Captured Love (The Crestwood University #3)

4. Knox

4

KNOX

I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at my phone screen. Selene's name glares back at me, taunting me. My thumb hovers over the text message icon, debating. A few quick taps and I could pour out everything I'm feeling. But I can't. I won't.

With a frustrated sigh, I toss my phone aside. It bounces on the mattress and lands face down, her name disappearing from view.

Thank fuck.

This is all for the best even though I still can’t get the time we spent together out of my mind. It was supposed to be a quick fuck, nothing more than casual sex, yet I keep replaying the moment as if it were a movie.

The way she looked at me when I left my bed is burned into my brain. Something told me getting involved with her, even temporarily, was a bad idea. Yet I let it happen.

I rub my temples, trying to prevent the headache that is already forming. This is the last thing I need.

I get up and pace my small room, glancing at the poster of the hockey legends that cover the walls. I wish things were as simple as going out with Wilder when he asked. I’m sure he’s still out doing who knows what. I assume he’ll roll into the house in a bit, but I’m kind of jealous that he’s living the life I should be: uncomplicated, fun.

Fucking a, I'm starting to sound like an old man. My old man, nonetheless.

My phone lights up and I freeze. For a split second, I hope it's her. Maybe if she reaches out first, it'll be easier. But I can see from here that it’s just a notification from social media. I walk over and pick up the phone, turning it slowly in my hands.

She's not even my type. Too smart, too ambitious. Girls like Selene want more than I'm able to give. They want a future, or at least someone who can stick around long enough to see where things go. I have one and a half more semesters, and then it's do or die for my career. There's no room for a real relationship.

Plus, I refuse to let my heart get fucked over again.

But damn if she didn't make me laugh. And not just laugh—I felt something when I was with her, something deeper than the usual hollow satisfaction I get from screwing around.

I shake my head trying to clear the thoughts from my mind. I need to use this anger and confusion and turn it into something productive on the ice.

My duffel sits by the door, packed and ready for this early morning practice, but I can’t bring myself to leave just yet. Instead, I flop back onto my bed and stare at the ceiling. It’s cracked in a few places, the kind of thing you expect to see with college housing. One of the cracks looks like a lightning bolt. Another like a hockey stick.

I imagine the stick coming loose from the plaster, floating down, and smacking me in the face. Maybe it’ll knock some sense into me.

What the hell am I even thinking?

A loud knock startles me from my daydream. I get up slowly, hoping it’s not Blaise. It’s rude to think that and I know he means well, but I’m not in the mood for a pep talk.

“Yo, Knox.” Blaise stands in the hallway with his own hockey bag in tow. His blond hair looks messy, but I’m sure mine looks the same. “You ready? I can drive us.”

I pause. If I tell him no, that I want to go alone, he'll know something's up. But if I go with him, maybe talking will help get my mind off Selene.

“Sure,” I say, grabbing my duffel.

His car is a couple of years newer than mine, but that comes as no surprise. His parents are pretty loaded, not that he flaunts it much outside of the sick computer setup he has in his room. He unlocks the trunk, and we toss our gear in before sliding into the front seats.

Blaise fiddles with the radio as he pulls out of the parking spot. He settles on a rock station, then glances at me. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, but it comes out too quick, too defensive. “Just tired.”

Blaise shrugs, not pushing it for now. He’s a good friend, better than I probably deserve these days. The kind of guy who will wait until you’re ready to talk, but who won't let you suffer in silence too long either.

As we drive, my thoughts drift back to Selene despite my best efforts. To the night after the party when we talked for hours before anything physical happened. To her ridiculous theories about aliens and the genuine passion she had for her job at the library. To the way she fit so perfectly in my arms as I fucked her.

Fuck.

“We killed it last game,” Blaise says, breaking the heavy silence. “If we keep that up, scouts are going to take notice.”

I nod though my mind is only half present. Hockey has always been the one constant in my life, the thing I could throw myself into when everything else went to shit. Now even that feels tenuous.

“Wilder said you bailed on him last night,” Blaise adds casually.

“I wasn’t feeling it. Did he come home yet?”

Blaise gives me a quick nod. “Yeah, he was headed into the shower just before I knocked on your door.”

“So hopefully that means he won’t be late for practice. Last thing I want to deal with is hearing Coach put his foot up his ass for delaying things.”

“Touché, but what’s been up with you?”

Ah. Now it’s time for Blaise to start pushing, I guess. “What do you mean?” I know my attempt at deflecting won’t go unnoticed.

“Just that you’ve had a bigger stick up your ass for the last week than you usually do.”

I let out a sigh, long and exaggerated. He probably deserves an explanation, but I’m not sure I can even articulate what’s going on in my head.

“I’m just stressed, man. School, the season, everything. I’m bracing for a fight so don’t be surprised if it happens…on the ice of course.”

“Everything?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Does ‘everything’ have a name?”

How the hell did he figure that out? I stay silent, watching the snow that has accumulated on the sides of the road. Blaise is perceptive; he probably has some idea already. Have I really been more grumpy than usual?

“Look,” he continues when I don’t answer. “All I’m saying is that if you need to talk, I’m here. Or if you just want to bitch and moan, that’s cool too.”

“It’s nothing,” I say finally. “Just trying to figure some shit out.”

We pull into the rink’s parking lot and Blaise kills the engine. He doesn’t move to get out of the car yet, and I know we’re not done. Great.

“Knox,” he says, turning toward me. “You know I’ve got your back no matter what. But you’ve gotta stop internalizing everything or it’s going to eat you alive. I don’t want what happened between you and Asher to happen again. We’ve got to keep everything together.”

I think about what happened between Asher and me and how we almost came to blows because I called him out on his feelings about Isla. Now look where I am. Except it was obvious Asher loved Isla.

That is not the case here. I’m convinced the sex was so good that she has my brain scrambled. Not to mention I came faster than I ever have in my life.

“We’re good,” I tell Blaise, even though I’m not sure if we are. “There’s nothing you need to worry about.”

He nods and opens his door, cold air rushing into the car. I follow suit and grab my bag from the trunk.

Inside the rink, the familiar smell hits me, and I feel like I’m home. It’s comforting in a way that almost makes me believe everything will be okay. The scraping of blades on ice echoes through the hallways as we make our way to the locker room.

Most of the team is here and my eyes land on Levi and Asher, who are talking to one another in front of the stalls. I’m willing to bet they are talking shit like usual. Levi gives me a smirk as we walk in, and I just shake my head. Idiot.

“Sanchez! Dalton!” Coach Johnson’s voice comes from the doorway. “Nice of you to join us.”

“We’re early, Coach,” Blaise says, but Coach is already walking away.

“Wilder better not mess this up for all of us,” Asher says as turns to look at us. “Where the hell is he?”

“I’m right here, sweetheart.”

I roll my eyes and feel the distinct urge to grab the bridge of my nose. The headache I thought I stopped from forming is preparing to come back with a vengeance. “Nice of you to join us, Wilder.”

The best way I can describe Wilder walking into the room is to say he sauntered in with his hair still damp from the shower. A cocky grin is plastered on his face, and I can already sense what he’s about to say next. “Don't get your underwear in a twist, Knox. I'm committed.”

I shoot him a look that says I very much doubt it, but I keep my mouth shut. No point in starting another pissing match with him right before practice. At least we don’t have to deal with extra drills because one of us was late.

We change into our practice gear, and just as I’m lacing up my skates, Coach comes back into the locker room.

“Listen up!” Coach Johnson says, commanding the attention of the entire team. Even Wilder, who usually is ready to toss out a joke, stays silent.

“I don’t need to tell you boys how important the next few weeks are. We’re doing well, but we need to continue to do well. If we don’t, you can kiss the playoffs goodbye.”

I scan the room, looking at my teammates. We’ve been here before—this place of uncertainty where one bad game can cost us everything. We always find a way to pull through, but this season feels different. Harder. Could also be that it’s our senior year, but whatever.

“Get your asses on the ice,” Coach finishes. “We’re running systems today.”

The team files out of the locker room, and I hang back for a moment. Blaise notices but doesn’t say anything, just gives me a look that says he’s still thinking about our conversation in the car. I grab my stick and head toward the tunnel.

It’s time to get to work.