Chapter 80 82

Chapter 80 82
LARA PARKER

The corridor outside the locker room smelled like industrial cleaner and stale air, and I walked it fast, my bag slung over one shoulder, my vision blurring at the edges in a way I refused to acknowledge. I could feel the tears sitting right there, hot and pressing against the backs of my eyes, but I swallowed them down hard. I was not going to cry in the middle of a hockey arena. Not over him. Not tonight.

My sneakers squeaked against the concrete floor and each step felt louder than it should, echoing off the cinderblock walls like the whole building was listening. I rounded the corner toward the media exit, luckily not running into any of the guys, but instead, nearly walked straight into Evans.

He had his camera bag over one shoulder and his laptop case in his other hand, clearly on his way to find me after finishing up his own interview. The moment he saw my face, his steps faltered, his brows knitting immediately.

"Lara." He called out cautiously, that accent thick. STanding in front of me, he gave me a onceover, his eyes lingering on my face so long it felt like he could see through the walls I had put up. "You okay?"

"Peachy." I kept walking, brushing past him toward the exit, my tone sharper than intended to. "Let's just go. We don't need the locker room interview. We have gotten enough materials."

He fell into step beside me without a word though I could still feel his eyes on me, matching my pace as I pushed through the heavy double doors and out into the cold night air. The parking lot was half empty, most of the crowd still inside filtering out slowly through the main entrance on the other side of the building. The cold hit my face like a slap and I welcomed it, letting it sting my cheeks and cool the heat that had built up behind my eyes. 

It was becoming increasingly ahrd to hold back my tears. I am not usually this emotional and yet at this point, it felt like the tears were seconds away from escaping, my hormones all over the place.

It did not help that Evans was by my side still. "You sure?” He asked, glancing at me sideways as we walked, clearly unable to keep the questions to himself still. "Because you look like..."

"I said I'm fine, Evans." I cut him off, my voice coming out sharper than I meant it to. I exhaled slowly, forcing my shoulders to drop. "Sorry. I just want to go home."

He opened his mouth like he was going to push, maybe ask what happened, but then he closed it again. He thought better of whatever it was and simply nodded.

"Alright. Let me grab my car. I'll pull around."

I waited near the curb, hugging my bag against my chest, watching my breath come out in small white clouds that disappeared into the dark. The nausea had been lurking all night, that low simmer in my gut that I had been pushing down with black tea and pure stubbornness. But now, standing still in the cold with nothing to distract me, it roared back to life without warning.

My stomach lurched. Hard.

I barely made it three steps toward the nearest trash can before it hit, bending me over with a violence that made my eyes water. I gripped the edge of the cold metal lid and my body just went, emptying itself of whatever was left in there, which was not much. It was mostly dry heaves at this point, my stomach cramping around nothing while I gasped for air between waves.

"Lara, Jesus." Evans was beside me in an instant, one hand firm against my back, the other gathering my hair and holding it back from my face with a gentleness that felt almost jarring against how brutal my body was being. "Okay, okay. Just breathe."

I couldn't respond. Another wave hit and I gagged, spit dangling, my knuckles white around the trash can. I could not even bring myself to feel embarrassed around him. He didn't pull away, didn't flinch, just kept his hand rubbing slow circles between my shoulder blades like he had done this a hundred times before, not seeming repulse by me in the slightest.

When it finally stopped, I straightened up slowly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, my whole body trembling faintly. He was already handing me a small pack of tissues from his jacket pocket, which I took with a muttered thanks.

"That's it." His voice was firm now, leaving no room for argument. "I'm taking you to the hospital. You clearly are not alright."

"No." I shook my head. "It’s nothing serious. I do not wnat to."

He frowned, studying me with that same unreadable look from earlier, the one that made me feel like he was seeing more than I wanted him to. "Lara, you've thrown up twice in two days. That's not nothing. You need to get checked out."

"I know, I just..." I swallowed hard, my throat raw and burning. "Can you just take me somewhere else? Please, Evans. I really do not want to be near the hospital now."

The way I said it must have done something, because the firmness in his expression cracked. He searched my face for a long moment, then let out a slow breath through his nose.

"Where to? Your house?"

I shook my head. "My friend’s place." I pulled out my phone with shaky hands, opened the maps app, and held the screen toward him. "I'll give you directions."

He took the phone, glanced at the address, then nodded once and turned toward his car without another word. I followed, sliding into the passenger seat and pulling my knees up toward my chest, wrapping my arms around them. The heater kicked on and I closed my eyes, leaning my head against the cold glass of the window.

Evans didn't fill the silence with small talk or questions. He didn't turn on the radio. He just drove, following my quiet directions through the dark streets, occasional turns and "next left" and "it's the blue building on the right" the only things spoken between us.

When he pulled up in front of Mariah's apartment building, the porch light was on, a warm yellow glow spilling out onto the small front step. I sat there for a moment, staring at it, feeling the last of the adrenaline finally drain out of me, leaving nothing but exhaustion and a hollow ache in my chest.

"Thank you." I unbuckled my seatbelt and turned to look at him. "Seriously. You didn't have to do all this."

He shrugged one shoulder, "It's just a drive. It is teh least I should do."

He really did not have to, and we both knew it, but I let it go. I offered him a small smile, the best I could manage, and he gave me a short nod in return.

I got out of the car and walked up the three steps to Mariah's door, my legs feeling heavier with each one. I raised my hand and knocked, three sharp raps against the wood.

Footsteps inside, quick and light, and then the door swung open. Mariah stood there in an oversized sweatshirt and leggings, her hair pulled up in a messy bun, a half-eaten bowl of cereal in one hand. She blinked at me once, twice, her mouth opening to say something casual, probably about the game or how surprised she was that I was here.

Then she saw my face.

The bowl shifted in her hand, set down on the small table just inside the door without her looking, and then her arms were around me, pulling me into her, tight and warm and uncomplicated, and I let myself be held.