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I loathe the way my body reacts when I see her. It’s not even sexual. That would be acceptable, in my opinion. Nope, it’s my fucking heart still wanting to know why she tossed all of this away.

“Thanks.” I swallow and look around the back of the arena. “Kind of off of your regular path. Were you looking for me?”

I try to keep the hope out of my voice. Fucking hell. What’s wrong with me?

“I wanted to tell you I have a box of your things to drop off.”

Ah, the belonging exchange. What was that sound? Another nail in the coffin.

“Sure, well, obviously not right now, but just let me know when you have time. I’ll swing by and–”

“Or I’ll just leave it on your porch,” she says, cutting me off. “It’s nothing major. Just a few things that got mixed in with mine.”

“Right.” I clear my throat. “I’ll make sure to gather up anything of yours too.”

“I think I got everything already.” Of course. Darla is efficient. Organized. Which is why I refuse to believe this breakup was spontaneous. “Well, good luck today.”

“Thanks.” I’m ready to get away, that feeling in my heart has shifted from something happy, to something dark and painful. And before I can control myself I blurt, “So that’s it? After all this time, we’re just finished? No reasons why? No discussion?”

“Reid, I don’t think you want to get into this now–”

“Why? Because you thought it was okay to dump me over text? After all our plans? Everything we–no,you–had organized for the two of us?”

“This is why I texted you. I knew you would get emotional.”

I balk, jaw dropped, staring at her. A million responses come flooding back but no. “You know what?” I say, more to myself than her. “Thank you.”

She blinks, caught off guard for the first time in forever. “For what?”

“Showing me the real you. It saved me a lot of trouble.” I step to the side and pass her, pulling my headphones back over my ears. The beat of the song rushes out, and I take a few steady breaths before approaching the bus.

“Everything okay?” Coach Green, our team trainer asks, as I reach the steps.

“Everything’s perfect.” The words are as fake as my grin. “Just had to grab my mouthguard.”

“Atta’ boy,” he says, slapping me on my back. “You know my rule: Protecting yourself is the first step to a win.”

I climb into the bus and take a seat next to Kirby who’s focused on his phone. Long after the bus jolts forward, and starts down the road, Coach’s words linger. That’s what I did wrong with Darla. For the first time in my life I didn’t protect myself. I left my weaknesses exposed. Vulnerable.

I’ll never let that happen again.

One thingabout hockey is that it’s great for letting go of some frustration.

The bad thing is that things can sometimes go too far.

“What was that, Kramer?” I shout. This guy has been up my ass all night, which was annoying enough, but then he started trash talking.

“I said you suck, Wilder. And that check was weak. Just like your mama over the buffet table.”

He’s full of shit, because my teeth rattled when I slammed him against the boards, but I’m not in the mood for it tonight. Not after seeing Darla earlier. And definitely not insulting my mother.

I toss my stick and lunge for him, but before my punch lands, I’m dragged backwards.

“Get off,” I argue, fighting against my teammate.

“Chill, bro,” Jefferson says, his massive arms tight around my upper body. There’s a reason he’s our enforcer. “He’s desperate as fuckandhe’s not worth it.”

“But he–”