Pucking Around: Chapter 98

“She still in the bathroom d’you think?” Jake whispers, coming to stand in my doorway.

He’s been an anxious mess since we got home. It’s understandable. We’re all a mess. Rachel was practically a zombie as we got her out of the arena. And then she made the excuse about needing to use the bathroom as soon as we got home and disappeared into her room, shutting the door behind her.

That was an hour ago.

“I very much doubt it,” I mutter, turning my attention back to my laptop. Her room is right across from mine, so I’ve been casually camped out at my desk, pretending to be on my computer, just waiting for any signs of life behind her closed door.

Usually, when she’s in there, she’s cranking music or talking to Tess or her brother on the phone. Now she’s silent as a mouse.

“We should check on her,” Jake says.

“If you want,” I say with a shrug.

He leaps across the hall, knocking on her door. “Babe? Can I come in?”

When she doesn’t respond, he glances over his shoulder at me. Then he drops his hand down to the handle and gives it a wiggle. She didn’t lock it. I’m not sure if that’s a good sign or not, but Jake swings it open.

“Hey, baby—what—Seattle, what are you doing?” he cries, disappearing into her room.

I launch from my desk chair, stumbling across the hall into her room. I step around Jake to see Rachel moving from the dresser back to her bed, stacking clothes inside an open suitcase. My heart drops out of my fucking chest. “Hurricane…”

“Baby, no,” Jake cries. “What are you doing?” He crosses the room, snapping the lid of her suitcase closed before she can drop another pile of clothes inside. “Rachel, stop!”

“Jake,” she sighs, tears streaming down her face. “Please, don’t do this—”

“Don’t do what?” he cries. “Let the love of my fucking life pack a bag to leave me?”

“I can’t stay here,” she pants, tossing the pile into the other suitcase instead.

“What the hell are you talking about? You live here!”

“How can I keep living here? I don’t have a job. I don’t have a reference. I can’t even return to Cincinnati, because Doctor Halla already gave my spot away for the year.”

She keeps packing as she talks, rushing into her ensuite bathroom. “I can’t stay here and ruin all your lives. I can’t drag you further down into my mess. I can’t make this any worse—god, I make everything fucking worse. You all deserve so much better. I don’t know what I was thinking, risking your jobs, your reputations—I can’t—I don’t—oh god—”

She drops the bag of toiletries to the floor, sinking onto the end of the bed between her two half-packed suitcases, burying her face in her hands.

“Mars, get the fuck in here!” Jake shouts before dropping to his knees at Rachel’s feet, his hands wrapping around her wrists as he starts murmuring softly to her. “Please, don’t do this, baby girl. Don’t lose hope. Don’t give up on us—on the Rays. This is a mess, but we’ll sort it out. Together, we’ll figure it out—”

She shakes her head. “No, Coach was right. I’ve been running around, making all these decisions, hurting everyone I come into contact with, jeopardizing everything. You’ve worked so hard to build all this, Jake,” she says, gesturing around. “I can’t be the one to tear it down.”

Jake looks around, incredulous. “What—this fucking house? I’ll tear it down. I don’t give a fuck about this house, Rachel. I care about the people in it. You and Cay and Mars and the dog—and yes, I really love my coffee maker—shit, and my home gym,” he adds. “But I can get a new coffee maker,” he says quickly. “I can’t get a new you.”

Mars steps into the room behind me, looking sharply around. “No,” he says tonelessly.

Rachel looks up, seeing him standing there. “Ilmari,” she sighs, shaking her head.

“Wait,” I say. “Everybody fucking stop. Rachel, we’re not gonna play this game with you. At least, I know I’m not. I will not spend a single moment of my time convincing you to stay—”

“Don’t be an asshole,” Jake growls at me.

“I’m not being an asshole,” I counter. “I’m knowing my own self-worth. I don’t beg the people I love to love me back. Jake, get off your fucking knees, and stop being a pussy. If she wants to go, let her go. If she wants to stay, let her stay. We don’t try to convince her either way.”

“Agreed,” says Mars, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

Jake is at literal war with himself, the soft marshmallow side of him wanting to melt for her and stay on his knees. Then there’s the obstinate, confident, god of a man who rules a hockey rink. He wants to flip her over and spank her ass raw for daring to even think of leaving us. With a groan, he stumbles to his feet and steps back, his body tense as he comes over to stand by me.

“Good boy,” I say.

“Shut the fuck up,” he mutters, his face a mask of agony.

Rachel sits on the end of the bed she never sleeps in wearing nothing but her blue silk cami and a matching pair of sleep shorts. Her tousled hair frames her face, half of it up, half down.

“You wanna go, Rachel? Keep packing. Mars here will drive you to the airport, the bus depot, the cruise dock. Just tell him where, and he’ll take you. You wanna stay? We’ll be downstairs.”

I have to physically turn Jake around, pushing him out the door first, but the three of us walk out in silence, leaving the door open behind us, and troop down the stairs to the living room. I give Jake’s shoulder a nudge, and he sinks like a rock onto the couch.

“If she leaves us, I’ll never forgive you,” he mutters darkly, his gaze unfixed as he stares in the direction of the TV.

“Yes, you will,” I reply, sinking onto the couch next to him.

“Oh, you fucking think so?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Because, if she leaves us, she didn’t love us enough to stay, respect us enough to let us make our own decisions, or want us enough to fight through this storm,” I reply. “My Hurricane is the fucking storm. When she remembers that fact, she’ll come down those stairs and stir us all up. Until then, give me the fucking remote. We’re watching Great British Bake Off.”