Page 23 of Almost Rotten

It’s as if my blood has been replaced with rocket fuel. I want to move. I want to score. I want to fucking win.

The anxiety that’s been a constant companion for as long as I can remember is quiet. My usual hypervigilance has been tempered.

Never have I felt this connected to my stick, to the puck, to the ice, to this game.

With every push forward, those two magic words play in my mind.

My wife. My wife. My wife.

I’m focused and locked in.

There isn’t a cell in my body that’s not humming in anticipation.

As I continue through the movements, wave after wave of calmness washes over me. Soothes me. Provides a kind of hope I haven’t allowed myself to feel in years.

My wife.

My wife.

My wife.

I can’t wait to see her tonight.

I can’t wait to finally make her mine.

Chapter eleven

Sawyer

Annoyance courses through me as I fish around my bag, searching for my keys.

They’re not in the inside pocket where I always keep them. As if I needed one more thing to go wrong on this godforsaken day.

Between the early start in the dean’s office, class, meeting with Mercer, and a group research project meeting that took far longer than necessary, I haven’t stopped all day.

All I want to do is to fall into bed and lock out the rest of the world. I need time to process everything that happened today before I can start to figure out what the hell I’m going to do about Ty.

I climb the last few stairs and round the corner, heading to 1D, still unable to locate the damn keys.

With a frustrated huff, I sling my bag off my shoulder and let it fall to my feet.

I’ve just crouched and tugged my bag open wide when I notice that my door is propped open.

Instant relief hits me, though it’s quickly followed by panic.

Is it possible that I left in such a rush earlier that I didn’t close or lock my door?

That’s not like me.

Whether it’s from trauma or an abundance of caution, a little pit of dread forms in my belly, telling me something isn’t right. I stand, my heart pounding in my ears, and shuffle to the ajar door.

Without stepping inside, I push it open.

“Hello?”

The room is mostly dark. The little lamp on my desk is still on. Nothing appears to be out of place.

“It’s me,” a low voice rumbles from inside.