Chapter 52
Chapter fifty-two
Tytus
With an umph, I slam into the Kid, sandwiching him between my body and the Plexiglas.
“What the hell, Tremblay?” he squawks.
What does he mean, what the hell? He was in my fucking way.
“Tremblay!” Coach hollers from the bench. “Get your shitty attitude in check or get off my fucking ice.”
Breaths sawing in and out of my lungs, I circle back to center ice and set up to run the drill again.
Atty appears at my side. “What’s going on, man?” he asks, panting. “You good?”
I’m not good. I can’t fucking focus.
She left. Her phone’s off. And she’s been gone for more than twenty-four hours.
“Ty.” My best friend bends low, getting in position, but he brings his head close to mine. “Get it together or take yourself off the ice.”
I bark out a humorless laugh.
Get off the ice? And go where?
I didn’t sleep last night. I lay awake in Sawyer’s empty dorm for hours, willing her to come back and put me out of my goddamn misery.
Morning skate is the only thing keeping me in check. If I take myself off the ice, I’m liable to track her down and bring her back, whether she wants to come or not.
I think I know where she is.
All morning, I’ve harnessed every ounce of willpower I possess to keep from borrowing a car and driving out to that apple orchard so I can drag her back where she belongs.
I’m her husband, dammit.
I’m her fucking husband.
With a shake of my head, I tamp down my anger and reel in my need to claim her. I can’t fall apart in front of Atty. He can’t know what I’ve done.
I finish the rest of practice on autopilot, and as I step off the ice and grab my skate guards, I avoid Coach’s glare. Or I try to. He hovers in my space as I take off my helmet and wipe away the sweat pouring off me.
Even after I drop the towel and take a long swig of water, he’s still staring.
“I know,” I finally say as my heart rate slows. “I’m sorry. I was too in my head. It won’t happen again.”
I’m not sorry. Not in the fucking least. But it’s what he wants to hear. I’ll get out of here faster if I bend to his will. And I’m itching to leave, to head to class.
She’ll be there.
She has to be.
By the time I amble into the locker room and undress, the guys are all in the showers or already showered.
I strip down and grab a towel, only to be stopped in my tracks by Atty on the way to the stalls. He gets in my face, and my instincts flare, the urge to shove him out of the way almost too strong to bear.
Squeezing my hands into fists, I grit my teeth. “Get out of my way.”
“No.” He crosses his arms over his broad chest, his light brown eyes fixed on my face. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
I scoff. He’s the last person I can talk to about my dilemma.
“Get out of my fucking way,” I repeat, driving my shoulder into him.
Rather than relenting, he shoves me back, then gets in my face. “You told me you were okay, Ty. You swore you had this under control.”
I take a step back, reining in the instinct to lunge for him.
With a hard shove to my chest, he demands, “What is wrong with you?”
I’m either going to hit him or tell him.
Hit him or—
“Answer me.”
Clearly cluing into our confrontation, Swayzee and Tanvers rush over.
My head spins, my vision darkening, my thoughts jumbling. Before I can stop them, the words escape me. “Your sister is missing.” Sucking in air, I press the heels of my hands into my eyes.
She’s missing. She’s gone. She left me.
She doesn’t get to fucking leave.
Atty lurches back. “What makes you think that? I got a text from her this morning.”
She’s not missing, you fucking moron.
She’s avoiding you.
She’s icing you out.
You pushed her too hard, and now she won’t stay.
“She texted you?” My ears ring and my pulse pounds in my temples.
“Oh snap,” Swayzee brings a fist to his mouth to stifle a laugh. “Are we talking about that little Scooby snack of a sister again? You’ve got a thing for Davvilicious, don’t you, Tremblay?”
I lunge at him, only to be stopped by a brick wall.
Grunting, Atty pushes me back. I fight his hold, wrestling out of his grasp and charging toward Swayzee.
“Someone fucking help me,” he grits out.
What I’m doing is ridiculous. Insane, even. Fighting a teammate because of a stupid comment. Because he mentioned my best friend’s sister.
No.
She isn’t just my best friend’s sister.
Fucking Swayzee has the audacity to talk about my wife.
I lose all sense of time, only coming back to myself when my body crumples to the ground, all out of fight.
With my back against the wall, I drop my head back and cover my face with my hands.
I’ve never felt less in control than I do right now.
When I open my eyes, Atty is crouched in front of me, right where I knew he’d be.
Though his position is expected, his words shock the shit out of me.
“I’m done, Ty,” he says, his voice dripping with pain. “I can’t keep doing this. You need help. You need support, outside me and Sawy. You either get fucking help or stay away from me. And especially her.”
No.
No fucking way.
My heart disintegrates, its microscopic pieces scattering around me on the locker room floor.
He can’t do this.
He wouldn’t.
“This isn’t an empty threat,” he says quietly. “You’re a danger to yourself, and I’m starting to worry you’re a danger to others, too. Get help, Ty. I won’t ask you again.”
He rises to full height and offers me his hand.
I glare up at him. I don’t want his help or his hand or his fucking ultimatums. With a shuddering breath, I shake my head and close my eyes, shutting out the world and turning my back on reality.