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As I sprint up and down the ice, shooting the pucks that are lined up for me before sprinting back, I ponder whether this would be easier and I wouldn’t want to puke if Jayden were here.
The answer is no.
When I finish, I swallow down the bile that wants to escape as I gasp, looking at my father.
“You’re faster,” he observes, and I nod.
“I’ve
been running.”
“You’re running?” he says slowly and I shrug, panting for breath.
“Sinclair makes me.”
He scoffs. “I don’t think anyone makes you do anything. Seems like you just want to be better.”
“I do,” I pant. “I am better.”
“Good, thirty laps and you’re done.”
Fuck me.
Sucking in a deep breath, I carry my stick as if it weighs a billion pounds and start my laps. I’d rather be in bed—I don’t have class until eleven today, and I could have slept in since Jayden and I were up for most of the night. But instead, here I am.
Yay.
Skating around for the third time, my belly is queasy but I ignore it, pushing hard around the rink while my dad plays on his iPad. I want to hate him for that, but he isn’t the one working to get into the NHL. He made it, he won the Cup, and he quit it all for me.
Now I’ve got to work so that he knows he did right for me.
Digging in, I make my laps and wonder where Jayden is. His test must have taken longer than he thought. I kinda wish he were here, though; he makes laps and running bearable. Probably because I get to stare at him while I do it, and he lies to me by saying I’m doing so well to make me feel good. We all know it’s a damn lie, though, but still, it works and makes me smile. I really don’t know why I hate running so much; give me a stick and a puck and I can murder. Make me run for days, and I’ll be the one being murdered.
Damn cardio.
When I finally finish my laps, I lie out on the ice as my dad stands, folding up his chair. “Good job, Bay. We need this game that Mr. Fisher will be at to go well. I know you blame yourself for little Sinclair, but you gotta let that go. It’s time for you to shine.”
I can only nod as he walks off the ice. I know he’s right and I know I can shine, I just wish the butterflies in my gut would go somewhere else. I really don’t have time for them. I need to be confident. I need to believe in myself.
Pushing myself up, I skate off the ice, bent over, still gasping for breath before getting off the rink and heading to the locker room. Entering, I drop down on the bench and just lean back into my locker, letting my breathing regulate. I’m the only one here, so I take a moment to breathe. Usually I rush to get undressed and in the shower, but today, I’ll breathe.
When I’m breathing normally, I still only take my equipment off, leaving my tank and shorts on as I enter the showers with my towel and shower caddy. Must be habit, I guess. Going to my shower, which is the one in the corner so if anyone peeks in the window they can’t really see anything, I turn it on the hottest setting and remove my tank and shorts before pulling my hair out of its braid.
Going under the hot stream, I close my eyes and let the water just relax my aching muscles. Resting my hands behind my head, I suck in a breath and let it out slowly, just enjoying the hot water against my cool skin. Ugh, I needed this. Reaching down, I get my shampoo out of my caddy and start washing my mane of hair. After washing all the soap out, I put in conditioner, letting it soak in as I wash my body. I’m about to wash off when I hear the door open.
Looking back, I gasp, covering my lady bits as McCarthy strolls in, obviously unaware I’m here.
“Um. McCarthy, I’m in here,” I say, and he looks over at me, shrugging before going to the shower four down from me.
Okay, maybe he is aware and he’s just a dick.
“Yeah, so?”
“So I’m trying to wash,” I say, turning so he can only see my back…and bare ass.
“I don’t care. I just got done working out; I need to shower before class.”
“Okay, I’ll be done in—” I cut off when he drops his towel and turns the water on.
