Page 21

20

Lennon

I ’m riding the high after our win and my shutout this weekend. The team is really coming together, and I can feel that same thrum of energy that we had last year in the locker room. Everyone likes the direction we’re heading in and is putting in the work to keep us on track.

I have an exam in one of my Economics’ classes first thing this morning and walk away from it feeling pretty confident. It only took me forty of the allotted sixty minutes, so I get a head start over to the library for one of my tutoring sessions. At this point in the semester, more and more students are joining as final exams are looming mere weeks away.

The session is so full that we have to move to a different room, and I sacrifice my lunch hour for the day to stay longer with a few students to help walk them through exchange rates step by step. Once we wrap up, I grab a quick coffee from the café, say hi to Krista, and head off to my afternoon classes.

The sun has already set by the time I’m finished with my last one of the day and walk over to the rink. When I get in the locker room, a few of my teammates are already there getting changed.

Charlotte gasps when I walk in, and I stop in my tracks. “Did you hear?” she asks.

“Hear what?” I glance around nervously. Is this about Luke? Did someone find out I stayed over at his place?

My fears are quieted as Maria cuts in. “Sydney broke her ankle, and she’s out for the rest of the season.”

“Holy shit.” I gasp, my mouth dropping open. “When?”

“Last weekend in their game. Guess she was carried off the ice.”

Sydney, one of Remington’s star forwards and the one who taunted me earlier in the season, rubbing in their Frozen Four victory last year, is out for the fucking season…

I hang my bag up in my locker and shrug off my coat. “That sucks she’s hurt,” I say. You never want to see someone go out with an injury like that, especially not someone who is such a good competitor. But…

“Sucks for her, good for us,” Aubrey pipes in cheerfully. Of course she’s not going to empathize at all with anyone from Remington. Can’t say I really want to either.

“That doesn’t mean they’re not still going to be the one to beat for us,” Maria adds quietly, braiding her black hair into two pigtails. “Their lines are deep.”

I nod, knowing she’s right. It’ll be a blow to their team, but they still have months until the tournament to figure out how to compensate for her loss.

“Ours are better,” Aubrey says.

“True,” Austen echos.

Chatter fills the room as more girls file in, and I gear up, ready to get out on the ice and see Luke. I looked for him after the game, excited to hear his feedback and what he thought of my shutout, but he was nowhere to be found.

“Ready to go?” Grace asks me, tapping her stick against my shins as I pull my practice jersey over my head.

“Yep.” I grab my own stick, tuck my helmet under my arm and follow her out. The air is crisp and cool, a familiar balm to my heated skin as we enter the rink. Coach Maver, Packley, and Holloway are huddled up, looking down at a shared tablet. I skate by, watching out of the corner of my eye to see if he’s going to notice me, but he doesn’t look up.

I try not to let it sting, knowing I can’t expect him to just drop everything the moment I’m in proximity. As Grace and I stretch together, my hips protest. They’re tight, and I only have myself to blame for not stretching them out yesterday.

As soon as the coaches break their huddle and Coach Maver and Packley duck back into the tunnel to the locker room, I excuse myself from Grace and glide over to the boards where Coach Holloway stands on the opposite side.

“Well?” I grin, leaning against the boards. “Got anything to say?”

He pulls his hat lower, shielding part of his face. His jaw clicks but he says nothing. Uneasiness wades through my gut at his silence.

I try to make eye contact with him, but he purposefully looks toward the opposite end of the rink. What the hell?

“Is something wrong?” I ask, nerves replacing the excitement in my tone. Then it hits me. “Fuck,” I whisper. “Does Coach Maver know?—”

He shuts me down immediately. “No.”

The relief is short-lived because he’s still giving me the cold shoulder. “Then what is it?”

His nostrils flare as if he’s trying to keep a rein on his emotions, and I don’t like it. It reminds me of how he used to be, trying to lock everything away from me to be able to see.

“I’m just wondering why you didn’t have me take you to your boyfriends house the other night instead of me risking my ass taking you to mine.”

I rear back in shock at the hostility in his tone, then nervously glance around to see if anyone is within earshot. Thankfully, no one is paying us any mind as everyone warms up.

“He’s not—” I stop myself. It’s actually none of his damn business what Mason is to me. I don’t owe him an explanation. “You were the one who brought me over. I didn’t ask you for a ride after practice, and I certainly didn’t ask for a sleepover.”

He refuses to look at me, instead standing with his arms crossed, feet apart, glaring around the rink like me and this conversation are beneath him. “Go join warm ups.”

“Luke—”

“It’s Coach Holloway,” he bites out. “Go. Now.” His voice is lethally low.

He doesn’t have to tell me twice. Confusion, humiliation, and hurt mix together into a deadly cocktail as I rejoin Grace.

“Are you alright? You look pale,” she asks, concern dotting her face.

If I talk, I might cry as tears threaten to burn the backs of my eyes, so I simply nod and slip my mask on to hide behind it.

She opens her mouth, not satisfied with my response, but Coach Packley calls everyone to attention, and she’s forced to drop it.

Thank God. I just need to get through the next two hours, and then once I’m home safe, I can cry.

The idea that my bed is waiting for me to crash into is the only thing that gets me through the rest of this practice. I go through the motions, trying to ignore the anxiety swirling in my stomach every time I glance over at Coach Holloway. He watches everything in practice but me. As if I don’t even exist.

I’m the first one off the ice when Coach Maver signals the end. Grace side-eyes me in the car on the ride home, but I brush her off. Even if I wanted to talk about it, I couldn’t. What would I say to her? That I think I’m attracted to our coach and I thought he was too, but now he’s pretending I’m not even there?

It sounds so stupid and naive.

As soon as we get into our apartment, I bid her good night and schlep toward my room. I almost scream when I flick on the light to find a man sprawled out in my bed, but the surprise quickly turns into annoyance.

“What’s wrong?” Grace calls from the kitchen. I ignore her to glare at Mason, who currently lounges like he owns the place with his hands tucked behind his head.

“We didn’t get any alone time after your game the other night, so figured I’d come over and make up for it.” He grins cheekily, and I think about how that look of his used to do something to me. It used to make me fold and have me tossing my clothes on the floor without missing a beat. But now, it just looks boyish and annoying.

“How did you get in here?” I ask, dropping my bag with a heavy thud by the dresser. I should unpack it and get a load of laundry going, but I’m too tired for that tonight.

Mason holds up a key and I frown. “I didn’t give you that.”

“It’s Bryant’s. He let me borrow it.”

Grace .

“You gave Bryant a key to our apartment?” I shout toward the open door, and a moment later, Grace appears, looking sheepish.

“I thought I mentioned that,” she says, twirling her bracelet around her wrist. “I got a copy made the other week.”

“You definitely didn’t tell me that,” I say, then turn back to Mason. “And why didn’t you just text me instead of breaking and entering?”

He twirls the key around on his finger. “It’s not breaking and entering if I have this.”

I quickly cross the room and snatch it from him. He protests as I toss it to Grace. “Tell Bryant if he loans this out again, I’m taking it back.”

“I’m sorry,” Grace mutters, tucking the key into her pocket. “I’ll talk to him about it.” She excuses herself and closes my door with a soft click.

Sure, I’m a little irritated with her that she didn’t tell me she was giving her boyfriend a key to our place, but most of it is directed at Mason right now. I rest my hands on my hips and sigh heavily, wishing if I closed my eyes, this situation would suddenly disappear and I could drift off into an effortless sleep.

“Are you seriously pissed right now?” he says as he sits up. “If I would’ve texted you, I wouldn’t have got a response for like, two days.”

I throw my hands up. “Then maybe you should’ve taken that as a hint!”

He actually looks wounded, his round eyes softening. “What the hell, Lennon? We haven’t had sex in months. If we’re not doing that, then what are we doing?”

This conversation is one I’ve been putting off for far too long, so maybe it’s a good thing it’s being forced upon me now.

“I don’t know,” I say. “This was supposed to be mutually beneficial for us, but I don’t think it’s doing either of us any favors anymore.”

“Well no shit,” he scoffs. “But what happened? You’ve iced me out for no reason. What changed?”

Everything .

But nothing that I can use to explain to him why I can’t imagine his hands touching me right now, because I’d only be picturing someone else’s.

“Look, I’m just too busy right now. Between classes and work and practice, I barely have a moment for myself.”

“That didn’t stop you last year. You’ve always had those things going on.”

True. But he used to be someone I prioritized, someone that I was willing to sacrifice a few extra hours of sleep for. Now…he’s not. “I know,” I say. “But I’m doing extra workouts to try to win this year, and I mean, this is our last year of school. I have to start thinking about my future. And c’mon, we both know we aren’t into each other as anything more than friends.”

“You don’t have to do all those things. You put that work on yourself.”

“Are you serious?” I gape at him. “You know why I work so hard! Not all of us can ride off of our parents’ money.”

His eyes flare at that, but he doesn’t negate it. “It’s just hockey. It’s not like you need the extra practice, your team is fine.”

“Fine isn’t good enough for me. I want to win.”

He shakes his head. “It’s college hockey, Lennon. It’s not like you’re going pro.”

Frustration chokes me, and my fists ball at my sides. “You just don’t get it.” How could he when he’s never had a care in the world? Mason just wants to have fun, and anything that isn’t fun or requires effort, doesn’t matter to him.

He’s never understood my drive in hockey, and I don’t know why I’m surprised that it’s not clicking for him now. No one in my life really gets it. He plays hockey because he’s decent at it, and it keeps him in shape. But he’s never loved it like I do. Sure, Grace and the team want to win, but it’s not the end all be all to them. They’re not spending hours in the gym outside of practice to hone their bodies into weapons on the ice.

No one else around me understands that I want to be the best, to win this final achievement before I settle in for the rest of my life at a desk in front of a computer.

No one else except Luke.

“Clearly I don’t,” Mason says simply and rises from the bed. “So this is it then? We’re done?”

I shift on my exhausted legs and sigh. “Yes, this is it.”

“Damn. I really thought I’d be the one to break up with you one day.”

Despite everything, I burst out laughing, and he does the same. His shoulders shake with it, and I approach the bed, standing at the edge. “Fuck you,” I laugh.

“Clearly not,” he jabs back and fishes his keys out of his sweatshirt pocket. “I’ll get out of here, then.” He starts for the door but I stop him.

“Are we still cool?” We’re in the same friend group, and the last thing I want is it to create a rift. Especially now that Grace and Bryant are officially together.

“We’re cool,” he says, a bit detached, but I think that’s just his pride hurting right now.

I walk him to the door, and we say our goodbyes. Once he leaves, I think maybe regret might creep in. That maybe I am making the wrong choice and that even though Mason and I didn’t have a relationship outside of hooking up, maybe it is what I needed.

But there’s not a single ounce of regret coursing through me as I go back into my bedroom and get ready for bed.

I never realized how weighed down Mason made me feel by wanting to be better, to do better, but now that chapter of my life is done, and I feel lighter. And when I think of Luke, and how he pushes me in and out of the rink because he sees what I’m capable of and wants to tap into it, I feel inspired.

Despite the fact that he was a dick today.

Hot water scalds my skin in the shower as I scrub down from practice. Once my skincare is done and clothes are laid out for my shift at the café tomorrow morning, I crawl into bed. Mason’s scent slightly clings to the sheets, and it smells wrong. So unlike the smell of Luke’s .

Fuck, he needs to get out of my head. But as I lie here in the dark, waiting for sleep to claim me, those dark eyes and golden-brown hair are all I can see. A replay of his block after block in the net, using his stick like it’s an extension of his own body to masterfully bat away shots like they’re nothing but flies.

Why is that what my mind chooses to focus on and not the way he completely disregarded me today? That’s what I’d rather focus on. Let it fuel some anger and have that overtake the hurt.

But no matter how hard I try to focus on that, other memories keep fighting their way through. Sleep is clearly a losing battle, so I roll over, keeping the covers tucked high up around me as if what I’m doing needs to be kept a secret. It probably should. Because why am I pulling up Luke’s highlight reel online right now? I should be pissed at him. Pushing him to the back of my mind and locking him firmly in the off-limits box because he is.

But none of that stops me.

I click on the first video that comes up and watch as clip after clip of Luke’s greatest moments of his career play one after another. Now that I’ve seen him in live action though, these videos don’t hold a candle to experiencing that firsthand. It’s like only eating a single chocolate chip and hoping that’ll satisfy a sweet tooth.

After an incredible glove save where he completely drops into the splits in order to catch it, the whistle blows and the camera zooms in on him. He pulls his mask up and sprays water all over his face, shaking it off and dropping rain around him. His eyes look slightly crazed but distinctly alive , so unlike how he often looks now. A hunger to see more of that builds within. There’s a stirring in my gut, and I clench my thighs, moaning softly at the ache between them.

Maybe Mason shouldn’t have left. I could use some relief. As soon as the thought crosses my mind though, I feel like shit because that would’ve been so unfair to him. To use him for his body while I close my eyes and picture another man.

A man I shouldn’t be picturing. Who clearly wants nothing to do with me. Disgusted with myself, I turn my phone off and roll to the opposite side of the bed, away from the temptation to pull the highlight reel back up. But now that my pulse sits between my legs, it’s almost impossible to ignore.

It would be so easy to slip my hand beneath my shorts, close my eyes, and relieve the ache that I’ve ignored. God, I want it. So bad.

I shouldn’t reach into the drawer of my nightstand.

I shouldn’t shimmy my sleep shorts down my legs.

I shouldn’t turn my vibrator on and breathe a sigh of relief that it’s charged.

I shouldn’t be picturing his sharp jawline covered in stubble and the way his arm muscles flex when he runs his hands through his hair while he watches me workout.

I shouldn’t be thinking of my coach as I bring the toy between my thighs and find my clit. My lips clamp shut as I stifle a whimper that is desperate to escape as the vibrations fuel the fire building within.

The buildup is quick and sharp, stealing my breath and locking my limbs. Images of Luke on the ice, in the weightroom, in his office flash one after another, stoking the flame. I can feel the weight of his stare through the memories ingrained in my head, and it makes the pressure stronger.

It takes barely a few minutes of the buzzing between my legs to send me crashing over the edge. I writhe beneath my sheets, my body coated in a light sheen, and the material clings to me. I ride out the waves with a silent cry, and once the pleasure turns to pain, I pull my vibrator away and stare at the ceiling in a breathless heap.

As my orgasm begins to fade, anger surges, and I toss the toy out of sight, as if it will spare me some of the regret. I thought it would feel good to take the edge off, but the momentary relief is nothing compared to the heavy weight now dropping in my stomach.

I can’t believe I just did that.

Not only because he’s my coach, but because of how he acted today. How he shut me out. It’s not the first time, and I doubt it’ll be the last.

I hold onto that anger until my eyes grow heavy. When sleep finally claims me though, it’s with phantom touches of his hands on my body instead of my own.