So This Is War

“Do you think he’ll be mad that I’m here?” Sandie asks as she takes in my new dwelling.

“No,” I say. “I have my own entrance. It’s not like I traipsed you around his apartment. I can have people over to my closet.”

“You know, I think your walk-in closet at your dad’s house is bigger than this.”

“Oh, it one hundred percent is, but that just means I need to make this space cozy.” I set down my bags of decor.

After Levi and I parted ways, I picked up some cleaning supplies with bleach—despite not liking to use bleach products, but given the circumstances—and I scrubbed the floor of my bedroom, in particular where the mouse was massacred.

I then went around all the baseboards, furniture, bathroom, and every single crevice and scrubbed them with a bristle brush until I was fully satisfied with the cleanliness. I followed this up with painting the only wall that doesn’t have exposed brick a very dark gray, almost black. Some people might scoff at the idea of painting a small space a dark color, but for me, a dark aesthetic creates true comfort. It’s why I love Levi’s apartment so much.

I tried not to drool too much over the hardwood floors, or the perfectly placed furniture, or his bedroom . . .

Oh my God, his bedroom.

Sin happens in there. The moment I walked in, I felt it—despite the awkward length of time he allowed a vibrator with a clit sucker to cling to his toe.

“I know we didn’t really address it, but . . . the mouse,” Sandie says.

I hold up my hand. “Trust me when I say I looked in every crevice and searched high and low for any opening that rodents could climb through. We are safe here.”

“And from the powerful bleach smell in here, I can tell you cleaned.”

I nod. “My hands feel raw.”

“At least you can rest easy tonight, and we don’t have to worry about stepping on anything.”

I shake my head and chuckle, still remembering the look of horror on Levi’s face when he realized what had happened. “No, we’re good.” I take a seat on the mattress that Sandie helped me bring up the stairs and say, “But before we get started, I need to get something off my chest.”

Looking confused, Sandie sits beside me. “Okay, what’s going on? Did something happen?”

Did something happen? Of course something happened.

Minus the mouse and the vibrator and the weird tasks Levi asked me to take care of, I could not stop feeling this heavy, electric draw toward him.

Like my body was being pulled in by some cosmic force, and if I don’t talk about it, I think I might scream.

“Yes, something happened.” I look her in the eyes. “I am crushing so hard on Levi Posey, and I know you know this. I know you’ve seen me fawn over the man for a long time, but being here, being next to him, seeing the way he tries to inconspicuously check me out. It’s driving me nuts. I know I can’t do anything about these feelings. It’s almost as if my dad knew I liked this man and decided to torture me by putting me in a situation where I can’t have him.”

“Even if you weren’t in this position, you wouldn’t be able to have him. Hence why you bolted that one night. You know your dad would kill you if you hooked up or went out with any of his players, so how is this any different?”

“Because . . .” I bite on the corner of my lip. “I have to be near him now. I know what his apartment smells like. I have to fold his underwear and see his collection of magnum condoms.”

“Magnum?” Sandie’s brow lifts.

“Yes.” I let out a deep sigh. “And I know I shouldn’t be talking about this, but oh my God, Sandie, his bedroom is designed for two things: sleeping and fucking. He has a four-poster bed with hooks, and in his nightstand are toys and ties, and God, just looking at it made my nipples hard. He doesn’t portray this dark, sinister man in real life. Sure, you see a part of that on the ice, but normally he’s goofing off with his friends in interviews and being a jokester. I never would have guessed that he has a secret kink. If I had to pick one of them to have a secret kink, I would have guessed Silas Taters. He gives the vibe of tying someone up and fucking them until they can’t take it anymore. Not Levi Posey.”

Sandie slowly nods. “I see and hear everything you’re saying, but I just want to make sure you understand that no matter what, you can’t do anything with him. If you want to prove your dad wrong, you need to keep to yourself, even if he does seem to let his eyes wander.”

“I know,” I say with a heavy sigh. “But I just had to tell you that because it’s been eating away at me. He’s so hot, Sandie. So freaking hot.”

She chuckles. “I know. It’s what you say every time you see him.”

“Because it’s true.” I lean back against the wall and stare up at the ceiling. “But I’m determined to prove to my dad that I can do this, that I can provide for myself and do what will make me happiest in life.”

“Good, hold on to that determination when you see Posey with his shirt off for the first time.”

I roll my head to the side to look at my friend. “Think that’ll happen?”

“Most likely. I can’t imagine it not happening. You’re going to be in and out of his apartment. I bet you’ll see more than you’re ready to see.”

I rub my hands together. “One can only hope.”

Sandie pushes at my shoulder, laughing. “You’re so freaking horny. Oh my God, Wylie.”

I chuckle. “Easy for you to say. You’re the one who’s in a happy relationship and can have sex anytime you want. I either have to do it myself or try to find someone out on the streets to do it for me.”

“Can you please not find someone on the streets? Standards, Wylie.”

“At this point, it’s been months, and I have no standards. None at all.”

Blushing, she says, “You haven’t been to that club you like to go to?”

I shake my head. “No, they raised the rates, and I just don’t have a way to pay for it. Especially not now. It’s fine. I can concentrate on my job and sharpening pencils and dividing up Skittles.”

“Ah, the joys of being an assistant.” She hops off my bed and starts pulling bedding out of my bags. “Seems odd that Posey would have you do such menial tasks. He doesn’t seem like that kind of man.”

“I thought the same thing,” I say. “Very odd. The whole rewriting of the book thing was really weird.”

Together, we make my bed with the deep green sheets I purchased as well as the emerald-green velvet comforter I found and fell in love with. I splurged just a little on some bedroom necessities, but that’s because this place is a hellhole. If I’m going to live here, I will make sure I’m comfortable. Luckily, I had some money saved from some designs I’ve done for a few small businesses, so I dipped into the pot for some serenity.

Now that I feel the comforter and see it in this space, I’m not mad at myself at all. I’m actually patting myself on the back.

“Maybe he’s secretly very particular but doesn’t show his diva tendencies in public,” Sandie says as she eyes my nightstand. “Also, am I putting this in the hallway outside?”

“Yes.” I chuckle. “And then if you want to start making the one we purchased, I will love you forever.”

“Why did I know you were going to make me build that?”

“Because you’re better at using tools than I am.”

She shakes her head but gets to work by moving the drawer-less nightstand out to the hallway. Maybe I’ll get a plant for it or something, make use of it somehow. While she builds the nightstand, I work on hanging and steaming curtains.

We went to Room In Order for organizational ideas and found great space-saving ways to store my clothes and utilize the height of the space. I think we’re going to make it work.

“So what are you going to do first? Start rewriting the book?” Sandie asks as she looks over the instructions.

“Uh, no, I think I’ll start small and work up to the book. He seemed really into the sharpened pencils, so I’ll work on that tonight, perhaps. Then the Skittles and the stain. I think I can bang those out tomorrow morning and possibly work on some social media posts during lunch. I also have to go shopping for him. I think if I complete a few of the things that will give him instant gratification, I can show him I’m working hard, and slowly tackle the harder tasks.”

“Probably smart. At night, will you be working on your art?”

“Yes,” I say. “That’s why I got that lap desk, so I can hang out here on my bed and field any requests.”

“Do you have any prospects?”

I steam the black curtains I purchased and shake my head. “No, but I want to enter some competitions, and I’m also working on updating my portfolio. Now that I don’t have to worry about classes and telling my dad, I can contemplate how I want to handle this career change.”

“I think that’s smart.” She glances over her shoulder at me. “I’m proud of you, Wylie. I know this was a tough decision, but following your heart is what will bring you joy.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I just truly hope my dad can see it that way. He’ll see how I can make a life of this by giving me this opportunity.”

“He will. I know he will.” She smiles at me. “Just keep your mouth, hands, and vagina to yourself.”

I let out a loud laugh. “Yes . . . Mom.”

I STAND in the middle of my room, exhausted, sweaty, and ready to plant my face into my pillow, but oh my God, I’m so glad I stayed up late to finish setting up.

I found a plush area rug that we placed partially under my bed and then rolled out to cover most of the floor. It feels like I’m walking on a cloud rather than the old, scuffed-up hardwood floors. I took some duct tape to the splintered bed slat and patched that up. We hung the curtains higher than the window, making the room’s space look larger and grander. The emerald-tone bedding looks luxurious, and we added some greenery with a potted Monstera plant. I built a movable rack for clothing and a small black cube shelf that fits perfectly next to the door for my undergarments. Sweatshirts and T-shirts are in bins under my bed, which we propped up with risers. And in the bathroom, I used the space the best I could by building one of those over-the-toilet shelves as well as using storage shelves under the sink. It’s tight in there, but it works.

And now that I’m fully moved in and ready to start this new chapter in my life, I don’t think I’ve ever been more hopeful.

Smiling to myself, I crash onto my bed, ready to go to sleep when my phone rings. I glance over at the nightstand and see my dad calling.

Sighing, I pick it up and answer. “Hey, Dad.”

“It’s late, Wylie.”

“You’re the one who called me,” I say. “Also, nice hello.”

“Why aren’t you home?”

Smiling, I say, “I moved out, Dad.”

“What?” he asks.

“I told you I found a place. I moved out today. I’m currently at the new place and, before you ask, there is one window, and I put up a bar so no one can open it. I also have my Addalock in my door as well as the doorjamb. No one is getting in, and the only one getting out is me.”

He’s silent for a second before he says, “I knew you were moving, but I thought you would actually give me more than just a quick heads up.” Almost sounds like he’s regretful.

“You gave me one week to find housing, Dad. What did you expect me to do? Wait until the last minute? No, I’m serious about this. I want you to know that I can do this. That I can live on my own, support myself without your help, and make this dream of mine a reality.”

He’s quiet again, and then he finally clears his throat. “Well, glad to hear it. Have you met with Posey? Been advised of your responsibilities?”

“Yes,” I answer. “Met with him this morning. Between you and me, there are some odd things he wants done. Almost feels like he’s trying to make things difficult for me. You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?” I thought about it earlier when I was working with Sandie. The tasks he laid out—like the barbecue stain—seem so odd, like they were purposely given to me to keep me busy. Sandie brought up the idea that maybe my dad was telling him to make things difficult.

“Do you really think I have time to come up with idiotic tasks for you to do? What Posey asks you to do is up to him. He might have odd requests, given he hasn’t had an assistant before. As long as you’re earning a wage and you’re learning what life will be like for you if you leave school, I’m okay with it.”

I take a look around my apartment and realize if this is what life will be like if I leave school, then I’m not doing too bad. Nope, I could totally manage this. And that’s what my dad doesn’t realize. He didn’t raise a fool. I have a good grasp of common sense. He provided me with a wonderful roof over my head and anything I could have wanted growing up, and while I’m grateful, it’s all material things.

What I really want is to feel satisfied and happy. Like I’m doing something that fills my heart with joy, not irritation.

And I don’t think he realizes that. He’s too far into his career to remember where he started. I’m sure his parents scoffed at the idea of him wanting to be a head coach, but look at him now. We all have to start somewhere, and if that means working a nonsense job to get to where I want to be, then so be it.

“Well, I’m doing pretty good right now. I’m comfortable. Safe. Happy. And at night, I plan on working on my artwork. I know it’s probably not what you want to hear, but I think I can handle this.”

“Good to know,” he says, sounding angry about my happiness.

God, if only he’d understand.

“Well, I’m exhausted, and I have to wake up early to get a jumpstart on things. I should go. Thanks for checking on me, Dad. I love you.”

He sighs. “I love you, Wylie. Be safe.”

“I will. Night, Dad.”

“Night.”

I hang up the phone and set it down on the nightstand.

I slip under the covers of my freshly made bed and sink into the comfortable mattress.

You got this, Wylie.

You can do this.

You can prove to him that you can handle this on your own.

I let out a deep breath, close my eyes, and allow my mind to drift to the designs I want to work on. To my plans of starting my own business. I have a checklist of everything I need to do to make that happen, a checklist I unfortunately learned from school—hate saying that because it just shows that my dad is right about a few things—and then there are⁠—

Ding.

My eyes flash open, and I glance at my lit-up phone screen. A text from Levi.

I turn on my side and open the text.

Levi: Hopefully, you’re not asleep yet. I forgot I need something from the store. Think you can run out and get it?

Is he serious right now?

Sitting up, I type him back.

Wylie: I’m awake. What do you need?

Barely awake, but it’s fine. If he wants something, I’ll grab it even though I’m ready to pass out.

Levi: You can drive, right?

Wylie: Yes.

Levi: Great. There’s a bakery that stays open twenty-four hours. They have the best bagels ever, and they’re most fresh at one in the morning. It’s their first batch for the morning. Can you grab me a dozen everything bagels?

I stare at the text, blinking a few times.

Wylie: Wouldn’t the second batch be fresher for you? Since you’re going to sleep? I can grab them first thing in the morning.

Levi: They use different water for the second batch. Trust me, these are way better. Put them on the card I gave you to use. Thanks.

Is this seriously happening? He wants me to get out of bed and grab him bagels that he won’t eat for hours?

A part of me wants to go to sleep, wake up a little earlier than he does, purchase the second batch, and see if he can even tell, but with my luck, he’ll wake up at five and be looking for his bagels with none to eat.

Reluctantly, I slide out of bed, put on my shoes, and text him back.

Wylie: Send me the address, and I’ll grab those bagels for you.

Levi: You’re awesome. Thanks. It’s Port Hole Bagels.

I pull up Google Maps on my phone and look up Port Hole Bagels, only to find that it’s a forty-five-minute drive from here.

Mouth agape, I text him back.

Wylie: Is this the address?

I attach the address to the text.

Levi: Yup. That’s the one. Why, is that a problem?

Yes!

I want to sleep.

I’m tired. I don’t want to drive forty-five minutes one way just to grab stupid bagels because he thinks the water is different at one in the morning than four o’clock. But this is what Dad was talking about, right? Earning my way through life, suffering as an artist at a job just to make money.

Guess I better grab some coffee because I have a drive to make.

Wylie: Not a problem at all. What do you want me to do with the bagels when I get back?

Levi: Just stick them in the freezer.

Doesn’t that negate the fact that they won’t be fresh anymore?

My nostrils flare as I type him back.

Wylie: But they won’t be fresh anymore.

Levi: In my mind, they will be. Thanks.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter as I throw on my sweatshirt and grab my car keys. No wonder he didn’t have an assistant before this. He probably couldn’t keep anyone at the job long enough to buy the one-in-the-morning everything bagels.

Lucky for him, it will take a lot more than one-in-the-morning bagels, barbecue stains, and manually sharpened pencils to break me.

LEVI: Can you come to the kitchen? I need to speak with you.

Blurry-eyed and barely able to hold my body upright thanks to a closed bridge that added twenty minutes to my drive—both ways—I’m hardly holding on to my sanity as I pull my hair back into a sleek ponytail.

Wylie: Be right there.

I stare at myself in the mirror, not even bothering with makeup because I don’t have it in me. And I don’t care enough for him to see me makeup-free to even consider one coat of mascara. Nope, maybe my makeup-free face will scare him away, and he’ll never ask me to grab one-in-the-morning bagels again.

Slippers on, I move down the hallway toward the kitchen and try to muster a happy face when he comes into view.

“Good morning,” I say.

He turns around, looking so good in a fitted long-sleeved Under Armor shirt that clings to his thick, barrel chest and carved arms. His hair is still wet, clearly fresh from the shower, and instead of shaving, he’s left the scruff on his face to make him that much more enticing.

Ughhhh, why does he have to look so good in the morning?

And smell so good.

And why do I want to curl into his side and let him hold me? What I wouldn’t give for a solid snuggle session right now where I can pass out in his large arms, and he slowly runs his hand over my hair, calming me to a deep slumber.

Instead, here I stand, his wench, ready to be at his beck and call.

“Morning,” he says in a deep timbre that his nighttime visitors are probably privileged to hear. Like he hasn’t warmed up his vocal cords enough just yet, so he has this rasp that makes him exponentially more attractive. “Thanks for the bagels.”

“Did you make one?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Nah, I’ll get something at the arena. Just going to have a protein shake this morning. Could you grab that for me? I’m headed in for a meeting and don’t have time.”

He’s not eating one of the freaking bagels I got him last night?

Doesn’t he know that I had to drink two boiling hot cups of coffee to make it through that drive? That I had to listen to a playlist called Don’t Fall Asleep the entire way that was put together by some psychopath on Spotify that consists of horrific animal noises and loud screeching? I nearly drove myself mad.

And he’s not going to have a bagel?

HE’S NOT GOING TO HAVE A FREAKING BAGEL?

What was the point of it all, then?

Just to be a dick?

“A protein shake, of course,” I reply with a sweet smile—at least I hope it’s sweet. It could be a bit on the snarly side. “Want me to grab the ingredients to make you one, or do you want me to pick you one up?”

“Pick me one up. I’ll text you the details. I’ll order it, and you can just grab it and bring it to the arena.”

“Sure, that works.”

“Also”—he picks up a book from the counter—“don’t forget about this. Vermont is calling my name.”

“Ah, yes.” I take the book and hold it against my chest. “Can’t wait to learn some facts about Vermont myself. You know, if you’re chomping at the bit to learn something about the beautiful state also known as one of the biggest maple providers in the country, then I can send you some YouTube videos. Something to watch while you’re getting treatment.”

“I prefer to read,” he says.

Just not in a font other than Arial, right? Jesus Christ.

“Okay, well, the option is there. I’ve found quite a few travel blogs that do wonderful jobs. None of that shaky camera work, you know?”

“I’ll think about it.” He pockets his phone and his wallet. “Well, I’m off. I’ll text you. See you at the arena.”

“See you there,” I say with a wave.

He’s about to leave when he turns toward me. “Oh, and don’t forget about the fiddle leaf fig tree. I’m looking forward to seeing what you choose.”

“Yup, it’s on the list,” I say.

“Great.” He offers me a delicious smile before taking off and leaving me alone in his apartment.

I set the book down on the counter, lean against the cold marble, and let out a deep breath. “You’re fine,” I say as irritation claws up the back of my neck. “This is life just testing you. No need to get frustrated and upset. So what if he didn’t eat a bagel after everything you went through to get them? Not a big deal at all. And sure, you’re exhausted, and the last thing you want to do is get back in your car to pick up a smoothie. Everything will be okay because you’re strong, and you’re not going to let your dad win.”

I take a few calming breaths and ensure that I’m not going to freak out on him before I grab the book again and head to my bedroom, just as I get a text from him with his order and where to pick it up. I quickly look the address up on Google Maps, praying that it isn’t far, and lucky for me, it’s between here and the arena. It seems like an easy pickup for him, but that’s fine. While I’m out, I can grab the Skittles and stain remover.

See how that works? Thinking on the positive side.

Sure, would I have wanted him to eat one of the bagels I drove to get him? Yes, that would have been nice, but when he does decide to eat one, I know he’ll be able to taste that different water. At least that’s what I try to tell myself.

Everything will be just fine.