Page 110

I yank openthe heavy door. A drawn-out creak of the hinges pierces my throbbing head, and I wince. The locker room comes to a standstill. Judgment. Disgust. Darting eyes.
Fuck them. I’m not in the mood.
I take a seat on the bench in front of my designated cubby, and the weight of their collective scorn presses down on me.
Next to me, Grant refuses to meet my gaze. His rejection only adds to the loathing eating away at me. I get it. I fucked up.
I skirted curfew and missed the team bus. I’m late and hungover, and my entire body hurts.
Someone could’ve woken me, or maybe they tried. I wouldn’t know. I was dead to the world and lost my phone.
A broken film reel of fragmented memories of last night flit through my mind. I remember a stream of texts and a drunken attempt at calling Aurora. An unending flow of alcohol started with a sip, became wildfire and vengeance in my veins, and hit me harder than I ever expected.
I’m a fucking idiot. No, I’m more than an idiot. I’m an absolute fuck-up.
After several long minutes of icy silence, besides the occasional sounds of tape being applied and the rustling of uniforms, I can’t take it anymore.
“Did someone fucking die?” I snap, my voice raspy, bitterness lacing my tone. I sweep my glare across each player, waiting for one of them to muster the courage to confront me.
Anything but this silence.
I’d rather the entire locker room beat the shit out of me than drown in my thoughts.
“Other than your relationship?” Grant mutters, not even allowing me the dignity of a glance.
My heart twinges, and my stomach plummets, but I cage the pain and wrestle with it.
I did nothing wrong. My relationship isn’t over. It can’t be. I won’t let it be.
Denial. Denial. Denial. The word breaks through my lies, and I push it down.
“O’Reilly, you’re out. Hoosier, you’re in for O’Reilly.” Ethan’s tone is cold and detached.
Here we go again.
My knee bounces with agitation, my eyes locking onhim.
She has every reason to be with him, and I bet he couldn’t wait to tell her how much of a fuck-up I am.
Ethan and Aurora. Endgame.
I rub the inner side of my ring finger with my thumb, the sting of the new tattoo anchoring me.
It’s not over. She’s mad, but we’ll work through it. He can’t have her. Hecan’t.
A violent cocktail of resentment, withdrawal, and self-loathing jolts through me, and I’m on my feet, fists clenched. “You’re benching me? Why?”
His sharp gaze meets mine, brimming with disappointment and disgust, deepening my hatred—hatred for myself.
He cocks his head and narrows his eyes. “You missed curfew and you’re late, all so you could get drunk and chase tail. I hope it was worth it.”
“Fuck off. I don’t chase tail.”
“I stand corrected. Missed curfew and arrived late after getting wasted and spending your night fucking puck bunnies. Is that better?” he shoots back, sarcasm heavy in his tone.
My blood boils, shadows linger at the edge of my vision, and I’m on him before anyone can stop me.
“Is that what you fucking told her?” I grit through clenched teeth and shove him.