Chapter 9: Awake

Maya's POV

I woke up slowly and the first thing I noticed was the ceiling. It wasn't my ceiling. Mine had a water stain in the shape of a dog near the left corner. My dad always said he'd paint over it but he never did. This ceiling was clean and plain white.

Where am I?

I blinked once and then twice. The room came into focus slowly, like a camera adjusting its lens. It wasn't my bedroom. It wasn't the nurse's office, it wasn't even anywhere I recognized.

The walls were painted a soft gray. Sunlight streamed through a window with white curtains and there were shelves on the wall, wooden, simple and filled with things that caught the light.

Where am I?

I pushed myself up. The blanket fell away from my chest and I looked down.

Oooops, I wasn't wearing my uniform.

I was putting on a robe. Dark blue, soft and way too big for me. The sleeves swallowed my hands and the hem fell past my knees.

Whose robe is this?

My heart should have been pounding. I should have been scared but I wasn't. Something about this place felt... safe. Quiet. Like the world outside couldn't reach me here.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold wood and my feet were bare. I stood up slowly, testing my balance. The room tilted for a second, then steadied.

I'm okay. I'm okay.

I started walking.

The shelves were the first thing that caught my attention. I moved toward them, my bare feet silent on the floor.

Medals, trophies and awards.

Hockey. All hockey.

MVP, regional Champion, all-State Team. A plaque that said Future Legends Tournament; First Place. A silver cup with a name engraved on it that I couldn't read from where I stood.

This is Justin's place.

The realization settled over me gently. Not with panic but with something softer. Something I didn't have a name for.

I turned to the wall beside the shelves.

There were photos. Dozens of them.

Justin, when he was younger, maybe sixteen or seventeen in a hockey jersey, his hair longer, his grin wide and unselfconscious. He was holding a trophy above his head and his face was flushed with victory.

He looks happy.

Another photo. Justin on the ice, mid-stride, his stick extended, his eyes locked on something off-camera. He looked focused, intense and beautiful.

My heart skipped.

What the hell. Stop it, Maya. Stop it.

But I couldn't stop looking.

Another photo. Justin on a podium, a medal around his neck, his arm slung around a girl who looked just like him. Same dark hair, same sharp jaw and the same tired-but-kind eyes. She was younger, maybe fifteen or sixteen and she was laughing at something off-camera.

His sister, Emma.

I was smiling. I didn't even realize it until I felt my cheeks ache. When was the last time I'd smiled? Yesterday? Last week? Before the photo? Before Sarah?

I reached out and touched the edge of the frame. Justin's face beamed back at me. Younger and lighter. This was before his knee gave out, before everything.

"I don't know what you're smiling at, but you should do it more often."

I spun around. Justin was standing in the doorway.

He was holding a tray, a mug of something steaming, and a small plate with toast. And he wasn't wearing his hoodie anymore. Just a thin gray tank top that clung to his chest and shoulders and the same jeans from earlier, low on his hips.

Oh.

My eyes caught on his arms first. Then his shoulders. Then, oh no, his stomach. The tank top didn't hide much, I could see the outline of his chest, the flat plane of his abdomen and the way his muscles shifted when he breathed.

Focus, Maya. Focus.

"Hi," I managed.

"Hi, yourself." He walked toward me, setting the tray on a small table near the bed. "You gave me a scare back there."

"How's your head?"

"Okay," I said. "A little foggy."

"You scared me back there." He pushed one of the mugs toward me, but I didn't take it. "Didn't know you were the fainting type."

"I'm not," I said, a little indignant.

"Sure." The corner of his mouth moved. "You went down like a tree."

Something between a laugh and a sound of protest escaped me. He almost smiled.

"You collapsed like a rag doll." He crossed his arms, which only made his biceps more noticeable and tilted his head. "I caught you, but you were out cold for a good thirty seconds. I was about to call an ambulance."

"I'm fine," I said quickly. "I'm fine. I just…." I gestured vaguely at the room. "Where am I?"

"My apartment. I didn't know your address, if I did, I would have taken you home." He shrugged. "It didn't seem right to leave you behind at the gym."

I nodded. My throat was dry and my brain was still foggy. And he was still standing there in that tank top.

Say something normal, anything.

"Your place is nice," I said.

He snorted. "It's a rental. The school puts me up for the year, it's not much."

"It's nice," I repeated, because I couldn't think of anything else.

Justin walked to the table and picked up the mug. He held it out to me. "Tea, chamomile. My sister says it's good for... you know…nerves."

I took it and our fingers brushed. His were warm.

"Thanks."

I wrapped both hands around the mug and let the heat seep into my palms. I brought it to my lips and took a sip, it was sweet. Honey, maybe.

"Sit down," he said. "You look like you're about to fall over again."

I sat on the edge of the bed while he sat on the chair across from me, the only chair in the room, small and wooden, and somehow he made it look like a throne.

"You should eat something," he said, nodding at the toast. "You threw up everything you had."

My stomach turned at the memory. "I don't think I can."

"Try. Just a bite."

I picked up a piece of toast, took a small bite, chewed, swallowed and thankfully, it stayed down.

"Good," he said. "Small victories."

I took another sip of tea. The warmth spread through my chest.

He leaned back in the chair, stretching his legs out. The movement made his tank top ride up just slightly and I caught a glimpse of his hip bone. The trail of hair disappearing into his jeans.

Stop it, stop it, stop it.

"You're probably still in shock," he said. "That's normal. Your body's been through a lot."

My body, right. Speaking of which...Where is my uniform?

The thought hit me like a wave of ice water.

I'm wearing a robe. His robe. I wasn't wearing this when I fainted, I was wearing my uniform, my shirt, my skirt. My...

He took off my clothes.

He….

Oh my God.

Oh my God.

I could feel the heat rushing to my face and spreading up my neck and across my cheeks. I probably looked like a tomato. A tomato in his robe, in his apartment.

Did he see everything? Did he….

I hope he didn't peek at my undies.

Oh my God, I hope he didn't peek at my undies.

The pink ones, I was wearing the pink ones. Of all the days to wear the ones with the little bows….

"Maya?"

I looked up. He was watching me carefully, his head tilted.

"Are you okay? You're really quiet."

I'm sitting here in your robe trying not to imagine you taking off my clothes. I'm fine, I'm totally fine.

"I'm fine," I said. My voice came out squeaky.

He didn't look convinced.

"You sure? Because your face is really red."

It's red because I'm picturing you undressing me. It's red because you're sitting there in that tank top looking like you walked out of a dream. It's red because I'm being destroyed by my best friend and all I can think about is whether you peeked at my underwear.

"I'm fine," I repeated.

He stood up and walked toward me.

He's coming closer. Why is he coming closer?

He stopped right in front of me. I had to tilt my head back to look at him. His shadow fell over me.

"You're not fine," he said softly. "You don't have to pretend with me."

He reached out, his hand hovered near my forehead, like he was checking for a fever.

"Talk to me. What's going on in that head of yours?"

What's going on in my head? Everything….nothing. You, the video, Sarah, your hands, your eyes, the way you smell.

What perfume is he wearing, anyway? It's not perfume. It's just... him. Soap and something clean. Something that makes me want to lean closer.

What the heck, Maya.

I'm being set up at school, my life is falling apart and I'm sitting here wondering what his chest feels like.

I'm such a disaster.

"Maya." His fingers brushed my cheek. "Hey, look at me."

I looked up. Mistake. His eyes were so close and blue-gray and soft.

"It's going to be okay," he said. "I know it doesn't feel like it right now but it's going to be okay."

His thumb moved slowly across my cheekbone, wiping away a tear I didn't know was there.

"I'm here for you," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."

He's here for me, he's not going anywhere.

Why does that even make my heart race even more?

"I know," I whispered. "I know."

His hand stayed on my face while his thumb kept moving, slowly, gently and kind of hypnotic.

If he doesn't move his hand, I'm going to do something stupid.

Like lean into it or…or…close my eyes or kiss him.

Focus, Maya. Focus.

But I couldn't focus. Not with him this close, not with his scent wrapping around me and his hand on my cheek and his eyes on my lips.

"Maya," he said again. Softer this time, it was almost a whisper.

Say something. Do something. Don't just sit here staring at him like an idiot.

But I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't even think.

His face was inches from mine.

He's going to….does he want to….do I want him to….

His phone buzzed on the table and we both froze.

Justin dropped his hand and stepped back. He picked up the phone and read the screen. His expression changed into something else. Something I couldn't read.

"What is it?" I asked.

He didn't answer, he just stared at the screen. Then he looked at me. His eyes were different now.

"We have a problem," he said.

"What kind of problem?"

He turned the phone toward me.

A text message. It was an unknown number.

Ohh my goodness.