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“It’s not like that.” Blood pounds in my ears. What if itislike that to Hazel and I’m getting swept up in a fantasy? What if she drops me like it was all nothing? Nausea rolls through me at the thought.
She doesn’t trust guys, and she thinks Connor and I are cut from the same cloth.
He laughs, that rough scoff. “Our lives are about hockey first. Don’t forget that.”
“Not always.” My voice is hard. He’s describing my nightmare, and yet it’s my reality. I’m pleading with the universe.
“Don’t let her get in your head. The last thing you want is a girl getting in the way.”
I hate how he does this—makes it sound like letting anything but hockey into our lives makes us weak. IwantHazel in my head. I like her there, taking up space, watching with that approving little smile. Hazel stepped into my mind, and good things started happening in my life.
“Yeah?” Anger rattles through me, followed by something heavier. Hurt, because he was part of the reason my mom left. Frustration, because I see his pattern and I don’t want to be like him. “Is that what you do? Is that why you’re still happily married?”
There’s a long pause, and I can feel his shock, followed by his own defensiveness. “People get divorced, Rory. Relationships aren’t meant to last forever. Grow up and stop living a fucking fairy tale.”
I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. “And you’re so happy now?”
“What are you on about?”
I don’t know why I went there; the words just burst out of me. My teeth grit as I take a deep breath, grappling for control before I unload everything in front of Hazel.
“I have to go,” I tell him.
“Alright.” His tone is weird, like he doesn’t know what just happened, either. “Bye.”
“Bye.”
I end the call and take another deep breath, inhaling myself back into the present, in Hazel’s apartment with her dragon and ballerina photo and closet bursting with bright yoga clothes.
“Was that your dad?” she asks softly.
My gaze swings to hers, searching her face. “You could hear him?”
“No.” Her eyes are steady on me. “Just had a feeling.”
I make a noise of acknowledgment in my throat, looking straight ahead at her dresser and the perfume bottle on top, but hearing all the things my dad said.
“How do you feel after yesterday’s game?”
My dad’s disapproval corrodes my stomach like acid. “I feel fine about it.” Yesterday, I was on top of the world, but today, I’ve been yanked back to reality.
She hums, still watching me. The morning sunlight illuminates her eyes, making them sparkle.
My gaze drops to her t-shirt, and I frown. It’s too big on her. Is it a guy’s shirt? She wore it the last time I stayed over, too. That possessive feeling floods my chest again.
“Whose shirt is that?”
“Mine.”
“But whose was it before it was yours?”
She frowns. “What?”
“Did you get it from a guy?”
She breaks into laughter. “What? No.”
“Was it McKinnon’s?”
