Chapter 5
FIVE
Lying flat on my back, I stare at the white ceiling and moan. She broke me.
The she in question peers down at me with a pleased smile. “Class is over. You can go now.”
“If only my legs worked.” I roll over onto one side and then push myself into a sitting position. I’m soaked in sweat—something I didn’t realize was possible from yoga.
“Tell the truth,” I start once I manage to get to my feet. “You made those poses up, right? There’s no humble flamingo, half lotus, or full monkey. You were fucking with me.”
“Half monkey.” She smiles. “No, those are real poses. Well, not exactly the way you were doing them.”
I hang my head. My hair falls into my face, sticking to my forehead. I need a shower. Maybe two. And a soak in the ice bath.
“Are we even now?” I hold my hands out to my sides, letting her revel in my embarrassment. I’m sweaty and gross, and I just made a complete ass out of myself for the better part of my lunch hour. My stomach growls. And I missed lunch.
“Yeah, we’re even.” She moves to the front of the class, turns off the music, and gathers her things while I mop up my sweat and wipe down the mat.
She glances down at her watch and presses two fingers to the pulse point on her neck, which reminds me what Maverick said about her heart and having to monitor it.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just like to keep an eye on my heart rate throughout the day.
Habit, more than anything.” She drops her arm to her side.
“See you tomorrow, Rauthruss.” She backs out of the studio.
“I don’t think yoga is your calling.” She brings her hands together in front of her, a huge smile on her face. “Namaste.”
Over the next few days, I don’t have any more run-ins with my new favorite skater. I see her at practice, but Coach keeps us focused on hockey with the threat of running us until we puke.
Thursday late afternoon, I’m in my room finishing econ homework when my phone rings on my desk.
I don’t have to look to know who it is, but I glance down anyway.
My ex has been calling at least three times a day since last weekend.
Yesterday and today, that number has increased dramatically.
I feel like an ass for not answering, but we can’t keep doing this.
The first week we were broken up (for the second time in a month), I answered every single time.
She cried, begged me to take her back, and I sat on the other line feeling like an ass.
I almost caved too. I don’t like that she’s hurting.
We were together for nearly six years—that’s a damn long time, and it isn’t like I just stopped caring about her completely.
She’s a great girl. She’s just not the right girl for me.
I thought I was doing the right thing by continuing to talk to her and being a shoulder she could cry on, but instead, I think I just gave her false hope.
After a three-hour call last week where I heard her out, listening to all the really great reasons she thought we could make it work, I finally told her there was no way I was going to change my mind and asked her to stop calling so much.
She gave me the space I asked for, for a few days, but then the calls started up again after we won the quarterfinals. It sucks. I press silent as Adam fills my doorway.
“Hey.” He leans against the doorjamb, taking up most of it. “You want to go to The Hideout and grab an early dinner?”
“I was just gonna eat a sandwich or something. I’ve gotta finish this and then study for a quiz.”
My phone pings with a new voice message. Fuck, that’s new. She doesn’t usually leave messages.
“You know what, fuck it, I’m starving.” I stand, abandoning my phone on my desk. I hope I’m doing the right thing by holding firm on my decision not to answer. I’ve never disliked having a cell phone more in my life.
It’s just the two of us when we get to The Hideout. We put in our order, and the server brings us our beers while we wait.
“No Reagan?” I ask. It’s a rare evening that Adam isn’t with his new girlfriend, so I fully expected her to show up.
“She and Dakota are running together at the track.”
“Things are good then?” I know they are. I can see it all over my buddy’s face. He’s totally gone for her. They recently had a falling out, and he walked around sulking like I’ve never seen from him. Adam was the king of breakups, moving on within the week or even sometimes the same day.
“They’re great, yeah.” He leans forward, both hands around the glass.
His smile goes serious. “What about you? Talked to Carrie?” He tries to come off relaxed, but I know him well.
We’ve been roommates and teammates for too long.
I see right past his calm demeanor. The team is playing well—even better than people expected from us this season, and he’s worried about me and how my breakup with Carrie will impact my time on the ice.
He’s captain, so I guess it’s his job to worry.
It isn’t completely unwarranted. There were a few games after we broke up the first time where I was a wreck.
I might have been the one to end it, but it isn’t like I stopped caring for her.
We were together for so long and I really loved her.
But when I made the decision to end things it wasn’t without a lot of thought and soul searching.
I know it’s right and as the time has passed, I still feel solid in my decision. I’ve moved on even if she hasn’t.
But, I get where Adam is coming from. We’ve got the record to beat and everyone is gunning for us. It’s going to be a long grind over the next month to get to the Frozen Four.
“Things are good. I promise. Carrie is still calling, but I haven’t spoken to her in a week.”
“That’s gotta take a toll. Why don’t you block her number?”
“Nah,” I say automatically. “You think?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Sucky situation all around.”
“Definitely. I think she’ll stop on her own. It’s probably just routine. We spent most of our relationship on the damn phone.” It took me almost two weeks to stop reaching for it the second I woke up every morning.
Our food comes, and we fall quiet as we devour greasy burgers and fries.
“Had any other catastrophic run-ins with the opposite sex I should know about?” Adam tries and fails to keep a straight face.
“No,” I grumble around a mouthful of food.
He leans back in his chair, smiling at my expense. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you have plenty more opportunities in front of you.”
“Not if word gets around that I fall asleep on chicks or give them black eyes.”
Adam chuckles. “You just need a good wingman.” He points at himself.
“What about Reagan?”
“The best wingmen are in relationships. It’s what keeps them from swooping in and stealing the chicks for ourselves. Especially with your weak game.”
“That and knowing Dakota would cut you if you hurt Reagan.”
He nods. “That too. Come on. It’ll be fun. Finish your food, and let’s go to the bar. I recognize a friend of Ginny’s I can introduce you to.”
I’m not really interested in putting on a smile and making small talk, but ten minutes later, I’m following him to the half-circle bar along the back wall of The Hideout.
Adam never looks out of place or uncomfortable.
I admire that about him. I don’t know what to say or how to act with girls after being in a relationship for so long.
No one expected much from me when I was with Carrie.
I was off-limits. That made me more intriguing for some girls, but I just faded into the background for most. I’m good with fading into the background.
“Ava?” Adam approaches a girl with short, black hair at the bar.
She turns in her seat. “Adam, hey!”
She tucks her hair behind her ear and sits a little straighter. She’s clearly surprised we’ve approached her, but Adam being Adam quickly puts her at ease.
“Good to see you. Have you met my buddy, Rhett?”
Her dark gaze slides to me. She smiles politely and raises a hand in a cute, shy wave. “I don’t think so.”
“Nice to meet you, Ava.” I wave back.
“You too.”
Adam shifts closer to me and mutters under his breath, “Ask to buy her a drink.”
I’m pretty sure Ava heard him, but I ask her anyway. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Umm…” she starts.
“Excuse me,” a deep voice says behind me, and I sidestep to let the guy pass. He goes straight for the empty chair next to Ava and takes a seat. He swivels around so that his knees rest against Ava’s.
Ava looks at her lap. “This is my boyfriend, Trent. He’s visiting for the week.”
Awesome. I’m hitting on girls while their boyfriend is in the shitter now. It’s a new low.
Adam clears his throat, hiding a laugh. “That’s great. Where are you from?”
“I go to school upstate.” He’s eyeing us up, trying to decide if we’re a threat.
“Adam is Ginny’s brother,” Ava tells him, and immediately his expression shifts into something much friendlier.
“Oh, cool. You play hockey, right?” he asks Adam.
“That’s right. We both do.” Adam looks to me, and I nod.
“Really cool.” Trent places a hand on Ava’s thigh.
I get it, buddy. She’s yours. No need to pee on her.
“Well, we were just heading out, but it was good to finally put a face with the name.” He’s super handsy while leading his girl away from us.
Adam slumps into Ava’s empty chair after they exit and hangs his head, laughter spilling from his lips.
“Some wingman you are.” I take the other chair.
“I forgot she had a boyfriend.”
“Convenient.” I lift my near-empty beer bottle when the bartender looks my way, and she grabs me another.
“We’ll find you someone else. It’s early yet.”
The TV grabs my attention again. It’s figure skating, and I think of Sienna. A new skater is taking the ice. She poses, waiting for the music to begin.
“I think I’m good. And besides, I’ve been thinking about asking out Sienna.” Again. Maybe this time without stumbling all over myself.
“The chick you gave a black eye?”
I scratch my nose with my middle finger. “Drink your beer so we can get the hell out of here. I need to study.”
“Whatever you say, lady-killer.”