Kiss and Don't Tell(77)

Because I really like this guy and I have no idea what that means for the future.





Chapter Seventeen





PACEY





The breeze picks up, blowing through the open doors of the pool room and pushing past the doublewide lounger I’m sharing with Winnie. My migraine has subsided for the most part, I have some lingering pain in my shoulders from the tension, and my neck is stiff, but that’s nothing compared to the violent, blackout pain I felt earlier. This is manageable.

After Winnie’s car was delivered—yes, she sweet-talked the towing guy into trying—and the boys paid for the service before Winnie could even get her credit card out, they all went for a hike together—even Halsey—since the trails are pretty dry and it’s a gorgeous day out. That left me alone to lie around with Winnie.

We’re lying flat on the lounger and I have my body curled against hers, my arm around her waist, holding her close. We’ve been talking on occasion, but also allowing nature to do the talking.

I hear Winnie tapping away on her phone, which buzzes with incoming text messages. Most likely Max and Katherine checking on her. I’m glad Winnie has them.

When we headed out to the pool area, Winnie changed into shorts but kept her crop top on, something I’ve appreciated because I’ve been able to graze her bare skin every chance I get. Now I smooth my thumb over her stomach and enjoy the simple human touch, having her near me like this.

Noticing I’m awake, she tucks her phone away and asks, “How’s your head?”

“Good.”

She glances at her phone again, picks it up, and holds it so the screen is out of my eyesight. She types a text in return, then shifts in the chair, twisting so she’s facing me. Her eyes are still sleepy, but fucking dreamy as shit with their dark, mysterious blue color. And those lips—they’re plump, full, and calling to me. Every time I glance at them, I remember how bold they were in claiming that first kiss. Nothing has been sexier to me than that moment, when she was the one who made the first move.

“So, are we going to talk about it?” she asks.

“Talk about what?” I ask, slightly confused.

“Your migraine.” Her hand falls to my bare chest, where she draws tiny circles along my skin.

“Nothing to really talk about.”

She looks away, but continues her circles. “I saw the video, Pacey,” she says quietly. And just from the tone of her voice, I know exactly what she’s talking about. She must have spoken with the boys, which led her to look up the clip of me getting struck in the head. It’s not a great clip. The sound of the puck hitting my helmet is deafening. Watching me fall flat on my back, even worse. I was actually lucky I managed to flick my legs forward rather than tearing ligaments and muscles in my knees and groin. Thank fuck. But I don’t want to make a big deal about it. Not with Winnie.

“You worried about me?” I ask in a teasing tone, but the look she gives me says it all.

She is.

“I know I have no room to say anything, but . . . that was a hard hit, Pacey.”

“Yeah, I know.” I sigh.

“Aren’t you concerned, you know, about the migraines?”

“It’s fine. They come and go,” I say casually, even though I know in the back of my mind that Doc would be up my ass right now if he heard I’d had another one.

“My, uh, my mom had migraines.” Her voice is so feeble that it strikes a chord inside me.

Fuck. I didn’t even think about her mom or how Winnie might relate to this.

“They were really bad,” Winnie continues. “I helped her through them, but there were some days when they would never go away, where they were constant. She lost weight because she was so nauseated all the time. And I know I don’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to saying anything about your life, but I just want you to think about being careful, you know? Your head isn’t something to mess with.”

Her phone buzzes on the side table, but she doesn’t reach for it this time.

I capture her hand and bring the backs of her knuckles to my lips for a soft kiss. “I appreciate your concern, Winnie.”

And I leave it at that, because frankly, I’m not ready to have this conversation with anyone. Not the doctor, not the boys, not my own family. Because I know what the result of that conversation will probably be, and there’s no way in hell I’m even close to being ready to hang up my skates.

She takes that moment to glance at her phone and then set it back down again. She closes her eyes and I notice her eyelashes start to brim with moisture, so I squeeze her hand and ask, “Are you okay?”

She nods, but a tear falls down her cheek. I wipe it away before she can.

“Sorry,” she says. “Rough day, and this just brought up a lot of emotions for me, lots of memories, and I’ve been trying to process them, but obviously not doing a good job.”

“Then talk to me about them. What are you feeling?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m good. Really.”

“It doesn’t look as if you’re good. You’re crying, Winnie.”

“It’s fine, seriously.” She takes a deep breath and plasters on a fake smile. “Since I got Minnie back, she’s currently flirting with the Teslas—”