Page 195 of On the Breakaway

Wyatt rubs a hand across his jaw.

“You’re not a mind reader. Stop guessing at what she’s thinking and wait for her to tell you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Then Wyatt pushes off the stall. “You’ll figure it out. And if she can’t get past one screw-up, then maybe you aren’t what you thought you were.” Before I can answer, he grabs his bag. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The door slams shut behind him, and my body relaxes because for the first time all night, I’m finally alone. The locker room feels enormous without everyone in it.

I sit on the bench for entirely too long, giving the adrenaline time to wear off and the bruises enough time to start screaming. By the time I force myself to stand, my entire body aches.

The shower water is almost painfully hot as steam fills the room. I brace my hands against the tile and let it pour over my head. The blood washes away first, and then the sweat. Soon, every ounce of evidence from the fight has washed down the drain, except for the memory of it playing on repeat.

No matter how hard I scrub my skin. I still hear Avery’s voice.

You promised.

I stay under the water until my fingers wrinkle and the steam stops helping.

Tomorrow will bring the suspension. The media. The possibility that I just cost my team a shot at the Cup.

Tomorrow I’ll deal with the possibility that the girl I love looked at me tonight and saw someone she can’t trust.

But tonight, all I can do is try to clear my head enough to survive whatever comes next.

38

Avery

I’m not exactly sure how long I’ve been staring at the spot where Grayson disappeared, but it’s long enough that it’s safe to assume he’s not coming back out.

The game is over now, and the corridor that had been empty is suddenly crowded with movement and noise.

I don’t move.

I don’t think I can.

“Avery.” Harper’s hand lands on my shoulder.

I flinch instinctively as the touch jolts me back to the present. The present where Grayson’s gone, and I might’ve pushed him away hard enough this time that he doesn’t come back.

Harper’s expression softens. “Come on.”

She gently steers me toward the wall before someone barrels into us, and I sit down on the bench lining the walkway.

My brain feels like static.

“It’s okay,” she says quietly.

The words almost make me laugh because nothing about this feels okay. Not the look on Grayson’s face when he walked away from me and definitely not the realization clawing its way through my body.

Wesley crosses her arms in front of me. “What the hell was that?”

Harper shoots her a look, but Wesley doesn’t budge.

I groan. “Wes.”

“No.” She points toward the locker room door. “How long has that been going on?”