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My stomach sours and the protein shake I grabbed on the way here churns, threatening to make its reappearance any second.
Sweat drips down my face and soaks my shirt, but I turn the speed up on the treadmill and push myself harder.
Practice this morning was brutal, but I need the punishment, the burn. The bone deep ache and exhaustion help me feel more like myself and less like a man who can have a normal and happy future like everyone else.
Which is why as soon as I have my new contract with the Devils and all my sponsors are secured, I’ll let Avery go.
Even if that thought makes me feel hollow inside.
“Craig.” Rhett gets on the treadmill next to mine, and fuck me, I can’t even zone out in peace.
Lincoln and Tag were all over me during drills, and after morning skate, everyone usually lifts—especially this asshole. He’s never once run with me, so of course he’d pick today. The one day I can’t get Avery’s soft sighs, cries of pleasure, the way she moaned my name, the touch of her skin, her taste, out of my damn head.
There’s no way he knows what I did last night, right? It’s not like I have Avery’s panties hanging out of my pocket or anything.
I give myself a quick pat down as a flash of panic runs through me, but I’m clear. No clothes but my own.
“Remington.”
“Craig. How are things with mylittlesister?”
Fucked her all night—had my tongue all over her body. Things with your little sister are great. “Fine.”
He snorts, wiping his face with a towel. “You two are making quite a splash on the internet.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Is it?” He turns his head sideways to face me, piercing me with his hardened gaze. It’s like he’s looking all the way through me, like he can see all my secrets, my vulnerabilities, my weaknesses.
It’s annoying as shit. Now I know how he felt last season after I heard him getting reamed out by his tosser of a father and made him talk about it.
“Yeah.” I drink from my water bottle and fidget with the treadmill speed so I don’t have to meet his eyes. “It’s all going according to plan.”
“How does Ron Cooper fit into your plan?”
“What the fuck does Ron Cooper have to do with anything?”
My patience is wearing thin, and my blood is boiling at the mere mention of that fucker’s name.
That guy is scum.
He doesn’t deserve to play hockey, and he sure as fuck doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as Avery and Mason.
They’re way too good for him.
As far as I know he’s nothing but a sperm donor, a deadbeat dad that doesn’t even acknowledge the child he created.
He never treated Avery right, and was too busy wetting his dick in the bunny pool to see what a fantastic, smart, and downright sexy human being she is.
Correction: he doesn’t deserve to breathe air at all.
“He wants to meet Avery when he comes to town for the game. He sent her a text this morning.”
That damn jealousy is back, spinning in my gut, tainting every thought running through my mind. Does he want to get back together with her? Claim his little ready-made family?
Fuck.
What if she wants that? He could give her the stability she needs.
