Page 2

ONE

ELI

PRESENT DAY

The time on the clock is counting down, and it’s going fucking fast. At seemingly lightning speed. I pass the puck to my winger, and I watch as it’s passed to Luke, who slaps that stick and sends the puck flying straight toward the net. We all watch, holding our breaths as the horn buzzes, signaling the end of the game.

Score.

Vortex Goal .

The crowd is screaming right before they begin to chant, and then the tornado siren signals the score. Yes . Not only yes, but fuck yes . We’re now in the playoffs and on our way to the Calder Cup. We made it a team goal this year to make it into playoffs, at the minimum, and we’ve done it.

We all skate toward the middle of the rink and throw our arms around one another, forming a circle. This is a tradition when we win. The crowd is wild, their screams and cheers actually causing my body to vibrate.

We’re hot, tired, thirsty, and hungry, but we’re still going to celebrate on the ice in front of our still-cheering fans. Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, could keep any one of us from this moment.

With our arms wrapped around one another’s shoulders, we move from side to side in rhythm while the arena chants. Then we begin to skate in a circle in one direction several times, then switch to the other direction as the announcer finishes all his shit and the arena empties out of fans.

Once we’ve finished the traditional circles, we skate over to the box that has been set up and filled with T-shirts and stuffed animals inside. Grabbing a shirt and a teddy bear, I skate over to my usual side of the ice and begin chucking them to the kids in the audience who are still hanging around.

They know the score.

When all the freebies are handed out to fans, we skate back to the locker room and start to get ready to really celebrate. To truly celebrate. Which used to be my absolute favorite part of the game.

Not anymore. Not for the past two years.

Everything, even winning this game, has a lackluster undertone to it.

I’m happy we won, pleased as punch that we made it to the playoffs, and I’m even looking forward to having fun tonight. But at the same time, I’m going through the motions, and I have been for two years straight.

Since Wrenly Foster completely ghosted me after our one amazing night together.

The best sex I ever had.

I can’t get her out of my head.

I’m not sure why she’s taken such a hold of me, but Wrenly Foster unknowingly owns me. Mind, body, and soul. When she first started ignoring my messages, I figured she was just busy with her classes or something.

It’s not like I really knew much about her other than she was a freshman at the local university, her name, and what she felt like when I slid my cock inside of her—which was heaven.

But as the weeks passed and my messages went unanswered, I eventually stopped reaching out. Not because I wanted to but more because I didn’t want to freak her out. I could have hired someone to look for her, but that would have been way too fucking weird.

Eventually, she blocked me on social media. So I couldn’t contact her if I wanted to unless I hired someone to find her. But her point was made, and she wanted nothing to do with me.

I don’t regret much in my life, but I regret letting that shit go between us because here I am two years later, feeling hollow inside and wishing I knew how to find her. One night with Wrenly ruined me, tore me the fuck up inside, and left me raw.

I’ve never felt this way in my whole life.

Finishing my shower, I wrap my towel around my waist as I head back to my locker and begin to dress. I need to push thoughts of Wrenly out of my head to bury them for the night. There will be women waiting for us outside of the arena. There always are, and I could have the pick of them if I wanted—and I have.

But I don’t want them anymore.

I haven’t for a while.

When Wrenly first blocked me, I went a little crazy. I tried to fuck her out of my mind, but it didn’t work, and eventually, it just became monotonous—repetitive and boring. Something I never thought possible. Sex boring? How? But it was. No matter whose eyes I looked into, they weren’t hers.

“You wanna head out to Midnight Hour to celebrate?” Daniel asks.

I knew that’s where they’d all want to go. As much as I want to say yes, I also want to just go home and sleep. I’ve been wallowing in my own self-pity for a while now. Begging off going out with everyone so many times that I can read the concern on their faces when they look at me.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” I lie.

A few minutes later, we are all heading out of the locker room and on our way to the club to party. Even Luke and Clara, who have been wrapped up in their love bubble recently, join the whole group.

WRENLY

The East Texas sky is gorgeous as the sun rises. It’s my favorite time of day, and for the past fourteen months, I’ve been able to see it every single day. I stand on my dad’s back deck, watching the sun rise over the hill in the distance.

Closing my eyes, I allow the air of a fresh new day to wash over me in hopes that it will somehow miraculously heal me.

“You have wasted a lot of time, Wrenny,” my father murmurs.

Turning my head, I watch as he steps out of the house through the sliding glass door, his eyes focused past me and toward the rising sun as well. This is something we have in common, him and me.

We enjoy sunrises over sunsets. Unsweetened tea over sweet. Vanilla over chocolate. Steak over chicken. And peace over drama. Avoidance over confrontation. The last has caused me some serious anxiety over the past few years.

I know what I’ve done is wrong, and so does my dad. He’s given me the refuge I needed to lick my wounds, the support I needed to not only survive but somewhat thrive. However, it’s been two years, and it’s well past the time for me to do the right thing.

“Can’t live your life scared,” my dad states.

“Scared or smart?” I ask.

He snorts. “Now, Wrenny. I didn’t think I raised you to keep something like this a secret from the other person it involves. It’s not a one-sided secret, and you know it. There are too many potentially involved people in this for you to be scared a minute longer.”

He’s right—he didn’t. But I’ve kept it a secret for two years, and now it feels too late to say something. Plus, it’s much easier to live a life of denial rather than actually face any of it—at least, that’s what I tell myself.

“It’s never too late, but I do think it’s time.”

“What am I going to do? Just show up?” I ask.

He hums. “You know where to find him?”

I haven’t told my father who him is yet. Not that I think it would matter if I did, but it just feels very… private. Almost like he does need to know first before anyone else. Although, I probably should have said something two years ago rather than now.

“I do,” I confess.

“You need money to get to Ohio?”

Shaking my head, I clear my throat. “You know I don’t.”

Dropping out of Case Western Reserve University was not part of my life’s plan. However, just because we make plans doesn’t mean that everything falls into place the way we envision it.

When I discovered my predicament, I packed my life into my car and left without looking back.

Honestly, I ran scared shitless.

It was selfish of me to run like that. I knew it then, and two years later, I know it now. I’m just scared to death to admit my mistakes. Because I’ve taken something away from someone that I can never give back, and the guilt consumes me.

“Going there doesn’t mean you don’t have a place right here. All it means is that you’re going to do your best to make this right. You’ve had the ball in your court for far too long. Give it to him. He may surprise you.”

Only my father would say that. Only he would give me the grace I don’t deserve and assume that I knew this man well enough that I chose a good one. Even with the way my mom treated him, leaving him and abandoning me, he still gives every single person grace.

What he doesn’t know, though, is that my conversation with him was about an hour of texting and about five minutes in person before we slept together, and then he left as soon as I closed my eyes.

He doesn’t know any of that.

And I’m not going to ever be the one to tell him, either.

I’m embarrassed by my actions and even more humiliated that I was so bad in bed that Eli couldn’t even look me in the eyes the next morning.

I can’t imagine what he’s going to say when he realizes what that one night produced—or rather, who .