8. Kai
KAI
The next two days pass in a blur of little sleep and being an absolute chicken shit, refusing to reply to a simple fucking text. Not sure if I’m more scared or stubborn; who the hell knows.
All I know is that by the time we finish practice Friday afternoon, I feel like I’ve been run over by a dump truck that decided to pull forward and back up a few times for good measure.
I push open the locker room door behind Weston and Grayson, still consumed in my own stupid thoughts.
Then I see her.
For a second, I don’t understand what I’m looking at.
She’s wearing her hair in her favorite space buns, black leggings, and her neon pink sneakers. My eyes snag on the PCU polo she’s wearing, and that’s when the pieces start clicking into place.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I mutter.
Not quietly enough.
Weston makes a strangled sound behind me, and Grayson suddenly becomes extremely interested in untying his skates, even though we are both still standing.
Wren looks up.
Her eyes meet mine, and there it is.
That glint.
I know it too well. It used to show up in high school right before she said something that got both of us in trouble.
Right before she dared me to kiss her in the hall between classes or convinced me that sneaking out after curfew was reasonable because the stars were prettier when we weren’t supposed to be out looking at them.
I drop my helmet onto the bench harder than necessary and walk toward her.
Every step feels watched.
Probably because it is.
I stop a foot away. Close enough to see the small crease between her brows. Close enough to notice the purple ink on the side of her hand, and the way she grips the jerseys tighter when I get near.
“What are you doing here?”
Her mouth curves, causing her dimples to peek out.
I have not earned the right to react to those anymore, so I don’t.
Noticeably, anyway.
“Well, you see, Mercer,” she says, far too pleased with herself, “you’re looking at the newest equipment assistant for the PCU men’s hockey team.”
I blink.
Once.
Then again.
“Come again?”
“I’m the blessed individual who gets to wash your disgusting gear after practices and games, along with many other thrilling tasks that will surely look incredible on a résumé.” She drops the jerseys into the cart and grips the handle. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
She starts to move around me.
I catch her arm before I think.
Not hard, just enough to stop her.
Still, the second I touch her, I know it was a mistake.
Her sleeve ends a few inches above my fingers. Her skin is warm, soft, familiar in a way that sends a rush of heat through my entire body.
Wren looks down at my hand.
So do I.
The room noise fades for half a second. I hear Weston whisper something behind me, then Grayson shutting him up, but I don’t pay them any attention.
It’s been too long since I touched her.
That is the first thought that kicks any logical thing out of my brain.
The second is worse.
I missed this.
I let go immediately and step back. “Sorry.”
Wren’s eyes lift to mine.
For one moment, she doesn’t look amused. She looks as shocked by the contact as I feel.
Then it’s gone.
She adjusts her grip on the cart. “Do you usually greet staff by grabbing them, or am I special?”
Behind me, Weston chokes.
I shoot him a look over my shoulder.
He holds both hands up. “Didn’t say a word.”
“You made a sound.”
“I have a condition.”
“Yeah,” Asher says from somewhere near his stall. “It’s called being annoying.”
Wren’s mouth twitches, but she doesn’t look away from me.
I clear my throat. “You don’t exactly sound excited about the job.”
Her expression flattens.
I wince.
Way to put your foot in your mouth, dumbass.
“That’s what you want to start with?” she asks.
“What?”
“You ignored my text for two days, and now you want to talk about my lack of enthusiasm?”
The room goes quieter.
Not silent.
Lockers open and close, water continues to run in the showers down the hall, but the guys closest to us definitely hear her.
Weston whispers, “Oh, this is excellent.”
“Cooper,” Grayson warns.
I don’t look back, keeping my eyes on Wren.
“I didn’t ignore it,” I say.
Wren stares at me.
I try again. “I was busy.”
“Right. Class. Treatment. Film. Captain things.” She nods once, like she’s considering it. “Very demanding.”
I take a step toward her, really not wanting to hash this out here in front of everyone. “Wren.”
“No, it’s fine.” She says it lightly, which means it isn’t. “I figured you were swamped. Or trapped under something heavy with no access to your thumbs.”
A couple guys cough behind me, trying to smother their laughs.
I deserve that.
I deserve worse than that.
“I was going to answer after practice,” I say.
Her eyes narrow a little. “Convenient.”
My jaw tightens. “It’s true.”
Wren sees it and looks away first.
“Anyway,” she says, grabbing a stack of towels from the shelf beside her. “Not everyone has NIL money and scholarships. Some of us have to do things we don’t exactly dream about and be around people we don’t exactly want to see.”
Ouch.
She puts the towels in the cart, like she didn’t just say something that made the room feel too small.
“What happened to the apartment?” I ask before I can stop myself. “I thought you were looking.”
She bends to grab another pile of towels. “Keeping tabs on me, Mercer?”
“Harlow mentioned it.”
She rolls her eyes. Always so sassy. “Of course she did. I decided to stay with my mom for now. I missed the last nine months with the littles, so it’s fine.”
She shrugs like it’s nothing, but I can see right through her. I know Wren.
I know she’s lying out her ass, but I’m not about to push her on it. Not when I gave up the right to ask for the deeper answer and then act surprised when she doesn’t hand it over.
Instead, I step back and start pulling at the hem of my practice jersey. I need something to do with my hands before I do something stupid again.
The jersey comes over my head, leaving me in my compression shirt. Wren’s eyes drop before she catches herself.
My pulse kicks up as a slight blush tinges her cheeks.
Guess I’m not the only one stuck in old habits.
“Sounds like chaos,” I say.
She looks back up. “You always liked spending time with the hellions.”
A low laugh slips out before I can stop it.
She’s right. I did.
I liked their noise. Their house. The way her mom always had something on the stove, and her dad used to yell from the backyard about someone leaving the hose kinked.
I liked Daisy and Lily climbing me like playground equipment, Justin throwing himself at my legs, Holden following us around with a hockey stick too big for him and a face serious enough to make me let him take every other shot.
I liked being there because Wren was there, but it became more than that. Her family made room for me in a way I didn’t know I needed until I lost it.
Until I lost her.
Wren’s expression shifts like she remembers, too, but then Weston’s voice cuts through the moment.
“I hate to interrupt whatever sexually loaded field trip this is,” he says, “but I’m about to remove several layers of clothing. Contrary to public opinion, I do have manners and only like to play show and tell with willing participants.”
Wren glances past me.
The locker room seems to register for her all at once.
Most of the guys are still in base layers, but some are halfway through getting out of gear. A few players turn away quickly when they realize she’s looking. One of the freshmen goes so still he looks like he forgot how to be human.
More color hits Wren’s cheeks.
“I’ll come back when everyone’s cleared out,” she says, already steering the cart toward the door. “Donnelly told me I could grab towels first. I’ll get the rest later.”
“Wren—”
But she keeps moving, picking up her pace as she makes a beeline for the hallway.
“See ya,” she calls, without turning around.
The door swings shut behind her.
For half a second, no one says anything.
Then Weston exhales. “Well. That was tense in a fun way.”
I pull off my compression shirt and whip it at his head.
It hits him in the face.
“The fuck was that for?” he demands, yanking it down.
“You know what.”
“I was being considerate.”
“You were being a pain in my ass.”
“I gave a warning before pants came off. That is basic decency.”
Asher looks up from his stall. “The fact that you think that counts as decency is the problem.”
I sit on the bench and start untying my skates with more force than necessary. The lace bites into my fingers. My hands feel wrong. Too hot. Too empty.
Grayson notices.
Of course he does.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
“No.”
That answer stops him.
It stops Weston too.
For once, nobody fills the space immediately.
Then Grayson clears his throat. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t know she was starting today, and I wasn’t trying to make it weird.”
A humorless laugh leaves me. “It was already going to be weird no matter what, man.”
“True.” He nods. “I mostly enhanced the weird.”
Asher shuts his locker. “Your weirdness is like a disease. An easily spread one at that.”
“Rude.”
Grayson leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You need to talk to her.”
I look at him, and I know he’s right, but that doesn’t make it any easier.
Weston’s eyes move between us. “Wait. Did you know she was working here?”
“No, I didn’t,” I say, shaking my head. “I might’ve if I replied to her text, though.”
Weston’s entire expression changes. “She texted you?”
I really can’t fucking deal with him today. “Cooper.”
“Right. Boundaries. Love those.” He pauses. “But what was the gist?”
I drag a hand over my face. “She said we needed to chat.”
“So you got a text from your ex, saying you needed to talk, and you did the opposite of that and are somehow still upset that she didn’t warn you that she would be working here?” For once, Weston makes a shit ton of sense, and I feel like an idiot.
Asher stares at me. Grayson sighs.
Weston winces. “Oh, buddy.”
“Do not call me buddy.”
“You need the soft voice right now.” His voice is full of pity, and I am getting close to losing my shit.