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I know I’m pressing his buttons, and it’s a really bad idea, especially right before a game, but I can’t fucking help myself. When we traveled for away games in college, I’d watch Tyler leave bars with girls who were categorically not Kendra.

“Watch your mouth, Morgan,” he spits.

I slide away from him, aware that we literally have an audience of twenty thousand people. “Look, Tyler, I meant what I said. I’m here to play hockey, and you and I are going to play a lot together over the next eighty-plus games. I have zero interest in getting into it with you.”

He pulls off his helmet and tucks it under his arm, his jaw clenching at whatever’s going through his mind. “Stay away from Kendra, and we won’t have a problem.”

CHAPTER SIX

KENDRA

When I ended it with Tyler—my long-term boyfriend, the guy I’d moved across states for—just over a week ago, I figured things couldn’t get much worse.

Well, I was wrong.

The morning after I dragged myself from my bed—aka my pit of sorrow because I had nothing to show for our past four years together—I expected to find my kitchen just how I’d left it the night before. Instead, I found half my ceiling missing, debris and plasterboard everywhere, dust ingrained into every soft furnishing I owned.

How in the hell I’d slept through it happening I have no idea, but I did.

It’s safe to say, my place is fucked.

It’s also safe to say that my landlord is an asshole of the highest order. Apparently, it will take weeks to bring my apartment back to some kind of livable state, and he doesn’t seem that concerned in hurrying the fuck up about it either.

I can’t say I’m shocked that half my ceiling fell in. Thebuilding is old and was in a bad state when I moved in a year ago. Which is probably why I secured the low rental I did.

But I was determined to have a place of my own instead of moving into shared housing, like most of my team had done. I couldn’t really afford the rent, but I made ends meet, and it was worth it to have my privacy. Even if Tyler had offered to help me out financially, I know I wouldn’t have accepted it.

My apartment was my little haven. And now it’s a construction site.

Sure, the New York Storm could put me up in a hotel, which they said they’d do, but living out of suitcases for the next however long really didn’t appeal to me. I need some kind of home comforts, and staying in a hotel long-term doesn’t feel all that safe.

So, it was at this point that I lost my shit, and just like my ceiling, I collapsed, every single emotion pouring out of me. Luckily, the only person to witness my meltdown was Jenna, who immediately suggested the sofa bed in her living room.

And that’s exactly where I am right now. With a suitcase full of clothes and insurance claims coming out of my ears, this isn’t what I expected from my life twelve months after moving to the Big Apple.

My phone buzzes in my hand as I continue scrolling for alternative places to live in the Brooklyn area, all well out of budget.

Tyler

Kend, I really want to talk to you. Can’t we just try and work this out?

Ignoring this text like I have with all his other ones, I throw my phone down on the duvet in front of me and adjust myself on the sofa bed that’s seen better days. The springs dig into my sides, leaving me exhausted and grouchy. Not a great combo for a pro athlete trying to break into the national squad and get a shot at the World Cup next summer.

Despite the shit show that is my life right now, one thing hasnever been clearer: I’m not upset over our breakup because I lost Tyler; I’m upset over the decisions and sacrifices I made for him. Yeah, there’s a part of me that misses him—how could I not when he was a huge, if not dwindling, part of my life for four years? But the larger part of me feels—I don’t know—indifferent toward it all. Like, deep down, I always knew it was inevitable, and I was coming to terms with the end of us for way longer than what I could admit.

But I don’t have the right words for him at the moment, and honestly, I’m still pissed about the way he treated me. I can’t even find it in me to tell my family we split, not that my mom or dad cared much for him anyway. They always thought someone who loved himself that much could never hold space in his heart for anyone else.

A giggle filters down the hallway, followed by a bang against the living room wall, and I sink down further under my duvet.

Another reason why I need to find a solution to my homelessness—I think there’s only been one night in the past week when Lee hasn’t been over, and when I say my friend has a high sex drive, I mean it.

A lot of my stuff might have been ruined in my living area, but one saving grace was, my vibrator was safely tucked away in my nightstand. If you asked me when the last time I had sex was, I’d tell you there was snow on the ground. Tyler was a guy who believed his own hype, but unfortunately for him, his skills on the ice didn’t exactly extend to the bedroom. He was selfish between the sheets, and I mastered the art of faking it until my interest in sex faded almost entirely.

Replacing my earplugs so I can’t hear my friend, I reach across to my suitcase and grab my red wand—which I named Scarlett because I think she works better with an identity.

The second I switch Scarlett to the first setting and dip her below the waistband of my sleep shorts, my mouth pops open with instant euphoria.

I’ve been way too distracted to think about getting myselfoff, but when she finds my clit, sending delicious vibrations through me, I realize this is exactly what I needed.