His thumb along my jaw.
The pulse jumping in my throat under his palm.
I close my eyes.
I stop fighting it.
Then I peel off the remainder of my wet clothes, drag myself to the bathroom, and turn the shower back on. Hot this time. Hot enough to stop my teeth from chattering, hot enough to fog the mirror, hot enough to maybe burn some sense back into me.
It doesn’t work. I stand under the spray with my head down and I’m furious the entire time.
The way he looked when I got there. That strung out, two-days-no-sleep look. The way his voice cracked when he said I'm not gay — not angry when it came out. Desperate. The sound of someone trying to convince themselves of something that stopped being true a long time ago. And I pushed anyway. Said the word right to his face and didn't stop when I saw what it was doing to him.
I press my forehead against the cool tile.
I don’t feel bad he lost captain. I would have felt bad if he’d been kicked off the team entirely — because whatever else Jamie Nash is, nobody on that team loves hockey the way he does and I’m not a monster. But losing captain? He did that to himself.
I punch the tile and immediately regret it. Instead, I shake out my hand and stand there breathing steam.
The thing that keeps snagging — the thing I can’t get past no matter how many times I try — is that I’m the only one who does this to him. Everyone else gets the perfect captain. The composure. The controlled, measured, buttoned up version of Jamie Nash who has everything under wraps.
I get the vein in his temple. I get the feral look in his eyes. I get him completely undone. I get him kissing me back in an empty locker room with his hands shaking. I get him punching me because he can’t handle his own feelings.
And god help me, I still can’t stop thinking about it.
I know how this ends. I’ve been here before — a captain, a closed door, something that felt like more than it was. I left Eldridge because of it. I rebuilt because of it. I swore I was done doing this to myself.
The bathroom is so fogged I can barely see the wall in front of me. I close my eyes and think it through some more.
The thought sits heavy and confident in my chest. Jamie flinches when I get close. Jamie hit me when I pushed too hard. And maybe I shouldn’t have. Because whatever is underneath all that fury, whatever I think I saw in him — it doesn’t matter. It can’t matter because I know better. Whatever he’s really fighting has nothing to do with me and he needs to stay the fuck away.
I stay under the water until it starts to run cold again. Then I turn it off, grab a towel, and stand in the foggy silence.
I came here to start over. I really need to start acting like it.
Chapter 19
Jamie
I barely slept again.
Ceiling. Four AM. Still dark. Nothing resolved.
I kissed him back and then I punched him.
I’ve never lost my mind so completely that I couldn’t find my way back to it. What was I thinking? I had just gotten yelled at for putting my hands on Rhys, and I proceeded to do it again. Immediately after. This is not me.
There’s something specific about Rhys that dismantles me and I need to figure out what it is and I need to stop letting it. Stop letting him get in my head before I ruin everything for myself.
I sit up. Rub my temples and check my phone.
The team group chat — Ice Queens, a name bestowed upon us in the first week of the fall semester, by one very specific transfer student who thought it was hilarious and it apparently stuck — is lit up with messages about Bryce taking over as captain temporarily. Guys congratulating him, a few jokes, the usual noise. I stare at it, then type out something genuine and hit send because Bryce didn't do anything wrong and he deserves that.
Coach was right about one thing — Kowalski is the only guy on this team I’d call a friend. He’s serious, dependable, keeps his head down and does the work. We understand each other. But one person isn’t a team and I’ve been treating my team like coworkers, like they're background characters in somethingthat's only about me and my being captain and my shot and my future.
That’s on me and that changes now.
I get dressed quickly — black sweats, white tee, backpack over one shoulder because I have class right after — and head to the athletic building in the early grey morning. I hate that I’ve been adding stress to Fitch’s life. He’s been good to me — decent, the kind of steady presence I didn’t have growing up — and lately every time I walk into his office his face does something tired and resigned that I put there. That sits badly with me.
