Page 123 of Almost Rotten

All morning, I’ve harnessed every ounce of willpower I possess to keep from borrowing a car and driving out to that apple orchard so I can drag her back where she belongs.

I’m her husband, dammit.

I’m her fucking husband.

With a shake of my head, I tamp down my anger and reel in my need to claim her. I can’t fall apart in front of Atty. He can’t know what I’ve done.

I finish the rest of practice on autopilot, and as I step off the ice and grab my skate guards, I avoid Coach’s glare. Or I try to. He hovers in my space as I take off my helmet and wipe away the sweat pouring off me.

Even after I drop the towel and take a long swig of water, he’s still staring.

“I know,” I finally say as my heart rate slows. “I’m sorry. I was too in my head. It won’t happen again.”

I’m not sorry. Not in the fucking least. But it’s what he wants to hear. I’ll get out of here faster if I bend to his will. And I’m itching to leave, to head to class.

She’ll be there.

She has to be.

By the time I amble into the locker room and undress, the guys are all in the showers or already showered.

I strip down and grab a towel, only to be stopped in my tracks by Atty on the way to the stalls. He gets in my face, and my instincts flare, the urge to shove him out of the way almost too strong to bear.

Squeezing my hands into fists, I grit my teeth. “Get out of my way.”

“No.” He crosses his arms over his broad chest, his light brown eyes fixed on my face. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

I scoff. He’s the last person I can talk to about my dilemma.

“Get out of my fucking way,” I repeat, driving my shoulder into him.

Rather than relenting, he shoves me back, then gets in my face. “You told me you were okay, Ty. You swore you had this under control.”

I take a step back, reining in the instinct to lunge for him.

With a hard shove to my chest, he demands, “What is wrong with you?”

I’m either going to hit him or tell him.

Hit him or—

“Answer me.”

Clearly cluing into our confrontation, Swayzee and Tanvers rush over.

My head spins, my vision darkening, my thoughts jumbling. Before I can stop them, the words escape me. “Your sister is missing.” Sucking in air, I press the heels of my hands into my eyes.

She’s missing. She’s gone. She left me.

She doesn’t get to fucking leave.

Atty lurches back. “What makes you think that? I got a text from her this morning.”

She’s not missing, you fucking moron.

She’s avoiding you.

She’s icing you out.