Aleks inhales sharply. “Gin, no . . . I’m going to talk to Coach and get our rooms switched so you don’t have to deal with that sour asshole.”
“No, it’s okay.” I reach out to give his hand a reassuring touch, and I hate that I actually have a moment of hesitation—as if my friend will suddenly jerk away and yell at me the way Avery did.
Damn it, Sour. Why can’t you be easy to get along with?
“I’m not giving up,” I announce with finality, only knowing I have made the decision once I voice it aloud. “He’s stuck with me for the rest of the season. I’ll get through to him eventually.”
“He can’t talk to you like that and get away with it.” Aleks has always been the type of guy who isn’t afraid to say what he believes and support anyone he thinks needs it. He’s our team captain because not only is he a leader, he is a fierce protector. “I’ll trip him in warm-ups. I swear I will. Won’t even apologize either.”
I peek over my shoulder to look at Avery, mentally picturing Aleks going just that. But then he sniffles, wipes his reddened nose with the sleeve of his hoodie, and coughs pitifully . . . and I remember that he is human and fallible—just like me. “No,” I whisper. The quirk of my mouth isn’t fake this time. “Don’t interfere, okay, Kiss? Just let me try. Give me some time to get through to him.”
He gives me a highly skeptical look. “You think you can find something sweet inside Sour?”
I tip my head side to side, considering. “I think . . . I think Sour just needs someone to be sweet to him, and maybe underneath that hard exterior, he’s actually a decent guy.”
“And if he isn’t?”
“And if he is?”
Aleks shakes his head as if he can’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. Honestly, neither can I. “You’re crazy, Gin. I’ll keep my tripping foot free just in case.”
“I sincerely hope you won’t need it.”
✧ ✧ ✧
All throughout dinner at the hotel, my mind runs a thousand miles a minute. I’d like to say I leave the restaurant with a foolproof plan to win Avery over, but that would be a lie. I have absolutely no idea where to begin. No one has ever hated me the way Avery clearly does. Not anyone I’ve met, anyway.
I have always tried to be a good person—even before my rock bottom in college—and having a positive attitude seems to help me, not hurt me. I regularly check in with everyone on the team, making sure their home and personal lives are going okay and offering support where I can give it.
Avery seems completely averse to me asking any personal questions about him, which only makes my task harder. How can I prove to him that I genuinely care about his feelings and want to know him as a person?
I have to go off what I know, which isn’t much. Basically, I know he hates me because he thinks I’m perfect, and also that he is coming down with something, even if he won’t admit it.
The latter, at least, I can try to show my compassion for. The restaurant downstairs had soup on its menu. As soon as I saw it, my mind went to Avery, who I saw disappear into the elevator immediately following Coach’s speech in the conference room. He’d looked even worse than he had on the plane, eyes watery and nose an angry red from the near-constant rub of his sleeve over it.
I’d placed a to-go order of soups during dinner, and they brought them out to me after dessert. I also snuck a bit of my fruit tart in a plastic container in case Avery has a sweet tooth, though I’m not holding out hope that he will eat anything I offer to him.
When I enter our hotel room, the lights are off, the air is warm and stale, and there is a man-sized lump under the far bed. I softly close the door behind me while carefully balancing the to-go containers. Setting the soups and leftover tart on the desk at the front of the room, I flick on the dim lamp and double-check the small trash can. There isn’t anything in it, so I assume Avery went straight to bed without eating.
Steeling myself for his wrath, I lower myself onto the edge of his bed and nudge his shoulder. “Avery? Have you eaten?”
He groans and rolls to face me. Despite still being in his hoodie and beneath the comforter, he’s trembling, teeth literally clacking together. Other than the movement, the only response he gives to having heard me is a low, pitiful moan.
I feel his forehead, which is scalding to the touch. Ah, he’s cold because he has a fever. He must have turned up the thermostat to try and get warm. “Hey, man. You can’t bundle up like this when you have a fever.”
“Wh-at?” he chatters, eyes barely opening.
“You have to cool down if you want to break it. Come on, skin the cat.”
“The fuck does that mean?” Avery grumbles but lets me pull him into a sitting position.
“Oh, good. The fever hasn’t altered your cheery disposition.”
Grabbing the hem of his hoodie, I pull it up and over his head, revealing the pale skin of his chest. It’s flushed from the fever, and I catch sight of those lovely shoulder freckles before violent shivers begin to rack his body. Goose bumps cover his flesh, and his nipples pebble despite the warmth of the room.
“Okay. Stay here. Do not lay back down.”
Standing, I turn the thermostat to a reasonable temperature, and then I dig in my toiletry bag for my over-the-counter all-purpose medicine. The bottle says it works as a fever reducer, so I check the recommended dose, count out the tablets, and fill one of the glasses from the bathroom counter with water.
I return to the bedroom to find Avery lying under the comforter with his red hoodie draped over him. With a sigh, I force him into a sitting position again and put the pills and glass in his hands. “It’s a fever reducer,” I tell him so he doesn’t think I’m trying to roofie him.
“I’m familiar,” he grouses in a snarky tone, but it’s hard to take him seriously with snot crusting his chapped nostrils. He takes the medicine without argument and finishes the water.
I catch him when he starts to sway back as if to lie down again. “Hey, I brought you soup in case you’re hungry.”
Avery grunts or groans or . . . something. All his weight tips backward, his body boneless, and I’m forced to let him fall into a prone position on the bed.
“Well.” I smack my teeth in reluctant defeat. “It’s on the desk if you want it. And half of a fruit tart. Feel free to take whatever you want if you get hungry.”
He releases a long, feeble moan, the only response I get to let me know he’s heard me.
Slipping into the bathroom, I quickly do my nightly routine and change into my pajamas before climbing into bed. I leave the dim lamp on in case Avery needs to get up in the middle of the night to puke or something.
I have no idea how he plans to play in the game tomorrow.
Only the soft sound of Avery’s breathing can be heard as I lay flat on my back under my blankets, but the noise in my head is louder than ever. Every brain cell is analyzing the times Avery and I have spoken, which isn’t much, trying to figure out how to get through to him.
Like I’d already realized, the only thing I know about him is that he’s currently sick, and he hates me for being “perfect.”
