The way Austin and Dallas were lingering over Avery’s love life bothered me. She was more than capable of making her own decisions. Plus, Mateo clearly liked her. Loved her, even. He was a good man. An attractive, flirty, mustached firefighter who . . .
Needed to stopbeing in my thoughts so frequently.
Fucking mustache. Slutty glasses. He knew exactly what he was doing and owned it all the way. His confidence itself was a turn on.
My finger paused on the remote, my throat tightening as a sports channel flashed on the screen.
Hockey Star Done?
Replays from past games flashed on the screen as two sports journalists talked. I did my best to tune them out, but winced at the wordsburned out,finished,anda waste of talent.
The game they were showing replays from had been one of the hardest I’d ever played, but we’d pulled through. I’d blocked a shot that would have been one of the greatest of all time—if he’d made it.
I smiled to myself, remembering the roar of the arena.
It only took a few seconds to change a game completely.
The next clip burst my bubble. I exhaled slowly as a clip of my shoulder injury followed.
From the outside, it didn’t even look like that significant of a collision. One of the other team’s players had barreled toward me and made his shot, slipping on the way. I’d blocked the puck, but not before hitting the ground, then hitting him.
I blinked, realizing I’d never even watched the clip.
The fucking pain. It was seared in my mind, the way my rotator cuff had ripped. The burners that followed from that injury were still an issue today. Some of the nerves were damaged, leaving me with sudden electric shocks, tingling, pins and needles, and occasional weakness in my arm. Sometimes shaking, although that’d lessened over time.
But Ihadhealed some. It wasn’t constant anymore.
I was healing. I would heal. I had to heal. If I ever wanted to go back, I had to . . .
Could I even go back? Probably next season, I could hit it hard. I’d need to get back into my old routine after leaving Whynot and keep in shape while my shoulder continued to get better.
None of it appealed to me.
I turned off the TV and sat in silence.
Sitting and doing nothing didn’t appeal to me either.
I got up and headed to the front door, slipping on my boots. Eventually, I’d break these fuckers in. At least then I’d stop getting side looks from locals.
My camera bag hung from one of the jacket hooks. I slid it over my chest and stepped outside, wrinkling my nose at the heat. The sun was about to be hitting golden hour, though . . .
Which was the perfect time to snap some pictures.
Photography had been my own little secret for years. A hobby that kept me grounded amid all the bullshit. It was one of the few things I did for myself. I’d never be good at fumage or any sort of art like Avery did, but a camera? It worked for me. It made me happy. Capturing small moments, playing with lighting—photography brought me peace.
I stood on my porch and unzipped the camera bag, pulling mine out carefully. I turned it on, setting everything up.
The sound of a door slamming shut echoed down the street. I looked up right as Avery stepped out of her little house, her head tipping to the side when she spotted me.
I felt as though I’d been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. I immediately put my camera away, blush creeping up the back of my neck as she waved at me and crossed the street.
God, she was gorgeous. I swallowed hard, all my words disappearing like I was an idiot as the sunlight hit her. The blue at the ends of her hair lit up, her eyelashes long, freckles cute.
She slowed at the bottom of my step, her hands going behind her back. She’d changed out of the yoga clothes and was wearing what I’d determined to be her favorite overalls. All the paint stains only contributed more evidence.
“Hey,” she said. “How was yoga?”
I cleared my throat. “It was good.”
