Chapter 7
Sebastian
The ghost of Grace’s presence accompanied me the entire car ride home.
More than just the scent of her cherry perfume lingered; it was the sound of her quiet breaths and the warmth of her shy glances across the skin of my knuckles.
My eyes darted back and forth between the road and the passenger seat, desperate to find her beside me, that long stretch of exposed thigh peeking out from the slit in her dress.
When I finally pulled into the driveway, I turned off the car and sat in silence, trying and failing miserably to ward my mind against her.
What kind of voodoo witchy shit is this?
Grace made me feel unstable, as if I couldn’t predict my own next move: like someone else was pulling the strings, and they were acting on instinct alone.
I hated that she had so much power over me.
The girl was practically a stranger, yet I could feel her presence in a room packed with a hundred other bodies.
The car grew cold and still as I sat there, wallowing in my pathetic feelings.
When I could no longer stand the sound of my own thoughts, I abandoned the vehicle and went inside.
The house was quiet and bathed in darkness, the only source of light coming from a dim yellow bulb above the kitchen stove.
I walked on autopilot to my bedroom and stripped off my clothes, needing to rid myself of Grace’s scent if I had any hope of sleeping.
I’d just pulled on a fresh pair of boxers when my bedroom door flew open and a furious-looking Kate stalked in.
Oh, shit.
“You left me there.” Her words were as cold as ice. “What the actual fuck, Sebastian.”
“I’m so sorry, Kate.” There was nothing else for me to say.
It wasn’t like I could confess that I’d completely forgotten about everything and everyone else once Grace appeared on that stage.
In that moment, the only thing that had mattered was speaking to her, understanding why she was so hell-bent on disrupting my carefully planned life.
And when I’d found her walking home without a coat, half frozen, I’d intervened on instinct.
“That’s it?” Kate exclaimed. “Are you really going to give me a half-assed apology and zero explanation? Why didn’t you say anything? And why haven’t you answered your phone?”
“I thought you’d head home with Macy.” It was a terrible excuse, and we both knew it.
“That’s bullshit! You disappeared from the fundraiser without a damn word. Who does that to their girlfriend?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, stepping toward Kate, but she stumbled back in an effort to keep some distance between us. “I was shaken up by Grace’s stunt. This season is really important to me, and we can’t risk losing ice time to the women’s team. I’m worried it could impact our training schedule.”
“Of course,” she scoffed. “How could this be about anything other than hockey?”
“It was wrong of me to leave without telling you. But you can’t blame everything on hockey because you hate that it dictates so much of my life.”
I knew immediately from the darkening of her eyes that it was the wrong thing to say.
“You’re right,” she said. “I’ve been misplacing my anger this whole time. I can’t blame hockey for your lack of consideration. That’s all on you.”
“It’s not a lack of consideration! It’s always going to be like this, Kate. You knew that when we started dating. And it worked—we worked. But ever since the injury . . .”
She shook her head in disappointment. “It always comes back to the injury, doesn’t it? You can say you don’t blame me, but it’s clear that you do.”
“Kate—”
“Have you ever considered that you’re the one who’s changed, not me? It’s not easy to love someone who—” She cut herself off and shook her head. “I need some space to think.”
Kate slipped out of the room before I could respond, closing the door with a gentle tug rather than slamming it closed in rage.
I listened to the click of her shoes across the hardwood floor until only silence remained.
Somewhere deep in my chest I could feel a pull, one that grew tighter the longer I remained alone in my bedroom.
But after minutes of standing still, waiting to see if she would come back, the tension snapped.
As the dust settled, I couldn’t determine which was worse: the feeling of instant relief or the pang of guilt left in its wake.
>> > <<
Grace
My stomach was a mess of anxious flutters when I woke in the morning to find an email at the top of my inbox from Castillo’s assistant.
Rather than a meeting time and location, it contained a brief explanation of why he no longer expected us to meet—something to do with an inflexible schedule.
There was also an attached letter signed by the athletic director himself.
Ms. Gillman,