Chapter Twenty-Eight
JENNA
Imight be a pro athlete who works out almost daily, but that doesn’t prevent the full-body aches that hit me when I stir from a deep sleep and roll onto my back.
Tommy and I went at it all night, and it was … mind-blowing. I’d never had so much sex, and I’d never … been fucked in the kinds of positions he took me in. The man is a machine in bed, and I’m not mad about it, not one damn bit.
There isn’t a single second about last night that I’d change, although there are unanswered questions I want to ask him this morning.
Like the brief reference he made to his mom and the comment about his coach and teammates.
I know, deep down, Tommy cares about what they think, and I want to help him earn the respect I know he deserves from the rest of the team.
He earned so much from me last night.
“Tommy,” I whisper into my dark bedroom, the blackout blinds I installed a few months back keeping out the rising sun. “I think you might’ve actually broken me.” I chuckle, draping an arm across the other side of my bed.
I’m only met with a soft duvet, and I immediately bolt up, still naked with marks littered across my breasts. I know there are more along my neckline—I can feel the faint sting of them, even now.
There’s no light filtering in from under my bedroom door and no sound or movement coming from the rest of my apartment.
Did he have early morning skate and didn’t tell me?
Perhaps he wrote a note before he left.
Pushing back the duvet, I slip into an oversize Storm training top and shove my feet into my fluffy white slippers, the chilly fall air now evident in my old apartment building, which doesn’t have the greatest furnace.
When I pull my bedroom door open, there’s no sign of life when I flick on the main light in my living space, and everything is just as we left it when Tommy carried me into my bedroom.
Did I dream this entire thing?
I turn on my heel and head for my phone, ready to text him and check I’m not going crazy when a message from Kendra lights up the screen.
Kendra
This is your reminder to use protection. That boy looked like you were his last meal, and I get the slightest inclination that you plan to go at it all night.
Kendra
Seriously though, babe, he actually shocked me tonight. Maybe you were right when you said that he isn’t the bad person we thought he was. Turning up at your place and wanting to talk things out? That’s not the Tommy Schneider I thought I knew…
Both her messages were sent last night.
He really was here, and we really did go at it all night if I didn’t check my phone once.
Taking a seat at the foot of my bed, I wince at the dull ache between my legs. Under different circumstances and if he were still here, I’d definitely welcome the reminder of how hard we fucked, but I can’t deny the cloud of dread as it settles above me.
The first call I make to Tommy immediately connects with his voicemail, and I hang up, more unease washing a wave through my gut.
He promised he’d prove he was different. Was it all just a play so he could fuck me all night and then toss me in the trash, like he’d once said?
Holding my cell in one hand, I bring the other to the side of my neck and then stand in front of my dresser mirror, the light from my living space enough to reveal the marks he made.
Humiliation rips through me, and I hit Call on his number again, anticipating that all I’ll get is his voicemail.
This time, his phone rings, and I hold my breath, praying he’ll pick up and explain he snuck out to grab us some breakfast.
His voice never comes, only the same recorded message to leave my name and number.
Now, I’m pissed. Convinced he’s definitely fucked me over.
As the woman continues talking, I wait for the beep so I can give him a piece of my mind. None of this makes any sense—the way he kissed me, looked at me, opened up and lowered his walls to let me in.
Last night felt so genuine.
“Tommy …” I finally begin speaking, my voice a mixture of pained and agitated.
“I woke up around five minutes ago, but you aren’t here, and you didn’t leave a note.
I don’t know …” I trail off, struggling to find the right words.
I swallow hard and sit back down on my bed.
“I don’t know what’s happened or if you planned to just do what we did and then leave without a word, but if you did, just know that’s a really shitty move.
” My voice cracks, and I pinch my bare thigh.
Hard. “If all of last night was a game after all, then you can be sure that this is the last time you’ll hear my voice.
But if something happened and you need my help, then just please, call me back, okay? ”
“Hello?” I rasp into my phone, hitting Stop on the treadmill and pulling in a deep breath.
After I waited around for an hour for Tommy to call or text me back, I gave up and came to the gym.
We have a playoff game tomorrow, and technically, I shouldn’t be working my body this hard, but I needed to blow off steam, and this was the only way I could get out of my own head.
“Jen, why are you answering your phone all out of breath?” Holt’s cringe-loaded voice replies.
With the treadmill belt now completely stopped, I take the pace up to a slow walk and connect the call to my earbuds, beginning a cooldown while I speak to my brother.
“I promise you I’m not getting it on,” I tell him, earning a side-eye from a woman a couple of treadmills down from me. “I’m at the gym, on the treadmill.”
“Thank Christ,” Holt replies and then pauses. “Wait, you’re working out with a big playoff game tomorrow? Shouldn’t you be keeping things light today?”
A lump sticks in my throat. For my entire life, the only man who has shown up repeatedly and ever given a shit about my welfare is my brother. When I’m this upset, I don’t usually answer his calls, for fear of making him worry. I should’ve checked who was calling before I picked up my phone.
“What’s the matter?” he presses, and I know he isn’t going to let this drop.
Giving up on my cooldown, I pray that the buildup of lactic acid isn’t too bad tomorrow and grab my towel and water bottle from the holder.
“I don’t even know where to begin,” I tell him, pushing into the women’s changing room, which is, mercifully, empty.
“I always find the best place to start is at the beginning.” He chuckles, and I hear a chair scrape along the floor.
“Where are you?” I ask.
“At home.”
I shake my head and take a seat on the bench. “But you don’t have any hard floors at your place.”
“We were talking about you, Jenna.” Holt brushes my observation off, and my mind wanders to last night.
The safest option would be to tell my brother about what happened with Tommy but replace his name with a random guy’s. I’m done with trying to defend Tommy though; he deserves to be ousted for the bullshit he pulled.
Setting my towel, phone, and bottle down on the bench, I begin unlacing my sneakers.
“I need you to promise me that you won’t go crazy when I tell you.”
A deep rumble vibrates down the line. “How about I save you the trouble and go ahead and tell you what I think has been going on?”
Blood drains from my face, and I sit up straight on the bench. “Okay.”
I hear Holt shift and take a sip of a drink before he continues, “If I said the name Tommy Schneider, would I be along the right lines?”
I’m pacing the changing room before I can register what I’m doing.
“Perhaps.”
Another rumble, but this one is louder.
“What’s going on, Jen? I got the impression you were keeping something from me the night you won the shield, but I didn’t push it since, despite being your brother, your love life is none of my business.
” He clears his throat, voice turning deathly serious.
“But if there’s one thing I can’t fucking stand, it’s men who treat women badly.
And judging by the tone in your voice and the fact that you’re kicking the shit out of yourself on the cardio machines, I’m guessing Tommy has been about as good to you as I predicted. ”
I drop my head between my shoulders, determined not to cry. Tommy doesn’t deserve my tears.
“We’ve been sleeping together,” I confirm.
Holt blows out a long, hard breath. “Keep going.”
Images of last night—Tommy’s smile and the way he held me as we fell asleep—flash through my mind in a carousel of heartache.
“At first, we were messing around. Hooking up to scratch an itch, you know?” I bite down on my bottom lip.
My brother doesn’t know what I mean because he only sleeps with girls he’s dating.
And right now, that seems like the smartest approach.
“The sex didn’t mean anything, and I spent most of my time frustrated at myself for letting him in my bed. Then …” I walk back over to the bench and dump myself down.
“Then it wasn’t just for fun anymore?” Holt’s soft voice asks.
I shake my head to no one. “No, it wasn’t.
Or at least it wasn’t for me anyway. I started to see a different side to him, and Tommy started to chase me.
He turned up at my apartment last night after I basically decided, for the final time, that I couldn’t keep sleeping with him. ” My heart sinks an inch in my chest.
“Anyway,” I continue, “last night, he told me some stuff, and like the idiot I am, I believed him when he said he wasn’t the asshole everyone thought he was.
We shared a night, which was …” I scuff the floor with my sneaker, tears falling to the ends of my lashes.
“It was the kind of night I’d never thought I’d have with a guy.
It felt like we were …” My voice fails when I try to finish my sentence.
There’s a stretch of silence, one we both need to gather our thoughts.
“This morning, I woke up, and he was gone,” I continue. “No note, no phone call or text. And what’s worse, he isn’t answering mine.”
A sob splutters out of me just as the same woman on the treadmill pushes through the door before she registers me crying and turns on her heel.
The door slams behind her, leaving me alone again.
“I’m going to fucking murder him.” Holt’s voice reminds me of Tommy’s when he pinned Ethan against the wall outside my apartment.
Panic floods my insides. “No.” I shake my head. “This is my fault. You, Kendra, Darcy, Collins—you all told me to keep away from him. I didn’t listen, and I have to deal with the consequences of that now.”
Not bothering to shower, I shove my used towel down the laundry chute and grab my bottle, phone, and bag, throwing it over one shoulder.
“You don’t need to murder him because I’ve finally woken up and I’m never going to go there again. I told him on voicemail this morning that he’d never hear my voice after I hung up, and he won’t.”
When I reach the changing room door, I grip the handle so tight that my knuckles turn white.
A small part of me hates myself for thinking this, but it’s time I faced facts and woke up to everyone else’s reality.
The Jenna from last season was right, as were her instincts to turn Tommy down the first time.
“He’s just like his dad, Holt. Only worse.”