Crossing Lines (Radford U #2)

Chapter 1

ASHER REYNOLDS

It’s been six weeks and three days since the worst night of my life.

That’s the thought on repeat as I push open the double doors that lead into the Radford Renegades arena and training center, immediately inhaling the scent of the building. A month ago, I didn’t think that I’d ever set foot back here again.

And honestly, I’m still alternating on whether it’s a good idea or not.

I used to love the clean smell of fresh ice more than anything in the world. But since the accident, I haven’t been able to love much of anything at all.

All I know is that I couldn’t stay home in Michigan.

I couldn’t take the looks from my well-meaning but concerned family.

They don’t blame me for what happened to my sister, Olivia, but I do.

Which means that they go back and forth between looking so devastated that I wish it was me who’d died or looking at me like I’m half-a-second away from offing myself.

I grunt at the same time that I push the thoughts away.

This is exactly why I agreed to come back for my senior year at Radford University.

Not only will I have access to some of the top doctors and physical therapists in the country, but I won’t have to constantly see the devastation at losing their only daughter on my parents’ faces.

Last year, I’d have already made it to the locker room, but I’m still walking more slowly than I’m used to. I’m scared in a way that I’ve never experienced before, even if part of me wants to feel the pain. Deserves it, even.

Everything that people say about taking your health for granted when you have it is completely true.

I used to be able to run a five-minute-mile, and now, I have to make sure that I don’t extend my thigh too far or too quickly once the locker room door comes into sight.

There’s always a risk of re-aggravating my hamstring rupture, especially since I haven’t finished the requisite physical therapy that would make the coaches even consider letting me back on the ice later this season.

I only got the go-ahead from my doctors in Michigan to stop using crutches last week, even though I had to bring them with me to school. But right now, they’re in my apartment. I’m not showing up to the first day of practice looking as broken as I feel.

The doctors said that it was a miracle that my only serious injury was a complete hamstring tear on my left leg. Especially when you consider that the car we were driving in was crumpled like a soda can from the impact of the drunk asshole in a pick-up truck.

That’s another reason I couldn’t stay in Michigan. Now that I can walk again, I’d probably have found that guy and killed him.

If I believed in God, I’d be really fucking pissed at him right now.

I shake my head, startled with the strength of my response. I’m not used to being so mad all the time. So… powerless. Usually, I can rationalize my way out of anything or find a way to make it make sense.

But losing my sister? It will never make sense.

I force myself to re-focus on what’s right in front of me.

Namely, the too long hallway. Did they add another wing or something?

God knows Radford U loves its Renegades, so it’s not out of the realm of possibility.

Still, the hockey complex has never felt so big before, and it’s hard for me to imagine that I’ll be able to play in a few months when I can barely make it to the locker room without losing my breath.

I lean against the wall and run my hand through my mop of hair, which I haven’t cut in too long. It gets curly at this length, but I like how it hides my eyes. It makes it easier for me to hide from the sympathetic stares leveled in my direction way too often lately.

When I look left, I can see the training room, filled with treadmills and weights and medicine balls. Nothing that I can even think about touching for weeks, if not longer.

I don’t realize that someone is coming up behind me until they start talking.

“Hey, Dutch. It’s good to see you.” Cooper’s voice is softer than he’s probably ever used with me. Add it to the list of things that I hate.

Once he’s at my side, I can see that he’s carrying his bulky bag. This is his junior year, but with our star forward having graduated last year and me out of commission, his normal line is about to get a big shake-up.

And usually, I’d be excited as hell to see Coop on the first day of school. But not today. He notices, too, his usually bright smile dimming.

The thought that I shouldn’t have come back to school this year flits through my mind again. I’m worthless at home, and now, I’m worthless here, too.

But accepting Coach’s offer to remain on the team and finish out my senior year seemed like the lesser of two evils. The rehab is going to be a bitch, but maybe it will help me feel something, even if all that is is pain.

I want to tell him not to waste his breath on me. “Hey, Coop,” I say instead.

He called me once word got around after what had happened.

Even checked in multiple times after that too.

Last year, I would have said that Coop was one of my best friends.

We lived together with our other teammate, Kellan, who graduated.

The plan this year had been for the two of us to get a new roommate in the campus townhomes near the rink.

But I didn’t decide to come back until last week, so he’s living with two new guys.

Cooper shifts uncomfortably on his sneaker-clad feet. “Listen, man…”

The words hang between us until I give him an out. “It’s all good. I appreciate you checking in on me. There’s not really anything that you can say anyway, so don’t even worry about it.”

“Where are you living?” he asks. “It’s a bummer that we won’t be in the same place this year.” And genuinely, he sounds like he means it. I can’t for the life of me understand why.

I scratch my beard and gesture toward what I think is the general direction of the neighborhood, a few miles off-campus, where I’ll be living. “Northridge Village.”

Coop squints, like he’s trying to picture it. “Is that over near the greasy spoon diner? Away from downtown?”

It’s not surprising that he doesn’t know exactly where it is.

I have a slinking suspicion that the only time that Coop leaves campus is when we have an away game.

“Yeah. It’s mostly residential neighborhoods up there.

” They also offer units that are already fully furnished, and, if the last few days are any indication, there seems to be a lot of visiting professors in those, plus young professors and university staff in the unfurnished ones.

He frowns, now, and I don’t have to wonder long what he’s thinking. He gestures down to my thigh. “How are you getting to campus?”

“I’m okay to drive. Since it was my left leg, I got cleared sooner.

” I don’t mention to him that just being in a car these days makes my heart feel like it’s going to bust out of my chest. Driving here with my parents, who flew back after, was an absolute nightmare.

But at least now I have an SUV plus an apartment away from everyone else, so I can wallow in peace.

This morning, I had to sit in my car for almost twenty minutes before I put it in drive.

He nods but doesn’t immediately respond. I see him scan my frame appraisingly, which has already lost a lot of its usual muscle mass. But being holed up in a bed for weeks after the accident and then post-surgery does that quickly.

The doctors told me that it’s normal. As if anything could ever be normal again.

I fleetingly wonder if my full sleeve of tattoos will start looking weird at some point, and I glance down. So far, the winter landscape on my arm looks accurate. The pine trees. The dusting of snow. The frozen lake.

The moment drags out between us until I pull myself away from focusing on each individual pine needle and finally ask, “How are you getting settled?” It sounds lame even in my head, but I’m grasping at straws.

Coop hoists his bag higher on his shoulder. “The new roommates are so far so good. Training camp has been fine. Definitely a hole with Kellan and the other seniors gone. And with you out of commission,” he adds, finally looking me in the eyes.

I shrink under that stare and how fucked up it makes me feel.

There’s a responsibility that comes from being on a team. It’s one that I’ve always taken seriously. Bad attitudes are like a cancer. Not only am I a senior this year, but I’m also the oldest player by a wide mile, since I spent two years before college playing in the junior leagues.

I turned twenty-four six weeks and three days ago.

But I don’t want to think about that. “Glad to hear the living situation is going well so far.” I glance down at my watch.

“We should get in there. Don’t want to be late on the first official day of practice.

” It’s a bad lie. I left so much time given how slowly I walk and Coop is such an over-achiever that we’re still thirty minutes early.

Coop nods but doesn’t move yet. “If you want to talk or anything, I’m here. Okay?”

I bite the inside of my cheek, so hard that I can taste the metallic tinge of blood. I refuse to even consider letting him come down to the depths where I’m wallowing. Nodding my head at the hallway leading to the locker room, I pull out my phone. “I’ll catch up with you.”

He hesitates but dips his head before walking off and disappearing around the corner in a few fluid steps that I envy.

I look down at my darkened screen. There’s no one that I need to call.

Definitely no one that I want to call except for the person who I know can’t answer.

Instead, I resist scrolling through the photos of me and my sister; ones taken from this summer.

I didn’t know that it would be our last one together.

Maybe, I think dimly, that my best play is distracting myself. Focusing on physical therapy. Putting all of my energy into the team. It’s got to be a better option than spending every second feeling like my chest is going to crack wide open and cave in on itself, swallowing me whole.

I just don’t know if I’ll be able to do it. I don’t know if I really want to be here–or anywhere–at all anymore.