If Only You (Bergman Brothers, #6)(93)

Slowly, finally, I lift a gloved hand. Her smile brightens as she waves back, making her black earmuffs jostle a little, her braid sway down her shoulder. That’s when I just…feel it all leave me. The anger, the cold, aching sadness, like a poison leaving my system.

Staring at her, lost in her, finally, I smile.





29





ZIGGY





Playlist: “Trampoline,” Kelaska





Sebastian stares up at me, with this…smile I’ve never seen before, wide and free and so unbelievably beautiful. I used to find him a real tough face to read. He was good at hiding what he felt behind that chilly, detached expression of his, those cool, gray eyes. But now, months of friendship under our belt, I know him better. I can tell when he’s anxious, when he’s tired, when he’s preoccupied, when he’s happy.

But this…this is new. This is something to pay attention to.

I stare into those lovely quicksilver eyes, drinking him in and mouth, Missed you.

He sighs heavily and nods, then yanks out his mouthguard. Too much, he mouths back.

My heart jumps. It aches.

But I’m used to that by now. It’s been half a year, six long months, of my heart jumping and aching around Sebastian. And it’s been worth it, because I was tired as could be when he laid me down on my bed after his birthday party, but I wasn’t unconscious. I heard him—not just what he said, but how he said it.

Please hang tight. Just hang in there for me. I promise, I’m trying.

I almost sat up, grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him as I told him, of course I’d hang tight, of course I’d hang in there, I couldn’t possibly do anything else.

Because what I feel for Sebastian snuck up on me, quieter and stealthier than the best Bergman prank, and wove itself so deep into my being, I have no hope of extricating myself from it, even if I wanted to.

And I don’t want to. Even though it’s hard, knowing what I feel, yet wanting and waiting. What’s hardest—and each day it’s a little harder—is wondering if I should be the one who finally gives us the shove. If I’m the one who has to ask for an end to the waiting, the hoping, the aching for more.

I’ve grown so much the past seven months, since I started my Project Ziggy Bergman 2.0, since I swore to myself that I’d be braver, speak up for myself, make the people around me see me for who I was. I’ve earned greater recognition and respect—on my teams, in my family, in my ambassadorships and brand sponsorships. I’ve told people off, defended myself, said hard things when it wasn’t easy.

But this is the one thing I still don’t know how to do. I don’t know if or when I should tell him what he means to me, when he’s begged me not to see him that way. I haven’t known if I should ask him to move forward with me when he’s pleaded with me to wait right where we are.

But then I had an idea. I mentioned to my mother heading up to the A-frame at my favorite time of year, suggested we visit the Washington State-residing Bergmans—Ryder and Willa, Axel and Rooney—take a little time away to rest. We could celebrate my birthday, which would fall on the weekend we were there. Mom suggested we make a whole week of it.

That’s when I knew I had to see Sebastian first. Sebastian, who was coincidentally in Washington State, too, though earlier than we made plans to be. Sebastian, who I missed so badly, it hurt, while I loafed around LA in a rare few days of nothing on my schedule, waiting for him to come back.

I put on my big-girl pants and bought a plane ticket. He didn’t have to have invited me to want me there or be happy to see me. I could invite myself. I could show up and surprise him and…I don’t know, maybe offer a little encouragement. And if it helped me feel less like I was crawling out of my skin with missing him, that would be a nice bonus.

So I got on a plane to see him play. That was that. And now, here I am.

Our eyes hold for only a second longer, before the game that brought us both here wrenches him away. He does a quick double take as he turns back to his team and Ren bends over at center ice for the faceoff in the wake of Seattle’s goal.

Afterward, he mouths, poised to pop his mouthguard back in. Wait for me?

I nod, smiling. Doesn’t he already know?

I’d wait for as long as he asked.





Sebastian’s a vision, shower-wet hair and quicksilver-bright eyes, grinning wide as he jogs toward me and tackles me into his arms. I hug him back hard as he squeezes me so tight I squeak, and when I pull away just enough to plant my usual platonic kiss on his cheek, he turns, as if to do the same, which isn’t typical for him. We do it at the same time, and our mouths bump in an awkward, not-kiss kiss. Sebastian practically drops me, then grabs my hand as I steady myself.

“Sorry,” he mutters. His hand squeezes mine.

“Me too.” I smile nervously. It’s so weird, not having seen him for nearly a month, when for months on end we’ve seen each other, even if only briefly, at least every ten days, two weeks at most…

Not that I was counting.

Sebastian steps closer, then pulls me back into a hug, resting his temple against mine. A slow, heavy exhale leaves him as I slip my arms around his waist. “Take two,” he whispers.

I smile against his cheek. “Take two.”