Heart Like Yours \\ M. Lucic

Chapter 5

Sports genuinely make me happy

the players, the coaches, the games

It genuinely makes me happy.

Like seeing Julian Edelman catch a touchdown, or Rob Gronkowski spike a football, or Milan Lucic score a goal, or Xander Bogaerts hit a homerun, or Jonathan Toews have a celly, or Carey Price make a save.

It makes me genuinely happy and I don't know why people can't accept that.

QOTD: biggest inspiration ???

AOTD: Alex Gaskarth

Enjoy my teddy bears 🐻🐻🐻🐻

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"Can we talk about this when both of us are clothed?" I asked. I wasn't uncomfortable, I just needed time to actually formulate an answer.

"No. We need to talk about this now. Why do you get so...apprehensive the second the future is brought up?" There was genuine concern in his eyes. Well, a mix of concern and sadness. Maybe a hint of anger too; I couldn't quite tell.

"Because no one knows what the future will hold, Milan! When I was younger, I planned my life! I promised myself that I'd be the greatest! That I'd be successful! That I'd go to Harvard and that I'd get married to my brilliant protégée of a college love. Now I'm working as the athletic trainer for my boyfriend's hockey team! I planned every detail. My wedding and my life and everything! Do you wanna know why I get so apprehensive? Because everything was taken away from me. And I can't go through that again. I don't want to lay out my life again just to have everything I dreamed of and planned for ripped away. I won't do it to myself." I thought tears would be welling up in my eyes by now. But I wasn't crying, nor was I about to. But there it was: the breaking point.

"What the fuck happened?"

"Life," I replied dryly. "Life happened. I didn't get accepted to Harvard or Stanford or Cornell because my grades dropped. My grades dropped because I made a mistake. A sex tape with a kid from my town. I had no idea he was recording us, but he just happened to be my competition for Valedictorian. He blackmailed me. Said if I didn't start backing off he'd leak it. At first, I was pissed. But then I woke up one day and realized: why the fuck do I even care? I'm going to die. We all are. No one's going to remember my name. I'm not special. I'm a small-town girl from Vermont. So I started slipping. As much as I realized I didn't give a fuck about grades, I still couldn't have a sex tape to my name. So senior year I let myself go. And I watched my entire life go with it. All because I got drunk at a party and had sex. So that's why I'm apprehensive when it comes to my future."

He wrapped his arms around me. The towels were only two thin layers between our bodies.

"Why didn't you tell me all of this before? Being almost sexually assaulted, first off, and then you were blackmailed. What the fuck?" Milan furrowed his eyebrows. I shrugged.

"It never came up."

"I feel like I don't even know you," he said, and there was hurt behind his eyes.

"You know me better than anyone, Milan," I sighed. "There's no one else I rather be practically naked and discussing my obvious apprehension toward the future with."

"That has to be the single weirdest sentence I've ever heard come out of your mouth," he shook his head, his dimple visible.

"Good thing you can't read minds then, because I think some pretty screwed up things," I joked. He shook his head again.

"I'm taking a shower, and then we're genuinely discussing this. The guys can go get the pizza."

"Is it weird we just had this entire conversation in our towels?" I asked randomly.

"A bit. Not gonna lie," he nodded. I laughed.

"You shower. I'm gonna call Brad," I grinned.

"Meet you in the bedroom?" he smirked. He dropped his towel and got in the shower. Oh my that ass.

"Remember what you said about your kinky side?" I called. "You're right."

I heard him laugh. I quickly changed and called Brad.

"Oi, where's our pizza?" he answered immediately.

"Go get it yourself," I said simply. "I uh...Milan and I got tied up."

"I don't even wanna know."

"Talking. Just talking. But a serious conversation. But yeah. It's under Milan, at Caserta's. One of you go get it. Tell Bergy we'll swing by later. But yeah. Who else stopped by?" I asked.

"Dennis. Loui. Soda," he said nonchalantly.

"Alright. Maybe we'll catch you. Seeya, Brad."

"Bye," he hung up. I was wearing Milan's big, comfy t-shirt and a pair of jeans. I didn't feel like doing anything but talking to him. It actually felt...good, I guess, to admit these things to him. I smiled and went into the kitchen. I stood on my tiptoes and got two wine glasses. I filled them both halfway with Chianti. Then I went back into the bedroom, where Milan was standing in front of the mirror.

"You vain bastard you," I teased, sitting on the bed. I put the glasses on the bedside drawers. Milan went to grab a shirt. "You can stay without a shirt you know."

He grinned.

"So can you," he shrugged. I threw a pillow his way, and he laughed. I stared at him intently as he pulled on a shirt.

"Do you ever get distracted by how beautiful you are?" I asked softly. He sat on the bed.

"What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Do you ever get distracted by how beautiful you are? Because I sure as hell do," I murmured.

"This definitely beats sitting in a hospital with my dumbass teammates. As much as I love spending my time with them," he added, "I love spending time with you more."

I sighed and put my head on his lap. He played with my hair, and I just smiled.

"So, what do we need to talk about?" I asked.

"Everything."

"Yeah, well, no shit, Sherlock. I mean what do you want to talk to me about? You must have millions of questions. It's ok. I don't bite."

"Yeah, I do. And that's not true, if people cross you, you sure as hell so bite."

"You're not wrong," I shrugged. "Ask away then."