Stone Creek Davis, Lainey (best android ereader txt) 📖

he unbuttons his shirt he tells me that he was raised by his mom in rural Maine. It was just the two of them, and she worked as a waitress in a small restaurant that didn't get much business outside of tourist season.

I keep my arms wrapped around him as he talks and say nothing, but I'm feeling overwhelmed--not by the hard times he describes, but by the power he's giving me in trusting me with his story. "What about your dad?"

He snorts. "The man who impregnated my mother and refused to talk to her ever again? We don't speak his name. He was a professional hockey player my mom dated one summer when she was living in Boston. He ditched her when she got pregnant, and she moved back to Maine so my grandma could help her out." Neal's father apparently sent bits of money every few years, but nothing they could depend on. "It just about paid for new hockey gear as I started growing," he says. His eyes focus on something far off while he tells me this story. "Sweeney is my mom's last name," he adds. "I'm glad she didn't name me after that asshole, and I'm glad my kids will someday share a name with her."

Neal removes the rest of his suit, ending up in just boxers and an undershirt. He climbs under the covers and lies on his side, squeezed against me in the tiny bed. I'm still wearing my sweats, and I put my arm around him, savoring his warmth, enjoying just lying still beside him. I've never done this before. I've never spent companionable silence or fallen asleep beside a guy I've had sex with. He's opened up to me so much, and I feel like he's waiting for me to reciprocate somehow.

I spent a lot of years trying to vent my feelings to people only to be called a worry-wart or told I'm too sensitive, but I feel so safe with Neal right now that I tell him, in a whisper, "My mother died of a heart attack. Nobody knows what happened. My dad has been drunk ever since." Neal strokes the side of my face and presses his lips against my forehead. "Her name was Violet," I say.

Neal brings his fingers to the cluster of delicate flowers I have tattooed above my heart. He traces his fingers along the tattoo and kisses me softly. "I'm really sorry about your mom." His words are low and quiet. I feel a flood of relief that I've confided this piece of myself to him and he has responded with caring arms. We lie together in my bed talking for hours.

I listen to him voice his frustrations at having to go to alumni functions right after games and listen to lectures from rich benefactors about his behavior on the ice. I get the sense that Neal never complains much to anyone, but is feeling a lot of pressure right now to keep his grades up, put in the hours he needs to in the gym, perform on the ice, woo the boosters who support the program…it all sounds so intense. "When I talk to my mom, I have to make it sound like it's all a dream come true for me," he says. "I know what she gave up to raise me." Neal looks into my eyes. "I just need to come out of this with something to show for it, you know?"

I press my fingers against his forehead. "Neal," I say. "You probably don't get to hear a lot about how smart you are. But it's true. Even without hockey, you can do anything you want to do."

He laughs, a bitter sound. "Well, without hockey, I'm waiting tables in po-dunk Maine, Dahlia."

I confess to him that I've applied to a few schools in addition to Penn. "I know the deal from Coach Thomas is a pretty sure thing," I say, "But some of my professors think I have a really good chance of getting into the PhD program at MIT. It's not Ivy League, but--"

"This might surprise you, Dahlia, but I've heard of MIT." Neal laughs. "I grew up in Maine, remember?"

He picks up his phone and starts scrolling through his news feed. "Hey," he says, stopping at the picture of me and Jeremy studying before the game. "Is this the asshole from Halloween?"

"He's not an asshole, Neal. I told you. He's my friend."

Neal grunts, zooming in on the picture. "I don't like him touching you and I don't like him putting pictures of you online."

"Are you jealous, Mr. Sweeney?" Just like on Halloween, I like that I've made him jealous, but I also want him to know that I have other friends apart from Linda.

"You're damn right I'm jealous," he says, pulling me close to him. He whispers into my ear, "I want so bad to just go tell him to leave my girl alone." Both of us sense the heavy words unsaid after that. We can't tell Jeremy that, because we aren't allowed to be together. And yet here he is, with me in my bed. Again.

As we settle to sleep that night, I'm certain that I've fallen for this guy. If I'm not careful, I'm going to give him too much of myself, and risk him breaking my heart into shreds. The idea of being vulnerable with Neal scares me more than getting caught and losing my funding for college.

CHAPTER NINE

 

 

For the next three weeks, I see Neal every day. He comes to my apartment every night when he's done with practice, we study in my dining room, we have sex, and I fall asleep in his arms. On nights that he doesn't have homework, he sits and stares at me as I work on equations. Sometimes he stands behind me, rubbing my shoulders and watching me scrawl on scrap