Chapter Twenty-One
Clay
Three days.
That’s how long it’s been since she showed up after practice. Since I laid her out across the table and tried to erase everything tearing us apart. Since I silenced her moans with my own.
Three whole days of convincing myself that eventually the silence between us would fix what I’d broken.
It hasn’t.
If anything, the quiet’s worse than any fight could’ve been.
My phone has been like navigating a damn landmine ever since. Every time it buzzes, I hold my breath, hoping it’s her.
I’ve typed out a dozen messages I’ll never send.
I’m sorry. Delete.
You didn’t deserve that. Delete.
I can’t stop thinking about you. Delete.
Because what am I supposed to say? That I hurt her protecting a job that might never be mine? That I’m more worried about how word coming out about falling in love with my brother’s ex-girlfriend could damage my already tarnished reputation?
The truth is, when she showed up after practice, I wanted to talk to her.
I wanted to explain.
To tell her that it wasn’t about not wanting her—it was about timing, and pressure, and every stupid rule I’d sworn I wouldn’t break again.
But the second I saw her, it all went to fucking hell.
Seeing the hurt in her eyes, the bite in her voice, tore through every last strand of control I had left.
One second, we were arguing, and the next, I had her spread out across the table, my hands on her like I didn’t care who walked in.
And I hated myself for it.
Not because I didn’t want her. God, I did. I still do.
But because that’s not how I wanted it to go.
I wanted to sit her down. To tell her why I couldn’t say anything when I took the job, not until I knew it was mine. That I wanted to give it time before we told our families. That I wanted to show her what we could be together before we took that chance.
But none of that came out.
Instead, I gave her the worst parts of me—the anger, the pride, the fear.
And when it was over, I did the one thing I swore I wouldn’t.
I walked away.
By the third night, I stop pretending the voices in my head will fade. I try to bury it the way I always do—by focusing on hockey. I have a team who needs me, and I owe it to them and to myself—for all I’ve sacrificed to get here—to give them my attention.
It doesn’t work.
She’s still there.
In my mirror staring back at me every morning. In my mind when I step into our morning team meetings and still see the papers scattered across the top like she wasn’t just there days ago. In the flash of her eyes right before I lost all control.
When practice ends, the arena empties faster than I can blow my whistle. I’m left standing there with my clipboard under my arm, wondering when I turned into the kind of man who walks away from the only thing that’s made me feel alive, other than hockey.
Because no matter how much I tell myself I was protecting her—protecting us—the truth is uglier.
I was protecting myself.
From facing the fallout and the whispers of judgment. From the damn spiral that followed me after I lost everything the last time.
And maybe that makes me a coward.
I shove my gear bag over my shoulder and head for Tessa’s dorm. It doesn’t take me long to get there, which is good because I don’t need another reason to second-guess this decision.
An RA sits behind the front desk, his feet propped on the counter, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. He looks like he should be in high school.
“Hey,” I start, my voice dropping low. “I’m looking for someone named Tessa St. James.”
He squints at me, like he’s trying to place me. “Aren’t you that hockey player?”
I press my lips into a firm line. “Uh… yeah. Well, I’m the hockey coach now. I just need to talk to Ms. St. James about some tutoring sessions she’s doing with one of my players.”
It’s a stretch because why the hell would I be showing up at her dorm like this on New Year’s Eve? He seems to debate it too before he nods toward the doorway leading upstairs.
“You know which room is hers, I take it?” he questions, and I nod.
I thank him and start up the stairs before anything else can get in my way.
The stairwell smells like stale beer and a cheap air freshener, the kind we used back when I was living in the dorms, hoping it would cover up the evidence.
By the time I reach her floor, I’m barely able to make out the music playing behind the sound of the bass thumping. Laughter spills out of the rooms into the hallways.
Students are already trickling back on campus for New Year's, and it would appear the parties are already getting started. Great.
My dress shoes echo against the tile, drawing attention I don’t want.
A few people glance my way as I pass. A group of girls leans against a doorframe, chatting, and another group of guys clutch red cups and look like they’re already a few beers deep.
Their looks shift from curiosity to recognition, and before I can even pass by them, I can hear their whispers starting.
“Is that him?”
“The new hockey coach?”
“Barlowe, right? The one who…”
I don’t even bother to pay attention. I’ve heard it all before.
Her door is easy to spot with the pink garland draped around the trim. It’s the same one that was there when I picked her up before the storm. Damn, a lot has changed since that night.
I raise my hand to knock—
The door swings open first.
Standing in the doorway is a brunette I don’t recognize, but something tells me she knows me. She’s wearing a sparkly silver dress and heels that bring her to eye level with me. Her hair has those rollers my mom used when I lived at home, so it’s clear I’ve interrupted her getting ready.
She grins, slow and assessing. “Well, if it isn’t Mr. GQ himself.”
I blink. “What?”
She waves her hand at my face. “You know, the jawline and the broody scowl. You’ve got that whole tortured player vibe about you. It’s fitting for the guy I’ve heard entirely too much about.”
My stomach drops. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, please.” She waves a hand, smirking. “You think I’d spend more than five minutes alone with Tessa and not get her to spill the beans on what she was up to over winter break. She’s my roommate and best friend. So, yes, I’ve heard all about you and the festive fucking you two were up to lately.”
Her eyes flick over me, amused. “Guess I can see the appeal. My name’s Summer, by the way.” She smirks.
I exhale through my nose, dragging a hand over the back of my neck. “That’s not—” I stop myself, jaw flexing. “Look, I’m not here for whatever story you think you’ve heard. I just need to talk to her.”
Summer tilts her head, pretending to think about it. “And what makes you think she wants to talk to you?”
“I don’t,” I say, sharper than I mean to, so I soften my tone. “But I need to try. I need to fix this with her. To explain.”
That seems to land. The smirk falters for a second before she sighs, stepping back. “She’s not here. She is working tonight.”
The words sink in. Of course, she’s not here. “Thanks.”
She studies me for a second, tone turning wry. “If you’re going over there, Coach, maybe start with an apology? Or at least put in effort not to make this worse. She hasn’t smiled as much since she came back to campus, and that’s not my Tess.”
I don’t answer. Just nod once and turn for the stairs.
The laughter from down the hall follows me, the kind of careless laughter that used to come easy when my life wasn’t one long series of screwups. It fades as I hit the bottom floor and push the door open.
Outside, the air’s sharp and cold. My breath fogs as I unlock the truck I’ve been renting while I’m staying in Kolmont and climb in.
The drive’s short, but every red light feels like it’s dragging on just to mess with me. My mind keeps looping back to her—how she came to me, and instead of talking to her, I fucked her against a table, giving her yet another reason to feel like she didn’t matter to me.
She deserves to hear the truth, even if she never forgives me.
By the time I pull into the cracked lot behind Silver Spur, my knuckles are white on the steering wheel. The sound of muffled music leaks through the walls, then the low roar of a crowd ringing in another year.
The line to get in wraps around the side of the building. For a second, I just sit there, watching the steam rise from the hood, trying to find the words to say when I see her.
Then I cut the engine, grab my jacket, and step out into the cold.
I could turn around.
Tell myself it’s not the right time, not the right place.
But I refuse to let another night stand between us and telling her the truth.
After waiting in line for twenty minutes, I decide to go around to the back door, where I assume they make deliveries.
It’s one of the few times when my time playing hockey has come in handy.
After throwing a hundred-dollar bill at the bouncer, he lets me in with a nod and a clap on the back.
The place is packed. The band’s getting ready to go on, the crowd already shoulder to shoulder, voices singing along to the house music while they wait.
And somehow, even in all this noise, I find her instantly.
She’s behind the bar, moving like she owns it. Her hair is twisted up, with a few strands falling loose around her face. She’s wearing a black shirt with a white towel slung over her shoulder. She leans over the bar to hear the customer, and when she pulls back, a smile curves on her mouth.
It makes me a selfish prick to be jealous of another man on the receiving end of that smile, but I don’t care. I want all her smiles. It’s the blush and the subtle freckles highlighting her cheeks that make it impossible to look away.
She looks… good. No matter what Summer said, she looks happy. Like her world has kept spinning without me.
I hang back near the wall. A server stops beside me, tray balanced on her palm. “You want something, hon?”
“Whiskey. Neat.”
She nods and disappears, then returns with a glass slick with condensation. I wrap my hand around it, but don’t drink it. I just watch her.
Tessa slides a drink down the counter, thanks someone for a tip, then tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The light above her catches the gold in her hair and the tired shadow under her eyes.
I finally take a sip. The burn steadies me.
She moves closer to my end of the bar, scanning the crowd. I’m not sure what I’ll say when I get her alone. I just know I need to say something.
Then she looks up.
Her eyes find me like she’s been expecting it. The noise drops out, the room fading around us.
Her hand stills around a bottle. My glass hovers halfway to my lips.
Three days of silence, and one look from her is enough to undo me.