Chapter 52: Sadie: A Soft Spot

SADIE

By the time night comes, I’m barely clinging to my sanity.

Tutoring Trey isn’t difficult. Academically, he catches on much faster than I expected.

The problem is the man himself.

He has no filter, and every time he opens his mouth, I understand a little less about why his teammates tolerate him or why his army of fangirls finds him charming. There is nothing charming about a person who makes you consider murder at least ten times in one afternoon.

So now I’m standing in front of my bedroom mirror, pouring out my grievances to my reflection because it’s the only form of therapy I can currently afford.

"Calm down," I whisper. "It’ll be over soon."

The end of the semester is nowhere near soon, but I’m the idiot who asked him to let me stay.

"Let’s just get through—"

A knock lands against my door before I can finish.

"Come shower," Trey calls through the door. "I’m done in the bathroom."

I roll my eyes and reach for the towel on my vanity. He still hasn’t called anyone to fix my bathroom because he hasn’t had time, which is beginning to sound like his version of I’m too lazy to do it.

Admittedly, I’m the one who dismantled my bathroom in the first place, so my right to complain is limited. Still, making one phone call shouldn’t require this much effort.

I leave my room and glance down the hallway, but Trey has already disappeared. His bedroom door stands open, so I head over and step inside.

My feet stop immediately.

Trey has his back to me. More importantly, he has no shirt on.

This day has already tested the limits of my self-control. I’ve dealt with his erection, survived an imaginary kitchen scene and seeing him half-dressed is one problem too many.

That doesn’t stop my gaze from dropping.

I clutch the towel more tightly against my chest as my focus moves to the shorts sitting low on his hips. They stretch rather generously over his ass, which I have no reason to be studying, yet my eyes stay there long enough to confirm that hockey has been very kind to him.

I blink myself out of it and drag my gaze upward.

Trey is twisting one arm behind him, his fingers reaching unsuccessfully for the middle of his back. It takes me another second to notice what he’s trying to touch, and all the inappropriate thoughts still lingering in my head disappear.

Purple patches are scattered across his tanned skin, some darker than others.

My hold on the towel loosens as I stare at them.

"Are those bruises?" I’m already crossing the room before he can answer. "How did you get them?"

He turns quickly, forcing me to stop. His eyebrow rises as he takes in the towel I’m clutching.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think? Your back is covered in bruises." I gesture helplessly at him. "Am I supposed to see that and continue walking to the bathroom?"

"They’ll heal." He turns around again and reaches behind himself, his fingers falling short. "My back just itches."

Of course it does. His back looks like someone used it for target practice, but because his body will eventually repair itself, he’s decided that suffering quietly counts as handling the problem.

I grab his hand.

"What are you—"

"Come with me."

I drag him the short distance to the bed and push him down.

He lands on the mattress, looking startled. "Is this payback for this afternoon, or what?"

"Sit here and don’t move."

I drop my towel beside him and hurry back to my room. After a quick search through my drawer, I find the small jar of pain-relief balm I bought because I bruise easily.

When I return, Trey is exactly where I left him, which might be the first instruction he has followed all day.

I stop in front of him and raise the jar. "Pain-relief balm. I know your Alpha healing will handle this eventually, but the balm will make it hurt less in the meantime."

He looks from the balm to me, his confusion deepening. I wasn’t aware pain relief was a difficult concept, but Trey regards the jar like I’ve offered him something entirely unfamiliar.

"What difference does it make?"

"You’ll see." I twist open the lid. "Turn around."

There’s a brief hesitation before he moves to the edge of the bed and presents his back to me. I rub a little balm between my fingers and spread it carefully over the darkest bruise.

His muscles go rigid.

"That stings," he says.

I ease the pressure. "Why didn’t you say it was painful?"

"Because I can take it."

"I know you can." I smooth the balm carefully across his skin. "That doesn’t mean you should sit there suffering when this can help."

He falls silent.

Up close, the bruises are darker than I thought. Purple patches spread across his shoulder blades and disappear around his sides. I move slowly, keeping my touch light as I work around them.

"Do you come back like this after every practice?"

"Most of them." His shoulders rise slightly. "It’s part of hockey."

"You don’t get extra points for pretending it doesn’t hurt." My touch softens over his skin. "You’re allowed to say it, Trey."

He doesn’t respond or order me to mind my own business, so I decide that means he heard me.

I finish with the bruise near his shoulder, screw the lid onto the jar, and hold it toward him. "Take it. Put some on whenever it starts bothering you."

Trey turns, but his hand closes around mine instead of the jar, folding my fingers back over it.

"You keep it."

"Huh?"

"You’re my pain-relief person now."

My nose scrunches. "Your what?"

"You apply it better."

"That’s because you can’t reach your own back."

"Exactly." His thumb rests briefly against my knuckles. "So whenever it hurts, you’ll do it."

The jar is already secure in my hand, but he doesn’t let go. With his fingers still covering mine, I become aware of how unusual it feels to stand between his knees while he looks up at me for once.

His hair hasn’t dried yet, leaving his curls dark and messy around his forehead. Without the usual expression across his face, he looks strangely soft.

Nice, even.

I reject the thought before it can become another kitchen situation and ease my hand from his.

"Fine," I mumble. "Tell me when you need it."

I take one step back. Trey follows by rising from the bed and closing the distance, all traces of that unexpected softness gone.

"We’re bonding," he says. "I know your underwear preferences, and now you know I’m capable of feeling pain."