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“I need to use the bathroom,” I repeated, slipping out of his arms. “See you at practice.”
I stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I didn’t really need to use it, so I just sat on the edge of the tub and turned on the water behind me to drown out the sound of him leaving.
15
The Following Week
Dillon
“Step it up, Captain!” Coach McKay barked as I charged down the ice, deeked past Morgan, which wasn’t a huge feat. If I was slow, he was slower. It had been a long few days and it felt like I was skating through mud.
Liv had fucked the speed right out of me.
Skalsberg was quicker than Morgan and today he was quicker than me, he checked me against the boards and stripped the puck right off me.
“You better play better than that against Tampa,” Coach barked.
Our first preseason home game against the Tampa Whales was slated for the last day in September and the boys were geared up. We were good. We were really fast, thanks to Liv.
I mean Coach Tyler-Branch.
Everyone except Novek, whose refusal to listen was beginning to cost him.
O’Rourke was looking more and more like our star winger.
Go fucking figure.
Usually at this point of training I was the biggest, most efficient cog in the Bruiser’s well-oiled machine. I loved to skate, I loved to practice, but I really loved to compete. I loved to win.
Look up hockey player in the dictionary and you’ll find a picture of me. For ten years this game had given my life focus.
Being a part of a team had given me meaning.
I wasn’t going to let my guys down.
I swung around the net at top speed, my crossovers faster than they’d ever been, and sprinted down the ice to where Novek had taken the puck and was trying to score on Smith, who so far was shutting him out.
Today I wasn’t a Bruiser, I was Team Orange.
I was playing like shit for Orange. The coach was right to be calling me out for it.
My legs felt weighted down. My chest was tight and I could see Novek lose the puck to O’Rourke who was lightning fast on his way to home ice.
At the boards Liv was yelling at him and I watched in real time as the rookie incorporated her coaching, corrected the alignment between knee, ankle and skate, and left everyone behind.
When he scored, he skated right back to Liv for a high five and a debrief.
She stood there glittering with success. So fucking bright and beautiful it was a wonder we weren’t all blinded.
Don’t think about Liv.
I practically snorted, the idea was so ludicrous. I thought about her every hour on the hour. If not the fucking minute. If she wasn’t right in front of me, I wondered what she was doing or thinking or feeling.
Hell, I wondered about all of those things when she was standing in front of me.
She’d destroyed me over the course of the weekend, and as much as I told myself that this infatuation or lust or whatever the fuck it was would pass, I was starting to have doubts.
She was in my head. Seeing her every day at practice was too much.
