29. Breck
29
Breck
I watch Del sway her hips as she heads upstairs, the red fabric of her dress hugging every curve. Jesus. My dick twitches, my mouth goes dry, and I have to physically restrain myself from following her like some lovesick puppy.
"Just go up there already, Monroe!" Micah calls out, snapping me back to reality. "We all know you want to!"
I flip him off, trying to play it cool even as my heart races. "Shut up, Leif. I'm being a gentleman."
But man, the thought of following Del up there, of locking us both in my room for the rest of the night... It's tempting as hell. I can almost feel her soft skin under my fingertips, taste the sweetness of her lips...
"Earth to Breck!" Jett's voice cuts through my fantasy. "Stop drooling and come do a shot with us!"
Reluctantly, I tear my eyes away from the stairs and make my way through the crowded living room. The party is in full swing, bodies packed together in a sea of laughter and movement, the air thick with music and the faint tang of spilled beer. I dodge wandering hands and half-hearted flirtations, my mind still upstairs with Del.
"Looking good, Monroe!" Someone shouts, and I manage a grin.
I'm about to reach Jett when I overhear a group of freshmen huddled in the corner, their voices carrying over the pulsing music.
"We've all seen her on the ice." One of them says, his eyes glazed with alcohol. "Those splits, those spins... must translate pretty well, huh?"
My blood runs cold, then hot. These little shits are talking about my girl? I clench my fists, fighting the urge to deck them right here in the middle of the party.
"I bet she's super flexible," another chimes in with a lecherous grin. "Monroe's a lucky bastard."
I'm frozen in place, my jaw clenched so tight I can hear my teeth grinding. I take a deep breath, trying to calm the rage building inside me. They're just drunk idiots, I tell myself. Then one of them spots me.
"Breck! My man!" The loudest of the bunch calls out, his hair askew. "You've gotta tell us—is she as bendy as we think?"
My vision blurs red for a moment. I want nothing more than to grab this punk by his stupid throat and introduce his face to the nearest wall. But I can't. I'm the alternate captain. I have to keep my cool, even when every cell in my body is screaming for violence.
I force out a low chuckle, hoping it sounds more amused than threatening. "Guys, come on..."
"Oh, don't be shy now," another one goads, clearly too drunk to read the room.
I take a step closer. "Let's just say..." I pause, watching their eager faces. My voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, "She's got moves you wouldn't believe."
They break out in raucous laughter, high-fiving each other like they've just won the lottery. My stomach churns with disgust—at them, at myself for playing along. But I'm not done yet.
As they start making even cruder comments, I make my move. Time to shut this down for good.
My hand shoots out, grabbing the instigator by the throat and slamming him against the wall. The party noise fades to a dull roar in my ears as I lean in close, my voice a low growl.
"But, see, the thing about Del? She's mine ." The words taste like fire on my tongue. "So, when you sit here and you run your little mouth, it's not just her you're disrespecting."
I can feel the guy's pulse racing under my palm. Good. Let him be scared. Let him realize just how badly he's fucked up.
There's a beat of silence, thick and heavy. The guy I'm holding starts to stammer, his eyes wide with panic. "I-I didn't mean—"
I cut him off, tightening my grip just enough to make him squirm. "So, let me hear it again. Go ahead. Say it again, and see what happens next."
He shakes his head frantically, all bravado gone. But one of his buddies, clearly not blessed with self-preservation instincts, pipes up from behind me.
"Come on, man. If she doesn't want people talking, she shouldn't be flaunting her ass in those tight pants."
The world goes red.
I release the first guy, my body turning on autopilot towards this new target. My fists clench at my sides, nails digging into my palms. I can feel the rage building, a molten heat spreading through my veins.
Del's face flashes in my mind—her fierce determination on the ice, her rare, soft smile when we're alone. How dare they reduce her to nothing but a body? How dare they disrespect everything she's worked for?
I take a step forward, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "What did you just say?"
My fist connects with his jaw before he can even open his mouth to reply. The satisfying crunch of bone meeting bone sends a jolt through my arm, but I barely register the pain. He staggers back, eyes wide with shock, and crashes into a nearby table.
"Breck, what the hell?!" someone shouts, but I'm already moving.
Another guy lunges at me, probably trying to play peacekeeper, but I'm too far gone. I duck under his arms and drive my elbow into his stomach. He doubles over with a wheeze.
"You think this is okay?" I roar, spinning to face the group. "You think you can just sit around and talk about women like they're pieces of meat?"
Fists are flying now, bodies colliding in a chaotic mess. I take a hit to the ribs that leaves me gasping, but I don't stop. Can't stop. This isn't just about Del anymore. It's about every shitty locker room conversation, every time I've sat by and said nothing.
"It's just locker room talk, bro!" someone yells, trying to pull me back.
I shake them off, snarling. "Bullshit."
My knuckles are splitting open, leaving smears of blood on shirts and faces. The taste of copper fills my mouth. But underneath the rage, there's a sick sense of satisfaction. This needed to happen. This toxicity needed to be lanced like a festering wound.
"Breck! Breck, that's enough!"
Strong arms wrap around me from behind, yanking me away from the fray. I struggle, chest heaving, until I recognize Axel's voice in my ear.
"It's done, man. It's over."
I blink, the red haze finally clearing. The room comes into focus—overturned furniture, wide-eyed onlookers, a handful of guys nursing various injuries. My shirt is hanging off one shoulder, and I can feel bruises forming on my face and torso.
Axel releases me, and I take a shaky step forward. The group flinches back, and I feel a twinge of guilt mixed with grim satisfaction.
"You don't talk about her like that," I growl, my voice raw. "Not ever. You got it?"
The silence is deafening. No one dares to meet my eyes.
"I said, do you got it?"
A few mumbled "yeah"s and nods are all I get in response. It'll have to be enough.
I turn away, suddenly desperate for fresh air, for Del's steadying presence. The crowd parts silently as I stalk towards the door, leaving the wreckage of the party behind me.
The throbbing in my knuckles matches the pounding in my chest as I scan the crowded living room. Where the hell is Del? My eyes dart from face to face, searching for those piercing green eyes, that cascade of blonde waves. Nothing.
"Del?" I call out, my voice cracking. A few partygoers turn to look, but most are too wrapped up in their flirtations to notice my desperation.
I push through the throng, ignoring the way people's eyes linger on my torn shirt and bloodied hands. The kitchen is empty save for a couple making out against the fridge. No Del. I take the stairs two at a time, praying I'll find her in my room.
"Del, baby, you up here?" I call, but my words echo in the empty hallway.
My room is dark, untouched. The pit in my stomach grows. Where is she? How long has she been gone?
"Breck!"
I whirl around to see Birdie, her glittery shirt catching the dim light. Her eyes are wide with concern.
"Have you seen Del?" I ask, the words tumbling out. "I can't find her anywhere."
Birdie's face falls. "Oh, Breck. She left about twenty minutes ago. She looked really upset."
My heart plummets. "What? Why didn't anyone tell me?"
"I tried to stop her, but she wouldn't listen."
Panic claws at my throat. Del left. Alone. In the middle of the night. And I was too caught up in my own bullshit to notice.
"I gotta go," I mutter, already heading for the stairs.
"Breck, wait!" Birdie calls after me, but I'm already gone.
The cool night air hits me like a slap as I burst out of the house. My feet are moving before I can even think, propelling me towards Del's apartment. My mind races, conjuring up a thousand terrible scenarios. What if something happened to her? What if she got hurt? What if–
No. I can't think like that. I have to find her. I have to make this right.
I'm breathing hard by the time I reach her building, my legs burning from the sprint. I pound on her door, not caring about the hour or the neighbors.
"Del!" I shout, my voice raw with desperation. "Del, baby, please, open up!"
The silence that greets me is deafening. I press my forehead against the cool wood of her door, trying to catch my breath.
"Please," I whisper, more to myself than anyone else. "Please be okay."
My hands shake as I pull out my phone, thumbs flying over the screen.
Please just let me know you're okay
My heart is pounding in my ears as I stare at my screen. No response.
I know you don't like the caveman shit but I wasn't about to let those fuckheads disrespect my girl like that.
Please. You left by yourself, baby. I get that you're upset. You don't have to talk to me. You don't have to let me in. Just let me know you're okay.
I stare at the screen, willing those three dots to appear. Nothing. The world feels like it's closing in on me, the silence suffocating.
"Del," I call out again, softer this time. "Delaney. Please, baby, open up."
My mind races, replaying the night's events. Did she overhear those assholes talking about her? Is that why she left? Or was it the fighting? The thought makes me want to punch something all over again.
Hours pass, or maybe it's minutes. Time loses all meaning as I slump against her door, alternating between texting and calling out to her. My voice grows hoarse, my eyes heavy, but I can't leave. Not until I know she's safe.
The sound of footsteps jerks me awake. I hadn't even realized I'd dozed off. Greer rounds the corner, her eyes widening when she sees me.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she demands, her tone as sharp as ever.
I scramble to my feet. "Greer, thank God. Is Del okay? She left the party and I can't reach her and—"
Greer holds up a hand, cutting me off. "Slow down, lover boy. What exactly happened?"
I explain as quickly as I can, watching Greer's expression darken. When I finish, she shakes her head.
"Look, if Del doesn't want you here, I have to respect that," she says, her voice softening slightly. "But I'll check on her, okay?"
I nod, relief flooding through me. "Please. Just... make sure she's alright. Let me know?"
Greer disappears into the apartment, leaving me alone in the hallway once more. The minutes crawl by, each one an eternity. Finally, my phone buzzes.
Del's here. She's fine.
WTF did you do?
I lean against the wall, my legs suddenly weak. She's okay. She's safe. But the relief is short-lived as Greer's question sinks in. What did I do? And more importantly, how do I fix it?
??????
The Glissade Center hums with activity even this early, its sleek silver facade catching the first rays of sunlight. I didn’t mean to end up here. I’d gone to her house first, but she wasn’t there. Desperation drove me here instead, not that it did much good. Natalie's words echo in my head: "It's a closed practice, Breck. You can't be in here."
So I wait. And wait. And wait some more.
Hours crawl by, each minute stretching into an eternity. I alternate between sitting on the cold rubber mats and walking laps around the building, my thoughts a chaotic jumble of worry and regret.
Finally, the door swings open. My heart leaps into my throat as I spot her ponytail, still damp from practice.
"Del!" I call out, jogging towards her. "Baby, please—"
She whirls around, those green eyes I love so much now blazing with hurt and anger. "Don't 'baby' me, Breck. Not now."
I falter, the words dying on my lips. "I... I just want to talk. To explain—"
"Explain what?" Del snaps, her voice as sharp as a skate blade. "How you thought it was okay to brag about our sex life to your teammates?"
My stomach drops. "No, Del, that's not what happened. I was trying to—"
"Save it," she cuts me off, holding up a hand. "I don't want to hear it. This... us... it's run its course. We're done."
The words hit me like a body check, knocking the air from my lungs. My chest feels like it’s splitting open, raw and jagged, as if someone has driven a blade straight through me and twisted. I can feel it—hot, sticky, impossible to stop. I’m bleeding. I have to be. It’s pouring out of me, unseen but undeniable, leaving me hollow and aching in a way I never thought possible.
"Del, please," I choke out, reaching for her. "Don't do this. I love you."
She steps back, her eyes glistening. "Bye, Breck."
As she walks away, each step feels like a knife twisting in my gut. My blood, once warm with her presence, now feels sharp and foreign, as if every heartbeat drives shards of glass through my veins. The air grows heavier, harder to breathe, yet I'm drowning in it.
It's not just pain. It's the violent, searing ache of something vital being ripped away, leaving only jagged edges behind.
"Del," I whisper, but she's already gone, taking my heart with her.