All Your Pucking Secrets

Chapter 1

1

ECHO

The moment my friend Cassie utters the word “hockey player,” I mentally shut down. I watch her lips move as she, Anita, and Ryan exchange gossip, but I don’t hear a thing they say.

“Echo?” Cassie nudges me with her elbow. “Are you even listening?”

“Of course,” I reply automatically. “Hot jock. Hockey. Salacious details.”

“Uh-huh.” She doesn’t look impressed.

“Leave her alone,” Ryan says. “You know she doesn’t care about sports. Or guys.”

I hide my wince. It isn’t that I don’t care about those things; more like hockey has some terrible associations for me. And as for overly handsome hockey players…well, I’ve had enough of those assholes to last a lifetime.

“But she cares about me.” Cassie pouts. “Don’t you, sweetie?”

“I do,” I say. “Sorry. I’ll try harder to listen.”

Ryan leans back in his stool at the coffee bar and meets my eyes, his expression concerned. I force a smile in response. I’ve never told any of my friends why I don’t share their enthusiasm for jocks, but somehow, Ryan has always seemed to understand that it’s more than just a personal preference.

“Good.” Cassie opens her mouth to resume her story, but a waiter interrupts her.

“Oat milk flat white?” he asks.

Ryan accepts the drink.

“Skinny caramel mocha?”

I take it, then empty a sachet of sugar into the coffee while the waiter delivers the rest of the drinks. I stir and scoop up a spoonful of foam. If you ask me, frothy coffee is ten times better than any muscle-bound hockey player ever could be.

I glance across the counter toward the entrance, and everything inside me freezes.My stomach tightens, and I struggle to draw in a breath.

There, leaning against the column beside the sliding door, is the man primarily responsible for my aversion to hockey players.

Tyler Kinsey.

His eyes meet mine, the pale blue so intense I can barely stand to hold his gaze. Meanwhile, my heart hammers wildly against the inside of my ribcage, trying to break free.

What the hell is he doing in a coffee shop in Newbury, Oregon? He should be at a big-name college with all his rich friends. Not slumming it with us.

I glare so he won’t get any ideas about coming over here.

“I told you,” Cassie murmurs. “I know hockey players aren’t your type, but even you have to admit he’s hot.”

“Wait, what?” I tear my gaze away from his and turn to face my friend.

She looks at me like I’m crazy. “The transfer student. Tyler. Totally gorgeous.”

My eyes fly back to him, then skitter away as I realize he’s still staring at me. Cassie is right. He looks incredible. But then, he always did. He’s like one of those poisonous butterflies: so pretty that you can’t tell how lethal he is until it’s too late.

“Um…” I try to summon a response, but my heart is beating harder and harder, and it’s all I can do to hear anything outside my own pulse.

My throat constricts and it feels as though I’m breathing through a thick layer of fabric, my lungs laboring with the effort.

“Whoa.” Ryan’s hand lands on my back, and he pushes gently, guiding my head downward, toward the bar. I rest my forehead on the wooden surface and count as I inhale.

One, two, three, four.

Exhale.

One, two, three, four.

“You’re okay,” Ryan says, rubbing my back. “Just keep it up. In and out.”

I finally get a handle on my breathing, and my airways relax. I straighten, my lips trembling.

Tyler Kinsey is now a student here.

The man who tore my heart to shreds and discarded me like used baggage has followed me to my refuge.

It’s wrong. He shouldn’t be allowed here. Not when I’ve carved out a life for myself that doesn’t revolve around him, or what happened in high school.

I scrunch a napkin in my hand, twisting it over and over. Cassie and Anita are talking in whispers, looking at me as though I might be on the verge of a meltdown.

Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me if I am.

The lights overhead are too bright, and I blink rapidly. My throat begins to tighten again, and I count out my breaths until it relaxes.

“All good?” Ryan asks, his hand dropping from my back.

I glance toward the door, where Tyler was a moment ago. He’s standing tall now, a few steps away from the column he was leaning against. He cocks his head, a question in his eyes.

Oh, God.

Is he going to come over here?

I shove back from the bar leaner and slide my feet to the floor, my coffee forgotten.

“I think I need some air,” I say.

Anita drains her drink in a few mouthfuls. “I’ll come with you.”

“No.” If she does, I won’t be able to avoid Tyler without it being obvious that’s what I’m doing. “I’ll be fine. Really.”

She doesn’t look certain, but she nods and holds up her phone. “Call if you need, okay?”

“I will.”

I hurry out of there before anyone else offers to accompany me. Knowing Ryan, he’d be right on my heels if he had any idea what was going on. Thank God I’ve never spilled my past to him. And thank God there are two ways into and out of the coffee shop.

I’m outside the building in a matter of seconds. I don’t know where I’m going, but I know I can’t linger in case one of my friends—or worse, Tyler—decides to follow me. I duck behind the library and jog down the alley and around the corner, emerging into an open courtyard.

Looking around, I don’t see anyone to be wary of, so I slow my pace as I cross campus. My dorm is a couple of blocks away, and I try to ease my breathing as I walk toward it.

A cool breeze stirs my hair, and I shiver. Damn. I left my sweater in the coffee shop. Hopefully, one of the others will bring it for me later. I shoot Ryan a quick text, knowing he’s the most reliable. Anita or Cassie would most likely “borrow” it and I wouldn’t see it again for weeks.

The dorm looms ahead. Occupying almost an entire block, it stands eight stories tall and is a mishmash of chrome and brick. I make a beeline for the door, only to stop dead at the sight of Tyler standing a few yards in front of it.

He stalks toward me.

TYLER

My body thrums with anticipation as I close the distance between us.

Echo Dean steals my breath, just as she always did. I scan her greedily, eager to see what changes the years have wrought. She’s just as beautiful as ever. Slender, with dark hair, and luminous hazel eyes magnified by glasses.

She wraps her arms around her waist and glances over her shoulder, as if debating whether to make a run for it. There’s no point. I’ll catch her. I’m bigger, faster, and more determined.

She must realize that because she slumps and stops walking. Nerves twist and turn in my belly. I wish I could yank her into my arms and shield her from the world, but if I tried, she’d no doubt kick me in the balls.

“It’s nice to see you again,” I tell her.

“Nice” is an understatement. Being this close to her after so many years is like standing in front of the gateway to heaven. Except I’ve done too much sinning to be allowed through.

“It’s the opposite of nice to see you.” She shudders, her narrow shoulders hunching as if she’s trying to will herself into nonexistence. “I wish you’d stayed away.”

Staying away would be like stabbing myself in the heart with a dagger. I’m not strong enough to do it. Her words hurt almost as much, even though I deserve them and more. If I want her back, I’ll have to weather everything she throws at me and come through the other side.

“I couldn’t,” I say.

She sucks in a sharp breath, and then clutches her throat, as though she’s having trouble breathing.

“Are you okay?” I ask, placing my hand on her back.

When she flinches away, I feel like someone has flayed me open. I release her immediately and stuff my hands in my pockets, so I won’t touch her again by mistake.

“Breathe,” I say. “Take it slow.”

I recognize the signs of a panic attack. My mother was prone to them, although she seems to be over that now. Amazing what time and death can do.

She struggles to calm her breathing. Her lips move, forming words, but there’s no sound accompanying them.

“That’s it,” I croon. “You’ve got it. Keep going.”

She raises her head, and her eyes are blazing. Without saying anything, she plants her hands on my chest and shoves so hard that I fall back a step.

“Leave. Me. Alone,” she pants raggedly.

“You’re struggling. I can’t in good conscience leave you.”

Her eyes flash with temper. “When has your conscience ever stopped you from doing anything?”

She’s still breathless, but she seems to be getting herself under control.

“Why are you here?” she asks, straightening her back like a warrior. God, she’s so fucking strong.

“I transferred to Newbury,” I tell her. “I’ve had a gaping hole in my life without you, and I want to win you back.”

I know it won’t be easy, but surely, it’s not impossible.

She wrinkles her nose like she’s smelled something rotten. “You’re fucking crazy.”

She tries to dart around me, but I block her path.

Her upper lip curls. “Stay the fuck away from me. If you come near me again, I’ll get a restraining order against you, and that won’t look good to the NHL.”

I stiffen, taken aback by the fact she’s willing to go to such extremes so quickly. But then, I’ve done a lot of damage to this girl. Maybe even more than I thought. I won’t let her attitude put me off though. I’m not going to fall at the first hurdle. Not this time.

“You do whatever you have to do,” I say. “I know I fucked up, but I have no intention of going anywhere.”

She can trash my career prospects if it makes her feel better. I’d love to play in the NHL, but being with her matters more. The NHL was always my dad’s obsession, not mine.

“Why?” She looks baffled, and a little shell-shocked. “Why do you think you can waltz back into my life after all this time?”

I open my mouth but don’t have the chance to respond before she continues. Never mind. The question was probably rhetorical anyway.

“Haven’t you done enough damage?” she asks, her tone weary.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I say.

I never did. But having good intentions doesn’t always pay off. When it comes to Echo, all the good intentions in the world mean nothing in the face of what happened.

“I don’t care what you want.” She rubs her upper arms, trying to warm herself, as the breeze picks up. “Not everything is about you.”

“I know that.”

“I don’t think you do.”

I sigh. “Look, I know you won’t forgive me. I don’t expect you to. For what it’s worth, I’m so fucking sorry, but I know you probably don’t give a crap about that, and rightly so. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m not going anywhere. Now, can I help you inside? Because you don’t look great.”

Her eyes turn flinty. It’s not an expression I’m used to seeing on her. Another way she’s changed.

“No,” she says. “You may not.”

She starts marching toward the entrance. I fall into step with her.

“Can I call one of your friends to keep you company?” I ask. “I’m not sure you should be alone after having a panic attack.”

“No.”

The door opens, and a man in a navy uniform—a security guard, perhaps—saunters toward us, his gaze flicking from Echo to me.

“Is this guy bothering you?” he asks her.

She tosses a look over her shoulder at me. “Yeah, he is.”

The guard’s hand goes to his hip. I doubt he’s carrying a gun, but he might have pepper spray or a taser.

“Beat it,” he growls.

Despite my frustration, I’m proud of Echo for standing up for herself, and I’m pleased she has protection. I hold my hands up to show the guard I’m not a physical threat, but I don’t take my eyes off Echo.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell her.