ondrej

Chapter 23

        After being held for a few moments, Ondrej took me by the hand and guided me to his Land Rover. Once I was stationed in, the seatbelt across my chest and waist, I began crying again. It didn't look like it was ever going to stop, but I had to pull myself together in order for him to leave the parking lot. He let me take my time though, stroking his thumb on my thigh for comfort. When I settled my breath, he backed out and sped off, without even batting an eye at the fans.

        The car ride to the bar told me that he indeed missed me. He held my hand the whole way over and only let go in order to help me out of the passenger side door. By the time we reached the entrance to the Fly Bar in the mist of downtown, my eyes were almost swollen shut. I hoped that I just looked tired, instead of dead. We were escorted to a bar table, facing each other, with the Rays-Yankees game on one television and the San Jose Sharks-Minnesota Wild game on the next.

        We sat in silence, even after we had a drink in both of us; unsure of what to say, if we should've said anything at all. I did, however, watch him for the millionth time. I noticed that although he was refrained from doing any sort of physical activity, he still looked fit. I also noticed that he was predictable. Not in a bad way, I could practically see sentences forming in his eyes as he studied the beer staff in his grasp. It was fascinating.

        "Why'd you stop going to the shop?" He asked.

        Of all the questions, he chose that one.

        I swallowed, "Everyone quit."

        He nodded.

        The bar was loud when we arrived, only because it was packed with Lightning fans too drunk and too happy after the win to notice the rookie sitting directly in the center of it all. But now that the air was thick between us, the noise seemed to be drowned out.

        "Where's Barbora?" I asked, looking up at him like a kicked puppy.

        "With Richard and Nikola," He cleared his throat, "Why did you leave, Kay?" His voice turned low and soft like velvet.

            I had already explained why, but I knew that wasn't what he was asking.

            "I left because I knew you loved her," I paused, "More than you could ever love me."

            He shook his head and looked around the bar, trying not to lose his temper. I didn't know what I said to set him off; all I did was tell the truth.

            "Stop doing that." His jaw set.

            "Stop doing what?"

            "Stop pretending like you don't mean anything to me."

            His words hit me hard, literally knocking the breath out of me. I just stayed quiet after that, contemplating words in my head, making sure I didn't say the wrong thing again. Although, I was sure it was inevitable.

            "What are you thinking?" He asked. His voice surprised me.

            I shook my head, "How's your back?" I retorted.

            "That's not what I asked." He took a sip of his beer, never losing eye contact.

        He was so cool when he spoke. He always had been, but there was something different about tonight. Something that ignited a spark.

            "I could never compare to her, Ondrej. You understand that right? She makes me so nervous being around, because she's so much better than me. She's prettier, skinnier, and cuter than me. Her body isn't covered in ink."

        I listed everything almost as a question, hoping he would get where I was going.

        I would never match up.

        "That's why I left. So it'd be easier for me when you chose her."

            He slammed his hand on the table, shaking our drinks. He had enough. It scared me. I watched the rage flow into his familiar eyes and his jaw clench uncomfortably.

            "Then why am I still here?" He yelled, "Why am I sitting in front of you, wondering why you left me?"

        I sank deeper into the cushioned seat. I think he realized his words were out of impulse and quickly tried to turn them around.

            "You're right when you said, you could never compare to her," I looked up at him, "Because she doesn't match your personality. You don't care what others think of you. You stand up for yourself and your friends, whether you notice it of not. Barbora could never compare to you, because I know that you would go to hell and back with me, because you have. You wouldn't leave because of the distance, because you know that would just make us stronger. You're such a great person, Kaytie. You deserve a lot more credit than you're giving yourself."

            I just stayed quiet again. I owed him something, but I didn't know what. I couldn't find the words to reply to him and I couldn't find an action that would ever thank him for what he said. Although it took everything in me not to find a flaw in his speech, I knew that he did mean it. He didn't stutter, he didn't pause to think. It was like he was rehearsing what he said over and over in his head. And he meant every word.

         "Take me home." I whispered.