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Chapter Thirty-Two

Alex

I wake up to stabbing pain in my head and my knee, with an overbearing need to piss.

But I can’t move. I’m literally being crushed beneath—

Vance.

I blink my eyes open, my body tensing as I look around the room.

Nope, no Vance. I turn my head, and a quiet gasp leaves my throat.

Definitely not being crushed by Vance.

More like a Mack Truck.

My body freezes as I glance down at the large arm strewn across my chest. Part of me wishes I could stay here, frozen, just like this.

Guilt ransacks me as I remember things I don’t want to.

Crying like some fucked up idiot in front of him. Letting Real Alex out of his cage completely.

Mack’s arms holding me like he could somehow put me back together if he pressed tight enough. Timing my breath to the sound of his heartbeat.

We can’t do this, Alex.

I stare at him in the dusky light of his bedroom, curled next to me, and I know he’s right.

But fuck, I wish he was wrong.

I gently remove his arm, careful not to wake him up. He shifts and slides his arm up under my pillow, and I head down the hall to the bathroom.

“Fucking hell,” I say as I take in the mess I made. I do my business and wash my hands. My knee throbs, and I grimace as I kneel down to grab the shelf and do my best to settle the board back on its metal wall mounts, making sure it’s as straight as it can be.

I pick up jar of Q-tips and the rest of the debris loitered around the bathroom from my destruction. His razor, shaving cream, deodorant, and a candle that smells way too floral and looks like it’s never been lit.

When I’m done, I go into the bedroom, careful not to make too much noise as I grab my clothes and head into his living room. I pull on my khakis, groaning because my knee hurts like a bitch. Worse than it did yesterday, but I guess it serves me right. I only have myself to blame.

I pull on my shirt, just as the beginning of dawn peeks through the windows and lights up the room.

It’s a huge open-concept room, but there’s barely anything here.

A worn leather couch and recliner, a wooden coffee table, and big flatscreen mounted on the wall.

The kitchen doesn’t have a table, just a formica countertop island and some Shaker cabinets.

The stove matches the cabinets at least, but it looks old, too.

It’s the kind of thing my mother would strike as having no value because it’s dated.

But with a fresh coat of paint or stain and the right accents, I bet it would look sharp as hell.

Candy apple red would look really good. Could probably find a sleek black acrylic countertop or maybe even fake it with some shiny contact paper.

I hear Mack shift in his bedroom, which pulls me from my thoughts, and I know I need to make my exit. The last thing I want to deal with is a morning after with Jordan Mackenzie. In my experience, they don’t end well.

So I queue up Uber and go outside. By the time I get to my car, the sun is coming up over Bella’s.

I wait in my car until they open at seven and head in to grab some breakfast before I make my way to my parents’ house, hoping they’ll still be asleep.

But of course, they aren’t. My mother stiffens as I come through the door, but my dad greets me.

“What the hell do you—”

“Relax. I’m just here to get my shit,” I say defensively. My knee aches. My head hurts. I’m tired.

“Alex…” My mom’s voice is soft as I push past my dad, surprised that he doesn’t push back.

I make my way to my room and grab my duffel.

I can’t stay here. I should’ve known better than to think I could in the first place.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be long,” I say as I throw my clothes into my duffel, alongside my toiletries and meds. I sling it over my shoulder, nearly knocking my father over on the way out.

“You need to apologize to your mother,” my dad snaps just as I make it into the kitchen. I stop, turning to face them. His face is pink with anger and she crosses her arms, shaking her head.

“Let him go, Arnie,” she says bitterly. “It’s not like he ever stays long, anyway.”

Something about her words cut me to the bone.

“Sorry,” I say with exhaustion as I head out through the door. Neither of them chase me or stop me. I toss my duffel into my backseat and turn on my car. The radio blasts with that stupid Fleetwood Mac song. “Everywhere. ”

I change the station because I can’t stand to hear it right now. I drive to my house which feels empty as fuck.

A four-bedroom house with an enormous yard, a pool, and a wrap-around deck that I built should be full of life. But all it is anymore is a shell. It’s too big for just me. Maybe I should sell it.

I take my time showering, relishing in the hot water on my muscles.

The water gleams off the dark blue marble, the slivers of gold veins sparkling from the light that filters in from the skylight above me.

Like the rest of my house, this place was built with ample lighting, and everything sparkles when the sun hits it just right. I get into the city around noon. One hour to kill until therapy.

My stomach twists with anxiety. I’ve never wanted to cancel an appointment so badly in my life.

I stop at a little cafe for coffee and a donut—pink with extra sprinkles, which makes me think of Mack and how he gave me shit over my sprinkle obsession.

So I buy a box of donuts and an iced coffee before I head over to Sharks.

My heart races the entire walk through the doors. I check in at the front desk and head to Jordan’s therapy room, thinking about turning around the whole way there. I suck in a deep breath as I knock on the door. It opens slowly, and I step in .

“Hey,” I say calmly, not sure how his mood will be.

Mack says nothing as he stares at me, his jaw tense.

“I, uh… iced coffee? Donut?” I shove both at him.

He carefully takes the coffee and the box and sets them down on his desk.

“Sit.” His voice is dark and firm. It makes me blink a few times. “I said sit down, Alex.” The anger in his voice is not missed.

“Okay.” That dark part of my brain comes online, but I try to shove it away.

I sit in the chair, expecting him to do the same, but he doesn’t. He stands tall, taking two steps forward and pinning me to the chair with just his gaze.

I shrink in the seat, unable to help the way my body reacts.

For the flash of a second, he looks like someone else.

Someone who wants to hurt me. Someone with deep blue eyes, vast like the ocean. Empty and dark. I tense up.

“You are going to keep your mouth shut,” he says. I open my mouth to protest and he purses his lips, glaring at me. “That means I talk, you listen. Got it?”

My shoulders loosen but I cannot look away. My brain is doing that weird short circuit thing where I can’t figure out how to respond.

I nod, because I’ve suddenly forgotten how to speak.

“Good. ”

Every nerve in my body stands at attention with that word, hoping for the next part. Hoping for him to finish it. Just say it, Jordan. Tell me I’m a good boy.

I’ve never felt so affected by two words in my fucking life. I can’t imagine how my body would react if he were to speak those two words to me.

“If you keep up this shit, you’re going to fuck up your knee so badly you’ll never recover. Do you understand that?”

His words hit me hard, but there’s something underneath the anger in his tone.

Concern.

Of course he’s concerned. This is his job.

I break his gaze as the vicious voice in my head rears its wickedness.

“Look at me.”

I obey his command without question. Like instinct.

He’s quiet for a moment, and I see something shift in his gaze. His eyes darken and he bites his lip before closing his eyes and letting out a deep sigh.

“You have two options, Alex,” he begins, opening his eyes and staring down at me like I am truly beneath him.

He holds up one finger. “Option one: you stay with me, because you can not be trusted on your own.” His lips pull back in a snarl.

“And before you even think about it, no , we will not be sleeping together. ”

He lets out a heavy breath and adds, “I’ll work with you both here and at home until you’re stable. I will get you back on the ice—where you belong.”

“Okay,” I say quietly, swallowing hard.

He holds up two fingers. “Or option two. You keep fucking your life up and ruining your body beyond repair. And you’re going to do it all by yourself—alone. I’ll assign you to someone else, because I will not be a part of your self-destructive bullshit.”

His voice is harsh and his shoulders tense.

This is not the professional Mack I’ve been seeing. This is someone who cares on a personal level. And suddenly the air thins and I feel like I can’t breathe. The way he’s looking at me, his bitter tone, his shaking fist.

I feel a panic attack coming on. Shit. I need to get the fuck out of here before I self-destruct.

I knew I shouldn’t have come here today. I should not have come home to Ashbourne at all.

“Alex…”

I’m giving you to the count of three, Alex. Vance’s arrogant voice clouds me like a fog.

My breath catches and I close my eyes, trying to force the memories away.

I drop to my knees, hands sliding over my thighs as I keep my head bowed low.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“I made you, Alex. You’re nothing without me,” Vance hisses, shoving me face-first to the floor.

My breaths are rapid as I try to hold on, try to ground myself, as the words from the past assault me.

“You owe everything to me.”

I get up, needing to get the hell out of here.

“Fine,” I say. “I knew this would happen, anyway.”

“Alex…” Mack’s voice elevates.

“Enjoy your fucking donuts,” I hiss, my voice breaking as I head for the door.

“Go ahead. Walk out that door, Alex. Be the guy everyone thinks you are. Prove all those assholes right.” His voice is cold. Harsh. “The Alex I knew isn’t a quitter, but maybe I don’t know you at all.”

I stop, my hand poised above the doorknob. I close my eyes, feeling the onslaught of the tears.

Every part of me wants to turn around. But I can’t.