Chapter 10
Sebastian
The month of October was cursed, and in more than just a spooky, All Hallows’ Eve way.
In just a few weeks, my blueprint for the hockey season had been shredded to pieces, my two-year relationship was dead and in the ground, and the press was eating me alive.
Despite Dallard’s statement declaring a mutually agreeable solution had been reached, one that involved the men’s and women’s hockey teams working together, people around campus were still sending me dirty looks or whispering to one another when I passed by.
Worst of all was knowing that most of it was due to my own stupid, reckless actions.
Be that as it may, I was still happy to cast blame on Grace for her part in it all.
I might have lit the spark that started the fire, but she was the one who’d poured gasoline atop the entire thing.
And the most frustrating part? The undeniable, all-consuming attraction I felt for her that existed in contradiction to my frustration.
I’d never actually hated Grace, at least not in the beginning.
All that manufactured loathing had been an excuse to keep her far away.
I didn’t want to be friendly because I’d desired more from her the very moment I’d laid eyes on her.
Even after the article was published, I couldn’t deny that I wanted her.
But now, that need was more complex. I was angry that she’d tricked me and frustrated that it hadn't changed how much I craved her attention.
All things considered, I was more than ready for the month of October to be a thing of the past. And after suffering our first loss, against Ohio State, I wasn’t going to risk stepping outside until midnight hit and we were officially into November.
Unfortunately, that didn't stop my roommates from hosting the Halloween pre-game in our kitchen.
Even in the privacy of my bedroom, I could hear the chorus of muffled voices and shitty party music.
It was so loud that I barely noticed Bryce as he poked his head into my room.
He was dressed in a giant pickle costume that looked a little too tight for his bulging muscles.
“Hey, man,” he said, one brow arched as he took in the mess of clothes strewn across my floor.
It was unusual for my room to be anything other than spotless, and usually I wouldn’t be lying around in my bed unless I was having sex or going to sleep.
I’m sure the sight of me reclining in front of my computer screen was slightly concerning. “You going to sulk up here all night?”
My only response was a curt nod.
“Come on, it’s Halloween. You can drink yourself into forgetting yesterday’s game,” he suggested.
When I remained silent, Bryce stepped further into the room and studied me from head to toe as if just realizing something strange. “Where’s Kate? You guys always do a couple's costume.”
“We broke up. She dumped me, actually. And no, I don’t want to talk about it.”
His eyes went wide. In all honesty, I still needed to process the breakup myself. So much had happened following the incident in the study room that I’d barely had a moment to think about it. Some days, it didn’t feel real.
“Maybe going out would be a good distraction,” he suggested.
“I don’t want to be around a bunch of drunk idiots.”
“You could be one of those drunk idiots.” He held his drink up to emphasize his point, taking a long sip of whatever concoction he’d mixed up in his Solo cup. If I had to guess, it was whiskey and Coke.
“You know I don’t drink anymore.”
“Okay, sorry for suggesting it. I thought it might help . . .”
I wasn’t in the mood for one of Bryce’s motivational talks, especially since he was more than a few drinks deep. I’d regret being so short with him in the morning, but right now I couldn’t help myself.
“You going to be okay for practice next week?” he asked in a complete one-eighty.
I didn’t intend to sound so defensive as I shot back, “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been weird since they told us we’re sharing DuLane with the women’s team.”
Yeah, and everyone else should be just as concerned . . .
“I’m worried about how this will impact our training. The entire dynamic we’ve built these past couple months is about to shift.”
He examined me with careful eyes before he asked, “Are you worried about our training schedule or are you worried about Grace?”
I shot him a warning look. Bryce was my best friend, but I wasn’t willing to talk about her. Not now, when everything was so fresh from my breakup with Kate that I still felt guilty wanting someone else. Especially someone who’d had a part in derailing my life.
“Don’t play psychologist with me. I’m not in the mood,” I said dismissively.
After a long moment of silence, he nodded his head. “Have it your way.”
Thirty minutes later, when I was confident the pre-game had ended, I went downstairs to remedy my rumbling stomach.
The house was quiet as I stepped into the kitchen and surveyed the mess of empty beer cans and plastic cups scattered across the different surfaces of the room.
I didn’t have to touch anything to know that every inch of the counter was sticky.
With a shiver, I searched the pantry from top to bottom.
There wasn’t much. Usually, Bryce was the one who stocked the kitchen.
He must have abandoned his weekly-scheduled Sunday shopping trip to join the festivities around campus.
My stomach let out a low rumble of protest. Given the late hour, I had limited options for food.
There was a pizza place downtown that might be open, but my best bet was the gas station on the edge of campus.
I slipped on my jacket and set off down the block, securing the hood over my head.
Not only was it cold, but I wanted to avoid being recognized.
Booze had the power to make anyone fearless, and people might do more than point and whisper with the fuel of alcohol.
Unsurprisingly, the streets were filled with costumed students stumbling on drunk feet.
Most ignored me, but a few hollered drunk questions my way.
By the time I reached the gas station, I’d already encountered three people bold enough to shout, “Who are you supposed to be?” Head low, I grabbed some snacks and a frozen pizza from the back.
It wasn’t a typical meal for me—I liked to avoid preservatives and eat a clean, high-protein diet.
But nothing else was open, and my stomach was aching from hunger.
I only managed to cross the street before I heard her voice.
It was impossible to mistake that raspy tone for anyone other than Grace.
She was sitting on the stoop of an unfamiliar house with a phone pressed to her ear.
After several long moments, I realized she was dressed as Bob Ross, her dark brown locks hidden beneath a rather large wig of curly hair.
She’d even gone to the trouble of putting on a fake beard to match the wig.
Despite all my conflicting feelings about Grace, I couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped me.
When I pictured Grace dressed up for Halloween (and I pictured it a lot), her costume involved zero facial hair and far less clothing.
“Answer your phone! It’s really not that hard. You just”—she hiccupped—“press the stupid button and say, ‘Hi, so good to hear from you I miss you so much and love you.’”
There was little question in my mind that Grace was drunk. If the hiccups didn’t give her away, the slurring did.
“Ugh, you suck!” She slammed her phone down onto her lap and let out a scream of frustration. After a moment’s consideration, she picked up the device, typed something in, and held it up to her ear once again.
“Stop ignoring me, you gremlin. I’m your—”
Grace’s eyes met mine from across the yard, and she went silent. Slowly, she pulled the phone away from her ear and ended the call.
“Are you, like, stalking me?”
Grace sprang to her feet and swayed as I approached. She was absolutely wasted.
“You’re drunk,” I muttered, holding out a hand to help her safely down the short set of concrete stairs. Even I didn’t want to see her with a bloody nose or missing teeth. But hey, maybe that would kill the appeal.
“And you’re a stalker,” Grace muttered, slapping her hand into my palm like it was second nature.
Her fingers tightened around mine, and she leaned her weight against my arm until her feet were firmly on the ground.
Then Grace came to the sudden realization that we were touching and shoved herself away from me.
In the process, she stumbled back and ended up with her ass on the lawn of whoever’s house this happened to be. At least it was a soft landing.
“I’m not a stalker. I was getting food.” I held up my plastic bag from the gas station.
I didn’t know why I felt the need to explain myself when she was too drunk to even stand on her own.
Where the hell were her friends, anyway?
I didn’t like the idea of her being out alone, even in her ridiculous costume.
“Whatever you say, Se-bas-tian,” she slurred. Grace was a mess right now, and I kind of loved it. Drunk people were way too honest for their own good.
“Late-night booty call?” I teased, unable to help myself. It was easy to fall into our usual pattern. “Seems like they’re not really interested.”
Her brow furrowed in confusion, but then she glanced down at her phone, putting two and two together. “You think I was making a booty call?”
“Were you not?”
She scoffed at me like she was offended by the assumption. “I was calling my sister. Anyway, I don’t need a stupid phone to have sex with someone. There are plenty of people out and about that would loooove to fuck me.”
Me being one of them. But that wasn’t a possibility, and it never would be, considering her feelings for me. Plus, I was pretty sure sleeping with Grace would only make things worse.