Chapter 9
Evan
I’d been awake all night, staring at my ceiling as pain seared through my shoulder.
After the rink the night before last, I hadn’t been able to face her.
I’d avoided her all day, but today I had been a total coward when I’d skipped this morning’s mandatory meeting and my final conditioning appointment with Bianca.
There was no way I could walk into that meeting room and sit across from her, then go work with her one on one and pretend that I wasn’t coming apart at the seams.
So, instead, I didn’t show up. The coach could be angry, and everyone on the team could speculate, but neither of those two things would have bothered me as much as sitting in that room with Bianca across from me, feeling my control slip further with every breath.
She knew about the injury. She was the one person who noticed it and would not back down.
When practice ended, I didn’t have to wait long for the fireworks to start.
The moment I stepped into the locker room, Bianca was already there, waiting, her arms crossed in front of her, her foot tapping, and those beautiful eyes blazing.
It was as if she were waiting to destroy me.
The entire team went silent the moment the door closed behind me.
“Where the hell were you?” she demanded.
I took my time and peeled the gloves off my hands, not looking at her.
“I’m speaking to you. Where were you?”
I threw the gloves into my locker and then peeled my shirt off, leaning up against the set of lockers, and looked at her.
“I was busy.”
“Doing what?”
“Not your business.”
Bianca locked eyes with me and stepped closer, not flinching, not backing down, closing the distance between us until I could feel the heat of her body against mine. She might be smaller than me and softer, but somehow in that moment I felt cornered.
“It is my business,” she growled, her voice low and sharp. “Not only did you skip the mandatory meeting, but your conditioning report is due today, and I can’t file it if you don’t show up. Do you understand how this makes me look?”
There it was, the crack she tried so hard to hide. This wasn’t only about my attendance. This was about her proving her credibility, her professional reputation, the thing she’d been fighting for since day one.
“You think you’re untouchable, don’t you?” she said, her jaw tight. “You’re not. You’re reckless and stubborn, and you’re making my job impossible.”
I felt something hot coil in my stomach.
I hated how much I liked her fire, and I hated the fact that I wanted to push her further just to see what she’d do.
She was so close, too close. She was close enough that I could see the pulse hammering at the base of her throat, just as it had the other day.
Close enough that if I only just leaned down…
“You finished?” I said, not breaking eye contact with her, pushing her even harder.
“Not even close,” she said, stepping even closer to me.
Then she turned away from me and looked over toward the showers, where most of the guys had gone to hide from her wrath.
“Any player in here who assumes he can skip mandatory team meetings and meetings with me whenever he wants needs to reconsider. Next time both the coach and Rocco Gallo, the general manager, will be notified.”
I wasn’t even sure she blinked. She stepped right into me, her arms brushing against my bare chest as she lifted her chin in defiance.
Something twisted in my chest. I saw the hurt beneath the anger.
I’d just humiliated her in front of the entire time, undermined her authority, and made her look completely incompetent, but I couldn’t stop.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me,” she whispered.
For a moment, we stared at each other. Heat and anger simmering between us. I could feel my pulse hammering, and Bianca’s breath was uneven. It was hot as hell, and the air was thick enough to choke on.
She spun on her heel and stormed out of the locker room, her hair swinging behind her like a challenge. I glanced over at the guys, none of them saying a word. They all just looked at me as if I’d done something unforgivable.
Perhaps I had.
I shoved the door open and stepped inside.
I took my shoes off and turned to drop my bag on the floor when my eyes landed on Bianca.
She stood on the other side of the kitchen, arms crossed, her expression controlled.
Her jaw was tight, and upon a closer look, I could see the slight redness around her eyes that told me she’d either been crying or fighting not to.
Tension filled the room, and heat surged through me as we looked at one another.
“You can’t keep doing this,” she stated calmly.
I placed my bag down, moving slowly, buying myself a little time.
“Doing what?”
“Pushing me.”
I heard her voice crack on the last word, just barely, but it was there.
“I have worked too hard, Evan. I have fought too many battles to prove I deserve to be here. And you…” She stopped, shaking her head.
Instantly, guilt crashed through me.
“Bianca…”
“Why?” she suddenly demanded. “What have I done to you that makes you hate me so much?”
I could hear the hurt. I could see it. In this moment, something changed. She was raw and unguarded, a completely different person than the one at the arena today.
“I don’t…” I moved closer, unable to stop myself. “I don’t hate you.”
“What is this, then? Sunday we were friends, I thought, and now it looks like you are purposely going out of your way to sabotage me.”
“I’m not,” I said, running my hand through my hair as frustration mounted.
There was no way I’d be able to explain that my cruelty was self-defense.
That I couldn’t face her because I’d been in pain ever since she’d approached me in the rink on Friday night and that practice was only making it worse.
I couldn’t explain to her that every time she got too close, every time she looked at me, it felt like she could see past the walls I’d worked so hard to build.
“Then what?” She stepped closer, her eyes searching my face for answers. “Why do you keep pushing me away?”
The question hung between us. I could feel the truth clawing its way up my throat wanting out.
Because I am terrified of needing you. Because I watched my father become so dependent on my mother after his injury that she left, and when she was gone, there was nothing left of him.
Because you were humming in my kitchen the other morning and we spent a wonderful day together on Sunday and for the first time it felt like home, and I can’t let myself want that.
She stopped in front of me and placed her hand in the center of my chest. When I met her eyes, it was all I could do to keep from taking her mouth with mine.
I’d almost said it, almost, but I swallowed those words back down and looked down at where her hand rested, burning a hole in my chest.
“Bianca, you’re overthinking this,” I said, turning everything off like a switch.
“Evan…”
“I skipped a meeting. That is it. Don’t make this into something it’s not.”
Her hand fell away from my chest, and she backed up, hurt flashing across her face. She wrapped her arms around herself.
“Right, of course.”
There it was, the sound of her professional, clinical voice.
“I’ll make sure that report gets filed. Won’t happen again.”
“Bianca…” Again, the harshness in my voice took me by surprise.
She paused this time, waiting for me to continue.
I should just tell her. Just tell her the truth.
“Nothing. Never mind.”
I was pushing her away to protect myself. Bianca didn’t wait; she left the kitchen and went into her room without another word, shutting the door behind her and leaving me in the kitchen, where I could feel the weight of what I’d done.
Tonight wasn’t the same restlessness I’d felt lately.
Aside from thinking about earlier, I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my shoulder grinding with pain.
It was a deep ache that pulsed with every breath I took.
It had started when I’d finished in the gym after practice and had gotten worse the longer I’d been home.
Now, I lay in the dark, my ice pack pressed against the joint, my jaw clenched so tight that my teeth hurt. I knew I had to tell someone.
But I also knew that telling someone meant I was asking for help. And asking for help meant becoming my father.
I rolled to one side and squeezed my eyes shut, trying hard to block out the memory of my father sitting in that old stained recliner that had become his home, barking at me to grab the remote, or demanding I get him a beer to wash down the handful of pain pills he’d just taken, or to help him to the bathroom.
Dependency had eaten him alive, one small, simple request at a time, until there was nothing left of him.
I would rather destroy my shoulder than end up that way.
I steadied my breathing, turning my thoughts to what else was keeping me awake. The one thing I definitely didn’t want to examine. Bianca. Her words from the other night at the rink, so soft and certain: “Maybe I want to see you like this.”
Those words played over in my mind. Maybe she wanted to see me vulnerable and see all the broken parts of me.
No one had ever wanted to see that before, especially my last girlfriend, Jess.
She was exactly the way my mother had been; she looked at weakness and moved away, not closer, and there was no way I was going to show Bianca that.
She had no clue what she was asking for.
Another wave of pain ripped through my shoulder, traveling up my neck and into my jaw, causing me to let out a strangled moan. I placed my hands on both sides of my head, begging for it to go away. When it didn’t, I got up.
I’d overdone it this week. Practice should have been enough. I should have come home, had a hot shower, and crawled into bed to get rest for our next few games. Instead, each night I’d taken out my frustrations afterward.