CHAPTER 92
Troy
I LET HER go. Or at least that’s what I’ve convinced myself I did.
It’s hard to decipher anything these days with a broken heart and crushed spirit—two disasters that my friends recommended would only be cured by entertaining someone else, by replacing her with someone else, not understanding if that was possible, the pain in my chest wouldn’t have somehow grown tenfold since we ended.
Or fizzled out. An end has to have a beginning, a start Ana and I never got to have.
The numbness has reached my head, I think, the only explanation as to why I tagged along with Xavier and Conrad to a party tonight at Lauren’s house.
And as soon as we enter the doorway, I regret the decision.
It’s loud, crowded, reeking with sweat from people I have no interest speaking to, and at every corner, when a new face pops up, I wish it was her.
You let her go.
She was never mine.
The two thoughts wrestle together as a blonde I really don’t want to chat with speeds right toward me.
Chloe.
I know that grin. It’s the smile a girl usually gives when she’s up to something, one a guy would get on his knees for, but not when he’s so not over somebody else.
The slant of Chloe’s lips shoots nausea to the back of my throat, wondering if she knows about what happened a few weeks ago.
Even though no one really knew about Ana and me, they know enough by the kiss she gave me that night—except maybe Chloe, who might not know or might not care, which explains why she leans close enough like I’m available and interested, neither of which I am.
It was just a kiss.
If it was just a kiss, then everyone thinks I’ve moved on.
I should move on.
“Hey, Troy,” Chloe says, snaking her arms around my neck, making my entire body stiffen. “Wanna dance?”
No. I don’t.
But maybe I should.
“Sure,” I say with a swallow.
All of it feels wrong. Her hands around my neck. My hands on her waist. Her leaning in. My lips just an inch away.
She wants you to kiss her.
Kiss her, you fool.
When her gaze drops to my mouth hungrily, I take a step back.
“Sorry, Chloe.”
_________
Practice is no longer an activity that I look forward to. The one time I’m forced to stare at the one person I can’t really look at as of late.
Now, all I see is the image of Ana’s face when I told her that I love her. The panic in her eyes like the words were as deadly as an explosive.
It’s not how I wanted to say it. But nothing is going the way I wanted.
I guess part of me wants her to know how I feel—I don’t know—to confirm that she doesn’t feel anything? The way she’s led me on this whole time.
And I’ll be damned if I let another person I love go without them hearing how I feel.
When the session ends and our coaches have left us alone on the ice, I revisit the topic I wish I could erase from memory, my pain from my conversation with Ana yesterday morning blocking the piece of information that came before I had punched Carter.
I was about to bring it up before we started skating, but from Ana’s furrowed brows and tense shoulders, it was obvious something was bothering her today, and delaying the confession felt like the right thing to do.
“Hey, can we talk?” I ask as we skate to a stop.
“Talk,” she says, uninterested.
Okay, what the hell?
She looks at me like I just hurt her with the question.
Like I hurt her.
Ignoring her tone and indifferent expression, I try and focus on the situation. How awkward it feels to bring this up, how angry I am that a guy tried to take advantage of her like that, while still being mad as hell at the girl.
“I just thought you should know that Carter took a picture of you. When you were asleep. Of your…backside,” I say, uncomfortable to word it any other way, heartbroken at the way her entire face drops by the reveal.
“When did you find out?” she says nervously.
“Two weeks ago, the day after we—you left.”
“Two weeks ago?!” Her eyes pop open. “And you’re telling me this now?”
“I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you but I didn’t know how,” I add, regretting not sharing it with her sooner. But I really didn’t know how.
This girl doesn’t trust a single soul, and now? I knew this would make things way worse, and by the fear in her eyes, one that’s killing me for simply not knowing how to fix, I was right.
“Who else knows?” she asks.
“The team,” I say.
“The whole hockey team knows?”
God, this is painful.
“I deleted it. Before he showed anyone, I think.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“He walked in the locker room that morning, was about to show everyone, and I asked him for his phone and deleted it.” She sighs deeply like she’s still processing the first detail that I shared with her.
“I don’t know if he showed it to anyone else before that.
But he didn’t send it to anyone. I checked his phone.
And don’t worry, I made sure he and the team wouldn’t bring it up again.
If they do, their futures won’t look that bright. ”
The small breath of relief she lets out fuses my chest back together.
“You shouldn’t have kept that from me,” Ana says, disappointed.
“Yeah,” I admit, “I shouldn’t have done a lot of things.”
I tried, tried not to slip a line in there that had to do with me because this must have been painful for her to hear, but her selfishness continues to baffle me.
“Thank you,” she says. “For deleting the picture. For sticking up for me.”
Her look of sympathy strikes a nerve along my jaw. “God knows you don’t need me or anyone for that,” I reply. “You can take care of yourself.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Yeah, I agree.”
I see the flicker in her eyes, how she wants to avoid what got us here, and who exactly hurt whom.
“Surprised you even remembered to tell me today, with the party and all.” She smiles, her expression turning cold. “You and Chloe were always destined to be together. Happy it worked out.”
The audacity in this woman.
Earlier this morning I heard from Conrad who heard from Eloise that Chloe told everyone we hooked up last night, which I should’ve expected that she’d spin the truth.
But I can’t be mad by it, not when I felt kind of shitty for rejecting her, knowing I never wanted her. That I never wanted anyone else.
Anger boils in me, but then it flips around with a hint of hope, realizing Ana knowing about the party means she’s still thinking about me, about us, and on the spot I kill that hope.
“What if I told you I didn’t even kiss her?” I bark, pushing myself forward with conviction, my annoyance building at her arrogance. “What if I told you that you fell for a rumor like every other sucker out there?”
I see the relief flood into Ana’s eyes, hearing that I didn’t do anything with Chloe, but she blinks that away too and I hate that I couldn’t hurt her back the same way.
“You should’ve kissed her,” Ana grits out, her nose scrunching together, her chest suddenly tense. “There’s nothing stopping you now.”
“No.”
Edging the boards, in our currently empty rink, Ana’s back hits the plexiglass at the harsh tone in my voice.
“What do you mean, no?” she gulps out, losing her frustration by the second.
“You don’t get to act like you’re jealous.”
“There’s no need to act. I’m not jealous.”
“Really?” I tilt my face at her, narrowing my gaze. “So if I were to fuck another girl tonight, you’d be okay with it?”
Her widened eyes lets me know she’s just as shocked by my sudden vulgar words as I am.
Maybe it’s wrong.
Maybe I want her to be a little fucking jealous for once.
She lets me push my weight into her. Close enough to hear her breath catch, she bites her mouth, licking the lips I wish I could still reach out and kiss.
“If I called Chloe right now and told her I couldn’t wait to taste her, you’d be perfectly fine with that, yes?”
Her eyes grow heavier while my chest tears at its seam.
“If I took Natalia home and filled her up with my cock after she begged me to, that wouldn’t bother you, right?”
She parts her lips, lifting her neck up in arousal. My eyes landing on her perfect skin, knowing how all of it tastes, heat scorches at my dick when I flick my gaze down for a second and spot those perfect small nipples pebble against her tight long-sleeved leotard.
“No,” Ana lies, while staring unabashedly at my mouth with hunger.
Taking both my hands, I land one on each of her hips, lower than I’d normally do for our lifts, pressing down on that flicking pulse of hers, knowing exactly where it rests now, smirking when I hear her suck in a breath.
“You forget that I memorized every inch of you, Ana.” Removing a hand from her lower waist, I cup her chin. “Which means your body is betraying your words right now, my dear.”
I know Ana; she’s turned on right now. It’s all I seem to be good for when it comes to her. Kicking myself for giving her more of what she wants when she doesn’t care about what I want.
Is this what you wanted? I almost say it.
This might be the closest I’ve come to feeling hate toward her.
And even now, I still can’t hate her.
Fucking pathetic.
I drop my hands before forcing myself to leave the ice.