Stone Creek by Davis, Lainey (reading diary .TXT) 📕

here. We're up 4-0 and there's like five minutes left in the game. Come on."

But I can't leave. I have to stay at least until I know Neal is ok. The tangle of bodies falls to the ground and then the referees begin pulling the players apart in earnest. The arena erupts with angry yelling when the Lion player who tripped Tyler is sent to the penalty box, but Neal is ejected from the game for misconduct. Coach Thomas reaches up and puts an arm around his shoulders as Neal glides toward the SCU hallway to the locker rooms. I can hear him screaming and swearing as he makes his way down the tunnel.

"Come on," Linda urges. "He's ok. Let's go, Dahlia."

But I can't tear myself away. I see the faces of the SCU players, concentrated in rage at the injustice of Neal's situation. I worry the rest of them will all hurt each other. I lean against the glass, and I must look a mess, because Gayle puts her arm around my shoulders. "He'll be ok, sweetheart. They'll all be ok."

I look over at her and realize that tears are brimming in my eyes, threatening to fall down my face. I bite my lip, and Gayle shushes me. "It's hard for me to watch my son play in a sport like this," she says. "Ever since they got big enough to really hurt each other with their fists." She pats my arm and looks from me to Linda. "It's not easy to love a hockey player, is it?"

I shake my head. "No, that's not…we aren't in love. I just…I thought something terrible would happen to him…"

"Why don't you let your friend take you on home. We don't get to talk to them after the game unless we have tickets to the booster dinner." Gayle squeezes my hand and Linda, who doesn't have to be told twice to get out of there, yanks on my arm toward the exit.

CHAPTER EIGHT

 

 

"That was fucking intense," Linda says as we settle in to the couch. We've changed to sweats and she grabbed a pint of ice cream. She insisted we watch garbage reality television, which I think is fair since I dragged her to a sporting event. I let my mind drift as the real housewives of some city bitch at each other and fight.

"What's intense? The show?"

"No, asshole. The hockey game. Your boy beat the shit out of that guy." I nod over my spoonful of chocolate ice cream. She grabs the carton from my hand and stuffs a spoonful in her mouth. She talks around the lump of ice cream in her mouth, saying, "It was kind of hot to watch them go all alpha dog like that. Why do you think the other team started cheating?"

I shrug and sigh. The show is getting loud and I pull out my phone, scrolling around my news feed. My phone vibrates in my hand. It's a text from Neal. I need to see you. Can I come over?

I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath until I exhale deeply. I feel so much lighter having heard from him, knowing he's ok. I smile. Since when do you ask permission?

So is that a yes, pumpkin pi?

Yes! Of course. You can share ice cream with us.

This sort of response is not what I was expecting. To meet the mothers of his friends today and get so worked up seeing him hurt…Linda said it was intense, but that doesn't feel like a strong enough word. All I can think about is drawing Neal into my arms and kissing him. I'm not longing to sleep with him. I want to hold him, caress his hair and tell him I will keep him safe.

Am at dinner w $$ alumni, he writes. Can leave in like 20 min.

"Hey, Linda," I say. "Neal is gonna come over." She hands me back the ice cream and smiles.

Linda turns back to the television show and drapes an arm over my shoulders. "I'll go put my bra back on during commercial," she says.

Awhile later, I hear a knock on my door and answer it to find Neal, glassy eyed and smelling of liquor. He's wearing a tailored black suit with his tie loosened and his shirt half unbuttoned. "Dahlia," he whispers, touching my face.

I pull him into the apartment. I hear Linda whistle between her teeth at the sight of him. His face bears the marks of his fight on the ice with the other team. At one point in the brawl his helmet must have flown off, because he has a black eye and bruising along his jaw. I walk to the kitchen and pour Neal a glass of water, which he downs in one gulp, still standing in the living room.

"Come on," I say, pulling his arm down the hallway. "We can talk in here."

I hear Linda turn the volume up on the television and I roll my eyes at her. Neal flops across my bed and I climb in beside him. "Tell me," I say. "What's wrong?"

He pulls me to his chest and runs his fingers through my ponytail while I fiddle with his tie. "Do you need ice for your eye?"

He shakes his head. "I liked seeing you there in the stands," he says. He winds his fingers through mine and squeezes gently.

"Tyler's mom said you never have anyone." I try not to ask him questions, but I want to know more about why this talented athlete, who everyone says is sure to get drafted after graduation, doesn't even have relatives rooting for him for home games.

He sighs. "My mom can't make it down very much. She hasn't really gotten to see me play since high school." Neal sits up and throws off his suit jacket and tie. As