Bin . I look over my shoulder at him.

“It was a housewarming gift from Volk,” Zach explains.

“I like it.”

The weight settling in my chest gets heavier once Zach opens the door and invites me into his apartment. His life. Would he do this if I told him the reason I dropped out of the sport I love? The reason my life will always be more complicated than it is for other people?

It’s new for me, having to tell someone about my bipolar disorder. My therapist says I’ll know the right time, to trust myself, which is laughable given how adept my brain is at lying to me.

During the highs, it tells me I don’t need to sleep, that I should do gymnastics at three in the morning. It forgets to warn me my actions have consequences. And then when it sinks into the depths of hell during my lows, it whispers I’m pulling everyone around me down, that I’m a disappointment, that I’d be better off not being here at all.

I shiver, thinking of how low I felt two years ago.

I know the signs of an oncoming episode, but it’s not always easy to determine whether something’s inane or significant. Like this morning with Zach, I can’t remember how long it’s been since I felt that good.

I’m not talking about the orgasms, which I give myself often. But being around him lights a lantern in my chest, brightening a space that has long been dark. The rush when I kissed him, when his body fused to mine, when he looked at me like I was the greatest gift he’d ever received reminded me of the highs of my bipolar disorder. I’m not sure if this signals the beginning of hypomania or falling hopelessly in love.

I should ask Dr. Warren, but I’m afraid of the answer. Because if I’m entering a hypomanic state, it’ll throw off my entire life. It’ll mean I’m heading for a crash, the kind that could derail all my progress at school and gymnastics.

“Are you coming in, or…?” Zach stares at me, still standing in the doorway, enveloped in my thoughts.

I take a breath and walk into a normal apartment. It’s nice—hardwood floors, a large open-concept space, marble countertops in the kitchen. “I’ve never had my own apartment,” I tell him.

Zach’s shoulders relax. “Me neither. Kennedy and I lived here together. She moved out only a month before I was flattened like a pancake.”

I can still picture the hit in my head, the way he tried to stand and fell back down, how he had to crawl to the bench. We’re both athletes. Injuries come with the territory. But my chest aches remembering how helpless he looked.

Zach continues, “She stayed with Volk most of the time, so I guess I did kinda have my own place, but she took care of a lot, which I need to do now.”

“When… are you planning to come back?”

Zach’s gaze burns into the side of my face, but my scaredy-cat ass refuses to turn. Part of me wants to stuff it away, to hide from these feelings that keep expanding, but the other part… well, the other part relents, and I rotate my head until I see him. That part of me never wants to look away.

“I honestly haven’t thought about it.”

“With Kennedy gone, are you going to stay here?”

“I don’t know. My lease is up in a couple of months. We got this place during my rookie season, after I officially wore out my welcome at Volk’s house.”

I prop my elbow on the elevated countertop, leaning into my open palm. “Is that what we call starting a grease fire and running out of the house to let it rage?”

Zach curses under his breath. “If people keep running their mouths, you’ll want nothing to do with me.”

I smirk. “It is a risk you run by bringing me around your friends. But it’ll take a lot more than that to scare me off.”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “Good to know.”

I walk further into the apartment, examining the furniture, the decor, the pictures, wishing I could turn this place inside out and find out every little thing about Zach Briggs. I point to the wall with a framed Palmer City Wolves jersey with VOLKOV and the number 42 on the back. “Big Volkov fan, huh?”

“It was a compromise with Kennedy. I can’t believe she left it.”

I bite my lip, trying to keep my smile in. Kennedy left it here to get under Zach’s skin, a favorite pastime of every person in his life. I can’t help joining in.

“Yeah? What’d you get in this compromise ?”

He nods his head in the direction of a long hallway with several closed doors. “I’ll show you.”

I follow Zach into what looks like a gaming mecca. Bookshelves filled with video games line one wall. The perpendicular wall holds the largest TV screen in existence. Positioned across from the TV is the most comfortable-looking piece of furniture I’ve ever seen, a cross between a bed and a couch.

And then Zach flips the light switch and fairy lights come alive. He’s filled the ceiling with white lights, casting a cozy glow over the entire room.

“Wow,” I breathe, spinning once around the room before landing on him again.

He slumps into the doorframe. “Go ahead, call me a nerd. I’ve heard it all.”

I drop onto the couch, and yup, it’s so comfortable I might never want to stand again. “Being a nerd is a good thing,” I tell him. “If I didn’t already think it, this room would change my mind.”

Zach’s head drops lightly against the doorframe. “Yeah?”

“I think it’s cool. I mean, I plan to have an entire room in my house dedicated to the books I love. And it’ll be covered in quotes and art.”

I let myself fall back into the cushion, reveling in its softness. The bed dips with Zach’s weight, and I reach for him, connecting with his hand. He threads our fingers, and my stomach turns over, like the spurt of a blender when it first turns on.

“Zach?” I whisper.

“Yeah?”

I speak the words to the ceiling. “Earlier you said you thought something was going on with me. Why do you think that?”

He swallows hard, his grip tightening on my hands like he’s worried I might slip away from him. “You’re hiding gymnastics from everyone in your life. You’re so good, Finley, and I can tell you love it. The way I love hockey. You wouldn’t give it up for nothing. And you’re living with Matt and Gem instead of on campus when they can afford to pay for it.”

Zach inhales deeply. “That night we met, you weren’t okay, were you? I didn’t know it then because I didn’t know you. You were so confident and sexy. I followed you because I felt lucky you were talking to me. I didn’t know something was wrong… and now I feel like an asshole.”

I turn to my side and tilt his chin toward me. “Zach, no, that’s not… don’t put any of it on you. You’re right. I was struggling, but there’s no way you could’ve known. I thought I might always be this half version of myself, and then… you were rambling about needing to find the men's room before you pissed in the corner, and… for the first time in forever, I wanted to laugh about something.”

Zach groans, throwing a hand over his eyes. “You heard that? I’m surprised you left that closet at all.”

“I was so desperate to feel something .” I let out a slow sigh. “I didn’t feel happy at my brother’s wedding, then you came along, and I didn’t want to let go. I normally wouldn’t come on that strong—not that there’s anything wrong with it—I’m just not usually that bold.”

“So did it work?”

I let out a laugh. “You could say so, yeah.”

“Why’d you run away?”

“It wasn’t you, I swear.”

“And you don’t want to tell me what it was?”

“Not yet.”

“Okay, High-flyer,” Zach says, tugging me to him. I nuzzle his side, resting my head in the crook of his arm, breathing in the comfort of his scent. “I’ll wait. I’m here to listen whenever you’re ready.”

I whisper, “I’m glad you found me again.”

His fingers trace my arm in a way that tells me he cares. I breathe in deeply, safe, comfortable, happy. “Me too, Finley. Me too."

I’m not used to sleeping against another person, but opening my eyes to Zach peacefully lying beside me warms me to the tips of my toes. There’s a faint smile on his face, on those lips I kissed again and again this morning, spurred on by the ever-bright feeling in my chest. One of his hands curls around my right shoulder, the other resting on his chest. I slip my hand into his, moving ever so slowly, not wanting to jostle him awake.

His eyes flutter open, and I soak in their beautiful brown color. Zach offers a sleepy smile when he finds me watching him.

“Hey,” he says.

“I see the appeal of naps now.”

Zach stretches his arms over his head, his shirt lifting to reveal a swath of toned abdomen and a dusting of dark hair around his navel. “I’ve taken a lot of naps, Finley, but this one might be my favorite.”

I brush a lock of his hair back from his forehead. “You’re very good at it.”

He laughs softly. “That’s me, excelling at those marketable skills.”

“Last time I checked, hitting a puck into a net is pretty marketable.” I gesture around us. “If I’m not mistaken, it’s how you got this sweet setup. Meanwhile, I’ve only got blood blisters and bruises to show for my efforts.”

Zach slips his arm out from behind me and shifts to his side. “What do you want to show for your efforts?”

I haven’t said it out loud to anyone. I’ve barely admitted it to myself, but deep down, I know. Not putting voice to this goal leaves me half-in though. It allows me to give it up, but I don’t want to keep living a life where I don't risk anything.

“I want back in,” I say, studying Zach, needing to see his reaction. “Getting onto UPC’s team is only the first step. I want the Olympics. I want a medal.”

Zach doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t scoff. No doubt creeps into his expression. He continues to stare at me intently, waiting for me to continue.

A nervous laugh bursts from my chest. “I’ve never admitted it to anyone.”

“Why not?”

“I’m past my prime. It sounds ridiculous, but twenty-one is ancient in gymnastics. Eighteen was once considered your last shot, but more women are staying in the sport longer, so it’s not impossible but … still a long shot.”

“You want it though?”

I nod.

“That’s all that matters then,” Zach says. “You think anyone from my hometown thought I’d make it to the NHL? I’d be picked in the first round? I’m five-ten, one hundred seventy pounds. You can throw a stone anywhere in Canada and hit someone whose dream is to play professional hockey. If I’d let myself think about the odds, I wouldn’t be where I am now. You have to put on blinders, Finley. You have to believe.”

He runs the back of his fingers over my cheek. “I believe you can, not that my opinion means anythin—”

I lunge forward, placing my lips on his, smothering the last words of his sentence. It takes a second before he kisses me back, one arm pulling me to him. He holds me snugly against his body, our lungs expanding and contracting in turn. A heartbeat pulses erratically, but with how close we are, I’m unsure whether it’s mine or his.

Eventually, I pull back enough to look him in the eyes. “Your opinion means something to me.”

Zach swallows a lump in his throat. I wait for him to speak, expecting a ramble in response to my brazen statement. He remains silent, gazing at me but not in a way I find uncomfortable. I like this opportunity to memorize every section of his face.

Finally, I say, “We didn’t go to the place you wanted to take me.”

“We’ll go someday.” Zach waves a hand, shooing my worry away. He acts like we have all the time in the world. I can’t help the smile stretching across my face at this promise. “You ready for the gym?”

“Let’s go.”

When I settle into bed later that night after spending the day with Zach Briggs, that smile is still on my face.