Chapter Fifteen: "It's Sunday."

I WOKE UP TO a pillow hitting me straight in the face. A gasp left me as I sat up but was unable to stop another one from wacking the side of my head. I blocked the third attempt, yanking the pillow from my sister's grasp with a scowl. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I asked her, raking a hand through my disheveled hair.

"We're going to a cafe," Paula announced. The we in that sentence better have been her switching to French. We both knew Canadian French because of school back in BC but it didn't mean we spoke it often as she must have been trying to do. 

Judging by the look on her face, she wasn't speaking French.   

"I don't want to," I moaned. The two of us had stayed up late last night. The red coming from the clock on the nightstand next to me in her guest room (my room, really), let me know I only had three hours of sleep.

"It's either we go to a café or you make me your famous grilled cheese and we stay here."

I let out a sardonic laugh. Grilled cheese was something she claimed I was the only one who could make it correctly. "I'm not in the mood." I fell back into the comfy bed. "But if you want to make me some French toast or pancakes, that would be great."

I attempted to pull the comforter over my head but she yanked it out of my grasp. In fact, she pulled the entire comforter off of my body. I yelped at the sudden cold biting my skin exposed in shorts and tank top. "Could you please?"

"We're going out."

"Why?"

"Because I have manuscripts to read and you're sad."

I didn't even try to deny it. In front of my sister, there was no point when she could read me like a book. When I appeared on Paula's doorstep on Saturday night, after the tournament was over, a day before I was scheduled to come, she didn't ask questions. Instead, she, who wasn't typically warm, ordered my favorite food and put on Die Hard.

For the following days, we had done the same things.

Which meant I put her through Die Hard three times.

Today on Tuesday, she clearly had enough since the side of my face still felt like it had been hit with a typically soft yet hard cloud. "What does you reading manuscripts have to do with me?" I asked instead.

She raised a finger. "You've been drowning in school," Raised another finger. "You've barely gone outside—"

"There was a snowstorm yesterday." I gestured to where the open curtains displayed the snow-covered streets of downtown Toronto. I shivered at the view and still from the cold, pulling the comforter around my body.

"There's no snowstorm today." She snapped.

"I don't know about you," I said as I pulled the covers back on my body. "But some of us haven't adapted to this terrible weather."

"You've lived in Ontario for almost four years." She deadpanned.

"And I've dreaded the weather for the entire four years I've been here," I countered with the tilt of my head. Although my words only reminded me of a smiley, dark-headed man who would've laughed at my words, forming a pit in my stomach. "What's your point?"

She wasn't appreciating my attitude or my jokes this morning because she rolled her eyes. "What about Mariam? Are you seeing her?"

"Too many exams," Knowing me and my friend, Mariam, we'd be chatting for hours in the middle of a café. Mariam made her schooling her top priority. This meant that I wouldn't be able to see her for longer than a quick hi and bye until December. It'd be worth it, though.

"So, you're stuck with me for the week," Paula said dryly.

"Don't put it like that," I said, feeling wide awake now. Well, then. I got up, moving past my sister. "I could've gone to Yasmeen's. Her family always wants her friends over." They were really kind and the Egyptian food her mom made was really good. If Paula wasn't here, I would've driven to Yasmeen's home with or without my friend. Her family was that kind. "But not Jay's because she's in BC visiting Aven."  

"So, you're stuck with me," Paula repeated, following after me as I went into the bathroom. 

"And Courtney when she comes back." My sister's fiancée was visiting her own family in Kingston, Ontario. "Then we can watch Die Hard with her."

"You're going to make me hate that movie," Paula mumbled but my sister's tone was light-hearted.

When I was brushing my teeth, she asked: "You haven't told me how you and your team did at the last tournament."

Just like that, the pit in my stomach expanded tenfold, and I focused on brushing even more than I needed to. I pointed to the action but she stayed by the threshold, waiting for me to answer. Holding in a sigh that would've resulted in a foamy warzone, I finished brushing my teeth and after wiping my mouth I said: "The men's division came first. The women's division came second. Overall scores landed us in second place."

"You don't look happy about that." She observed.

You should've seen me a few days ago, I wanted to mutter but held myself back.

"We could've won," I mumbled. 

Paula's brown eyes softened, "You'll win it next time." Hopefully. She suddenly cocked her head at me as I freshened up, looking at her through the mirror. "Are you going to tell mom?"

"About what?" 

"About squash." 

I brushed a hand. "She doesn't care about sports." 

"She cares about you." She said. "She'll care."

She would care. "I don't want her to bring it up to Dad or something."

"Why the hell would she bring it up to Dad? They haven't spoken outside of text messages since forever," Paula said. "I know dad's intense but—"

"No buts," I said, twisting around. Intense wasn't even the word to describe it. "He'll find some way to control squash at a distance."

Paula's eyebrows furrowed. "Is that what he did with you for volleyball?"

Sure. "He was intense with his training and got a little more invested in the sport than he needed to be." I left it at that. We had always left it at that.

Paula was intuitive. She didn't have to ask questions. But she knew the effect even if I didn't tell her. She just didn't bother me about it. That was likely the difference between her and Mom. With Mom, I wasn't taking any chances.

It'd come up again. But not today. Not during my break. In the aftermath of squash. Of Herringway University. Maybe when we were both settled in her condo in the future, me working my hybrid tech job and bugging her every now and then when she was home before she got married and moved in with Courtney. Then we could talk about it. "You said you have a new manuscript to read?"

My sister's eyes lit up in the rare way they typically did. The sight made me smile. "YA."

"I'm with you." I urged her to continue with my fingers.

"Buffy the Vampire Slayer."

Good show. "Cool."

"Meets Sherlock."

Um. "You're losing me."

"Meets Game of Thrones."

I let out a scoff. There was no way we were going out. I had to see this myself. My feet were already taking me to her room where her laptop was sitting at her desk. "I don't believe you."

She put her hands on my shoulders, practically pushing me to her room but I felt more of her joy not at the novel but at my change of mood. 

I didn't have to confront what had happened on Saturday with her, the same way I didn't have to encounter my parents' arguments with her by my side because she distracted me in a way she knew how to do best.

But the distractions were temporary. Eventually, you had to face the problem. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I drove back to Jasper Bay in silence on Sunday morning after being distracted for far too long by Paula and Courtney when she came back to Toronto. Jaime nor Yasmeen was set to come back to the house until tomorrow, leaving me to unpack my suitcase as loud pop music filled not only my bedroom walls but also the rest of the house.

If it wasn't for me leaving my bedroom, I would never have heard the knocking on the front door combined with the repetitive ringing of the doorbell. I shut off the music, walking towards the door slowly before opening it.

Nikko stood on the other side.

In long pants, and a fitted jacket, he stared at me. His face was red as if he had walked all the way over here and his thick hair was hidden beneath the hat. He took that hat off, running a hand through that hair. Everything about him would have been natural, normal even. But there was no smile present, letting me know my distraction and avoidance period was over. "Hey." He said.

"Hey," I said back, my voice quiet. "What are you doing here?"

"It's Sunday."

Without another word, he turned on his heel, walking off the porch and heading in the direction of the trail.

Oh.

It was Sunday. The one day a week I looked forward to the most because it was my one on one time with him. I wasn't alone on a Sunday with my thoughts because he was right beside me. 

I liked Sundays but this Sunday? I didn't think he'd appear here. I didn't think this Sunday was going to happen. 

I could've closed the door, gone back into my bedroom, and finished unpacking. I would've ignored all my feelings and been disrespectful. I could've left him out there in the cold, knowing he would be waiting for me to not break the routine. To not break the habit we had created. So, I changed my clothes, put on layers, running shoes, and tied my hair in a ponytail.

When I met him at the trail, he didn't say anything. He wasn't tying his shoes, shimmying his shoulders while listening to old music. He wasn't grinning, bouncing with excitement while asking me questions, or telling me something he found interesting like he usually did. Instead, he tossed his water bottle behind the bush, waiting for me to do the same.

And we ran.

For the first time, we ran in silence. 

We passed by the clearing we usually paused our running to look at the clouds and talk but today we kept running. It was a cloudless day anyway, I tried to tell myself but that didn't help. The shift in the energy between us and the silence sent a pang to my chest as I tried to keep my breathing even and pushed my legs. 

When I shifted my focus to him, I wanted to stop. This was all wrong. The hardness on his face since he saw me hadn't left as we pushed forward, and whatever negative emotion going through him came off of him in waves. Even when I pulled my gaze from his face, I still kept my attention on him. On how he kept his pace steady, his breaths coming out in white gusts. On how his feet crunched beneath the lasting November snow. 

We stopped about 40 minutes later near where we started. He reached behind the bushes to dig out our water bottles, tossing me mine before taking a swig of his own. He lifted his gaze to mine as our deep breaths cracked through the quiet. 

Flushed with exertion, I bit my lip, wondering how to explain my behavior last Saturday. He beat me to it. "I don't like this." 

Irritation clouded his features as he said: "I don't like it when you...you think the best option is to push people away. To push me away when I don't think I've given you a reason to do it."

No. "You haven't," I assured him.

"I know I haven't. It feels like I did," A pitiful smile pulled on his lips. "I was going to text you but I knew you'd probably ignore it. I was thinking about calling you but again, you'd probably ignore that too. But it's Sunday. We don't miss Sundays unless we tell each other."

I bit my lip, my attention falling to the snow-covered ground. "We see five other days of the week with practice and the gy—"

"I don't care about those days," He cut in. His sad smile fell and seriousness overtook his features. "Sundays are our days."

Our days.

He cared about those days as much as I did. The feeling lit up in my chest, causing me to let out a slow exhale before I held in a wince. I had almost ruined our routine. 

"I didn't mean to make you feel that way. The tournament..." I trailed off, attempting to find the right words to say but would he understand? I met his gaze carefully, his expression settling into one of deep concern as if he remembered how I looked last Saturday. As if he had witnessed the mess I left on the side of the road. How I stayed in my car for half an hour longer than I should have like someone was yelling at me, keeping me there until I went inside.

He looked at me as if he had witnessed it all.

The stone expression I had seen when he appeared at my house was gone, replaced with worry. He wanted to know.

For some reason the pull in his dark eyes and the concern on his face that seemed to say that he would do anything he could to stop me from feeling this way made me say: "My dad. It's because of my dad."

I licked my lips, my stomach already in turmoil. If I thought too hard about it, I could still hear his voice, even now, years later. His demanding voice yelling for me to run harder, to run faster.

Go.

Fucking go.

You can go faster than that, are you fucking stupid? Run.

Ow. When I looked down, the sudden strike of pain had come from my nails digging into my palm. Fuck. Nikko's lips parted as I rubbed the ache, but he took my hand from me, inspecting my hand. "Larine."

I cleared my throat, the ache going dull underneath the sensation of his fingers attempting to soothe the pressed skin. "Sorry." 

Without thinking I yanked my hand away from his own. I needed to focus and I couldn't do it with his hand in mine. I didn't even look at him to see his reaction. My gaze fell to the ground as I crossed my arms, getting back to the topic at hand. "My dad played hockey for a very long time. Since he was a kid. He made it into the NHL and had award-worthy seasons."

I barely got the last words out. I could see it all. My father's trophies lined up on the chestnut-colored shelves of his office at my old childhood home. The awards and certificates he had received. The stories he would tell when I was a kid--I blinked. I couldn't do this standing here. I gestured to the snow-covered trail that we already had gone through once. "Can we?"

Run?

Nikko didn't respond. He tossed our water bottles behind the bush, hiding them before we set off on the path. 

We ran down the usual trail, passing by the luminous yet overbearing trees. There were rarely any people in sight. The only signs of life were birds that hadn't migrated for hibernation and one or two squirrels. I adjusted my attention to myself. The burn that lingered in my legs, I welcomed it. The feeling of my fists cutting through the wind, I loved it. I was certain my face was more flushed with the additional run but I didn't care as I kept running.

Again.

Do it again.

I don't fucking care. Stop crying. Do it again.

I didn't realize I had picked up the pace until the trees started whipping by faster than normal. I didn't stop. My legs didn't feel like they knew the word 'stop' as I pushed forward to get away from the repetition in my head. 

Again.

The trophies in his office. 

The track near our house. 

The creatine within my cereal. 

The sting when I would touch my forearms from bumping the ball too many times. I'd bump the ball more than any game, more than any practice. 

Run.

The crunch behind me shattered through the haze. The crunch sound occurred again. I turned. Nikko picked up the pace. Then, all of a sudden, he was beside me with even breaths, his arms by his sides. He met me stride for stride as we ran up the snowy terrain. 

It was as if he was saying everything he didn't need to when he didn't argue with me running again. But meeting my pace said more. It said I don't care how fast you're running, I'm going to catch up to you. It said he cared more than I anticipated he did and not just about Sundays. 

He cared about me. 

The friendship that had given me, despite my pushing him away over the years made me grit my teeth. So, I came to an abrupt stop. 

Surrounded by the high trees, I stopped, my toes curling within my shoes, my body finally doing what my mind wanted it to do. Nikko stopped half a second later, panting as he watched me. "Larine?" 

I linked my hands behind my head. "I'm okay." I heaved, sucking in as much air as I could now that I was in a better position. It took me a moment before I said: "I've never-I've never really spoken about this before."

Nikko's lips parted in surprise. "You don't have to tell me unless you want to."

But I did. I really did. Because maybe he would understand. 

"My dad loved hockey but I think he loved the glory that came with it more. He loved the fame he had gotten within that community because he was good. He was talented," I admitted, dropping my arms. He had been. "And then it was gone," I snapped my fingers. "Just like that." 

Nikko's eyebrows raised as I continued. "He only lasted a few seasons before he was out permanently. It was a rotator cuff tear gone bad, and then worse." 

"A career-ending injury," Nikko murmured and I nodded. 

At this point, I backed up, leaning against a high tree. "By that time, my parents had Paula and my mom was pregnant with me so I came along after the injury. See, Paula loved books. She used to tell me to tell stories all the time. It's one of the reasons I make things up about other people sometimes."

Nikko kept a wary eye on me but his fingers were restless the more I spoke. I focused on the movement of his thumbs rolling against each other as he stayed quiet. "Paula never had much interest in sports. But I did. I wanted to do karate when I was five and I guess he realized I could be an athlete and for a while I was." The memories filled in quickly: the scrape of the track under my bare feet, the wind in my hair, my ponytail swishing, even the way the sunrise would break in the sky. A part of me missed and hated it at the same time.

"I played volleyball, because I was tall, until I was about 14," I continued, my lungs finally bringing in air normally but my legs were still tight. "He trained me. He used to wake me up at 5 in the morning before school started to get me running on the track close to our house. Getting me up early wasn't usually a problem because of early practice. But sometimes he did it on the days I had practice. Most times when I didn't. But the way he would train me wasn't..." I sighed, closing my eyes.

There was a year when I didn't have any rest. Rest wasn't in his vocabulary even during the summertime when school was over. I was up at 4 or 5 in the morning every day like clockwork. 

I kept my eyes shut as I said: "One day when I lost a game. Normally, parents would say 'you tried. You did good. You'll get them next time'," I let out a ragged breath. "I spent an hour being yelled at in his truck after that game. Until I was red in the face and sobbing. Then I was told to stop crying and stop being a pussy. I didn't sleep that night. I didn't like volleyball that much after that night again either."

When I opened my eyes, Nikko's expression seemed to have hardened even further. I'd never told anyone else the full extent of this. Not my best friends. Not my mom. Paula only knew that I didn't want to play volleyball anymore that year and that our dad kept pressuring me to do it after the divorce, after high school, and in university. 

I had a feeling that if I gave my sister the full details of everything he had ever said to me and what he forced me to drink and eat strictly, she'd book a flight to Victoria, where he lived, in a split second to give him a piece of her mind. 

"My sister had moved out by that point," I said. "She was on the other side of the country. I was alone back in BC. I had friends but I didn't think any of them would have gotten it. So, I didn't really tell anyone the things he would say when we lost a game or when he was training me."

Nikko's worry seemed to deepen and a part of me already knew where this was going. "He never—"

"He never hit me, no," I assured him. His words, nevertheless, lingered like a scar. However, doubt filled my mind regarding an instance that happened so long ago. I never thought much about that night, did I?  

"One night, I was doing homework," I said quietly, my gaze falling on the dull dent I had left in my palm moments before. "I was blasting my music really loud in my earphones but when I took them off, he and my mom were yelling at each other downstairs. Really yelling at each other. He came back drunk or something." 

I shook my head. I remembered the smell of alcohol. The glass on the ground. Mom confirmed that he wasn't going to be back for a while. There was clear misery in her blue eyes but also relief when she said those words. From what I had seen in the chaos, there hadn't been a mark on her as Nikko considered had happened to me. I didn't know. However, the words he had called her had drifted upstairs to my room and stayed. 

"They yelled at each other for what felt like hours," I continued. "It was all I heard. I didn't have Paula to swap fake stories within her bedroom anymore. She came here, to Ontario, and went to Easton University. From her Instagram posts, her phone calls, and even the way she texted me, I knew she was having a good time. I wasn't going to ruin that for her. So I didn't tell her about any of the arguments after she left."

"That night was the night Dad left the house and went to stay with my uncle," I resumed "He wasn't going to be back for a while so, I forged a doctor's note to get me out of volleyball, and then eventually, I quit. A few weeks later, they told me they were getting divorced." 

Paula had come back that summer from her exams to a quieter house. To one that no longer experienced shouting filled with rage and tiredness. When she learned about the divorce, she took Mom out to dinner. She said it was for her finishing her first year at Easton but I knew it was about. She was happy it was over. 

I was too, but the impact of his presence in our house was still there. I remember feeling a wave of comfort when Mom said she was going to sell the house and we moved into an apartment within the same neighbourhood. 

"I started playing squash in high school as an after-school thing. I realized I really liked it but I never told him about it.  I got so scared that if I told him I was playing a sport like that, he'd..." I shrugged.

 The possibilities were endless because I knew he would go to great lengths to make sure I excelled at the sport. To make sure he could live the life that was cut short for him, through me. 

"That's why you never tried out for the team," Nikko said, realization creeping into his voice.

I nodded. "Intramural was easy because it wasn't serious competition. But the actual team? Nikko, sometimes he's still in my head when I least expect it. When Rhett told Polly that we lost the overall team division by one point, I kept thinking that if I had just won my match—"

Nikko started shaking his head, "Larine." 

"And I kept hearing him in my head," My voice cracked, nausea surging through me. "I hate it. I hate that I put all this pressure on myself every single game we have. Every single tournament where there's an instance that it could be my fault—"

"It's not."

"But it could be." I croaked. "I thought I had a handle on it if I didn't tell him about it." It turned out I didn't. Paula asked me back in September if I could manage. Look at me. One loss and I was vomiting on the side of the road.

The action made me more irritated with myself. I didn't have a handle on it at all. Frustrated tears welled up in my eyes and hastily, I blinked to make them go away but they didn't. They fell down my cheeks making me release a groan as I pressed my fingers to my eyes. "Fuck, I'm sorr--" 

Before I knew it, I was wrapped in a tight hug. His arms came around me and stayed there, holding me so securely to his body, another wave of emotions flooded through my own, springing additional waters to my eyes and blurring my vision. Against him, I surrendered, sagging into his hold but he held me up.

Against the side of my head, he whispered. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. I'm so sorry." I sniffed telling him he didn't have to say that but it didn't matter. Like a prayer, he repeated it against my head over and over, like his words could change anything from the past.

We fell into silence as I reached a hand between us to wipe my eyes but Nikko didn't move. "You didn't want to join the team after all these years because you were scared of his influence."

"Yes," I said. For the most part, yes. He understood that. He understood.

"And at the last tournament, It ate you up so you pushed me away." He said. 

"Yes," I repeated. "I didn't want you to-I didn't want you to get my anger." 

"Anger that you have towards yourself because of his words?" He asked softly. I nodded against his shoulder, a dot of coolness touching my cheek. 

"I don't care if you place your anger on me in that instance." He said. "At least I now know where it's really coming from." 

"I don't want to do that," I told him. "You don't deserve that at all." 

Nikko didn't care. In fact, his hold on me tightened. "Then we'll figure something out." 

My eyes rounded at his words. "We'll figure something out?" 

Nikko nodded and while I couldn't see the action, I felt his certainty. "We'll find a way to make sure that squash isn't ruined for you. Just don't push me away again. Please." 

His plea thundered within my brain.  But that was my first instinct when it came to him. He knew that. I had a feeling he didn't just mean with squash. "You always act like I've never avoided you. Not just today." I couldn't help but whisper as my heart beat loud in my ears. "Why?"

His chest rose and fell against me, the pause in conversation sending pressure through my chest. "I considered that you had your reasons," he said lowly. 

Reasons. Like the drunk phone call that summer. My feelings, which had never left since the moment I met him took over at odd instances. Like right now as I let out a shaky breath against his shoulder, mustering up the courage to ask: "Are we ever going to talk about the call?"

"We could," Nikko murmured. "Although, regarding the conversation we just had I think we can save that for another Sunday. Is that okay?"

More than okay. Relief coursed through my body as I sniffed, reaching a hand between us to wipe at my eyes. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," He sighed against the side of my head. The sound was filled with pent-up agitation. "I don't know what I'd do if I saw your dad after what you told me."

Nikko didn't get mad often. Annoyed? Yes. But angry? As if he knew how odd the emotion was for him, he pulled back to level his gaze with my own. The anger that flashed across his eyes dissipated as he assessed me, his mouth twisting to the side in a familiar manner. He observed me: my red eyes, my blotchy face, half-assed ponytail. He didn't care.

"Our losses are and will not be your fault, L," He said softly. "Squash may feel like an individual sport, but it really isn't. You have the team. Even Rhett. You have me."

His words rattled through my body as he kept his sight on me, still holding me even though we were an arm's distance away. But the toll of my own words decided to take over me without me realizing it. My tears that had been wiped away came rushing back, welling up and blurring my vision of him for the hundredth time.

Nikko's lips parted as if he had more to say. A part of him must have fought against his words because he surged forward yet again, embracing me firmly. Despite our cold hands, red noses, and the thick snow now falling around us, he didn't let go.