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Swinging with my full strength, I drive my twig into the ice, too hard apparently. My stick snaps in two, the blade sliding out in front of me, while the handle is still gripped between my white-knuckled hands.
Jensen kicks the blade of my broken stick toward me, and deep laughter rumbles out of him, uncontrollable and obnoxiously loud.
“Shut up,” I warn him, trying not to join in with his contagious bellowing.
His laughter continues. “Yeah, no, you seem just fine.”
“I’ll kill you.” I can’t help the laugh that escapes my clenched jaw.
“I’d like to see you fucking try, Larinski.” Jensy feigns a menacing tone.
I know what he’s doing, and God knows I’m thankful for it. But I can’t avoid the reason behind why he’s trying to distract me for too long. I’ve never been one to hide from things that scare me, and I’m not going to start now. As much as I appreciate his effort to distract me, I can’t ignore her. I love her, and I fucking hate her.
JD skates along with me as I drift toward the bench so I can grab a new stick.
“If I wanted to, I could.”
He scoffs, “Lucky for you, we’re on the same team, so you won’t have to find out.”
I chuckle and grab a new stick from one of our equipment managers. We are just cooling down from a scrimmage session and playing around on the ice, waiting for either coach to call the next activity or for the PR team to skate on the ice to get some footage, or both at the same time.
My body fucking shudders at the thought of her being on the ice out here with me—the absolute opposite of what I used to feel in this situation. It used to be the best part of practice, having my girl alongside me. Watching her skate around, doing what she loves while being with me, doing what I love, was unbeatable. It was perfect. Now, our time on the ice together will be haunted from the memories of our past.
It’s impossible for me not to notice her presence the second she glides onto the ice.
With everything in me, I resist looking over at her. But I don’t need to in order to know what she’s doing—the click of the camera gives that away.
Coach Carrington whistles with his fingers, and we all hustle over to the bench, where he’s standing with the assistant coaches.
“Great scrimmage today, guys. Remember to keep that pace up every second of every single shift. When we start to slow down is when we lose all of that momentum and we make lazy mistakes. Be better than lazy mistakes. Got it?” he demands.
We all answer in unison, “Yes, Coach.”
Coach Carrington is a bit of a drill sergeant, but we all respect him and how hard he works for this team.
He finishes his wrap-up speech. “Morning skate tomorrow, scrimmage in the afternoon, and game on Friday against the Vegas Venom. They’re good—not great, but good. Play the pace you guys practiced today, keep those line changes clean, and we’ll have nothing to worry about. See you in the morning.”
All the guys tap their sticks on the ice—hockey players’ version of clapping—and Coach Carrington dismisses us by walking away, his assistants hot on his tail.
Thank God I don’t have to spend any more torturous time being stuck on the ice with Charlotte. Her being here is honestly just pissing me the fuck off. I hesitate to turn around, hoping she is already gone by now.
But as I skate around, I see her set up outside the rink, filming the guys heading to the locker room and asking them a question on their way out.
I hang back at the end of the line of guys getting off of the ice, my fists clenched in my gloves, and my body starts vibrating with frustration and rage. How could she fucking do this to us? Tear us apart and then come here, acting like everything’s okay, and go about her job as normal?
I’m afraid I might be melting the ice from how fucking hotheaded I’m getting, just thinking about her. JD and Burnsy sink behind me as we near the exit off the ice, and I’m about two people away from coming face-to-face with her again.
“Favorite rom-com?” Charlotte asks one of the guys ahead of me, and I’m going to lose my goddamn mind.
I guess we’ll just pretend that she and I didn’t watch every single rom-com we could find together. That’s the question she chose for her first day back? Is it just to rub it in my face?
As the last person between us walks away, I’m boiling hotter than I’ve ever felt before. I want to give her a piece of my mind, I want to tell her how mad I am, how fucking betrayed I feel, how I feel like she’s treating what we had as a joke. But my mom raised me to be respectful, and if I didn’t have anything nice to say, I shouldn’t say anything at all, and I definitely don’t have anything even relatively nice to say to her right now.
I feel the second her eyes land on me; a warm sensation washes over me, and I cringe at the familiar feeling that now brings me nothing but disgust and anguish. I won’t even look her way. I won’t give her that satisfaction.
She stays silent, not even bothering to ask me the same question. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the camera lower in her hands. Not even a word. She doesn’t muster a single one.
I step past her, and it takes everything I have left to not turn around and demand some answers—some real answers, not the bullshit she spewed at my house. The cycle of anger and sadness continues, causing them to swirl together, and I think I’m going to explode if I don’t get this under control soon.
