I bolt across the back seat as the door closes on me.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell the guys.
I hustle after her, reaching her just inside of the main lobby of the dormitory.
“Hey, wait up.” I fall into step beside her.
"Following me?" She continues walking toward the stairway.
“I feel terrible. Let me make it up to you somehow. Dinner? Coffee?”
Her brows lift. “Are you asking me out?”
"No," I say quickly. Not the worst idea, but it’s clear she isn’t on board. “Just an apology meal.”
“I’m good.”
“Then, yes, a date.”
Abruptly, she stops walking, and I catch myself two steps ahead of her.
“A date?” Those green eyes pin me to my spot.
I shrug. “Or just coffee.”
“With you? The guy who was hooking up with someone earlier today and made her cry?” She says it like it’s a question.
“How do you...”
“Your buddies were talking pretty loudly. I didn’t get the whole story, but I think I heard enough.”
I open and close my mouth. What the hell do I say to that?
My phone rings. I ignore it, but Sienna glances to my pocket and laughs. “I think you’ve already got your hands full. See ya around, lady-killer.”
She pushes past me, and I let her go. I take out my phone and power off the stupid thing as I walk back outside.
When I’m in the back seat, Mav turns around and regards me seriously. “She okay?”
“Seems fine.” I bang my head against the window. What a fucking day.
“Leave it to you to hurt Sienna of all people.” Mav’s facing forward, so I can’t see his face, but the back of his head shakes from side to side.
“I was chasing a loose puck. I was trying to keep it from hitting her.”
“In this case, I think the puck would have done less damage.
“No fucking kidding.” I sigh. “And what do you mean Sienna of all people? I was feeling pretty fortunate I took down a tough chick with no heart. She didn’t even cry. I cannot take another girl crying on me today.”
Mav swivels around, and his jaw hangs open.
“What?” I look from him to Adam. The latter shrugs.
“You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“I don’t know how anyone can put their foot in their mouth so well without even knowing what he’s doing.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“First of all, she has a heart. She’s one of the nicest, most down-to-earth girls I’ve ever met.”
“And secondly?”
“Sienna has a rare heart condition. I don’t know all the details, but I think it’s pretty serious.”
An uneasy feeling washes over me. “How do you know all this?”
“We chat during yoga. Her heart stops, or she faints, or both, maybe. It happened at one of her competitions last year.”
“Ooooh.” Adam shakes a finger at him. “I heard about that. She has long QT.” He whips around to stare at me with wide eyes. “You took out a girl with a bad heart?”
“You could have killed her,” Mav says. “No heart.” He huffs.
My stomach drops. Holy shit. I don’t know what long QT is but it doesn’t sound good. “How the hell was I supposed to know? And it isn’t like I did it on purpose. It was an accident.”
We pull up to the apartment and Mav jumps out. “I was just giving you shit on that last thing. I don’t think you would have killed her, but it does seem very appropriate, considering your track record today.”
Fuck my life.
* * *
“Hey,” Heath says as I walk out of my room Monday morning. His eyes are barely open as he chugs a protein drink. His girlfriend, Ginny, sits on a stool next to him with her head on the counter.
“‘Morning,” she says.
I tug the end of her braid as I go by. Ginny is Adam’s little sister, and since he and I’ve been rooming together for the past four years, Ginny’s like a kid sister to me.
Adam appears next, slinking out of his room and shutting the door quietly behind him. Reagan stayed over last night, as she generally does now. Both my roommates are in serious relationships, which is bizarre since I was the only one in a serious relationship until a few months ago. Now I’m dodging phone calls from my ex and blundering my way through being single. Life is weird.
He grunts something that might be good morning as he heads to the kitchen to make oatmeal. I’m too tired to even think about eating. The sun isn’t up yet, and we have a skills practice in thirty minutes.
I’m not complaining. I’m stoked we get to play hockey another week, but two days of celebrating looks like it’s taken its toll on all of us.
My stomach growls. Obviously, it doesn’t have the same issue with the time that I do. I’m grabbing orange juice from the fridge when Maverick walks through the front door.
“Goooood morning,” he calls, sounding way more chipper than the rest of us. When I turn around, he laughs. “Nice shiner. You and Sienna match. Adorable.”
I’m too tired to come up with a witty comeback. But it’s a new day. And today can’t possibly be any worse than yesterday.
4
Sienna
“It looks like my three-year-old niece did your eye makeup.” Josie watches me from the doorway of our shared bathroom while I dab concealer on the black and yellow under my eye.
“I can’t tell if I’m making it better or worse.”
“Less eye shadow. You aren’t fooling anyone.” She reaches around me for her toothbrush.
She’s right. I look ridiculous. I wipe off my makeup and start over with just my usual basics of foundation and mascara.
“Does it hurt?” my roommate asks as we’re leaving our dorm.
“Only if I touch it.”
She moves her hand up like she’s going to poke it, and I slap her hand away.
With a laugh, she asks, “Did he at least apologize?”
Last night when Josie got home, I was already asleep, so I gave her the short version of yesterday’s events when she woke up and saw my black eye. I left out the part where he asked me out. Or sort of asked me out? An apology date where I’m limping and have a black eye does not sound super romantic.
“About a dozen times.”
“I can think of worse ways to get a black eye. Rhett Rauthruss is some serious eye candy. I heard he’s single now, too.”
“Aren’t they all?” I place a hand on my chest. “Commitment scares me. I’m just going to fuck everything that moves.”
She laughs again. Josie has a great laugh. The kind that you can’t help but smile when you hear it. “You sound like Elias. How is he?”
“Great,” I say and prepare to fill her in on the latest of my best friend’s shenanigans, but outside we meet up with more girls on the team headed to practice.
“Oh my gosh, Sienna! What happened to your eye?” Olivia asks when she sees me. I give a very abbreviated version as we jog the few blocks to the arena in the dark. My left hip and knee are both bruised and sore, but otherwise, I seem to have survived the collision without any injuries.
At the rink, I’m forced to retell the story again while we warm up in the hallway waiting for Coach. She arrives, coffee in hand and a clipboard in the other. “Before we get on the ice, take a look at the updated schedule.” She holds up the clipboard. “I printed it out, but you’ll find it in our shared calendar too.”
I can tell by the grumbling of the girls closest to her that the changes aren’t good.
“We’re sharing the ice with the hockey team?” Josie finally squeaks when we make our way to the front. Her tone is skeptical and not altogether thrilled. Same, girl, same.
There’s complaining all around. My teammates shout out questions to Coach, wondering how this will possibly work. Others are pouting that it isn’t fair.
“We sti
ll get the same amount of ice time, but we’ll need to share for our morning practice. And I’ve negotiated for an additional hour in the afternoons for those of you who want it. It’s the first time in the school’s history that the hockey team has gotten this far. We are going to support them the same way we want them to support us.”
“Yeah, right,” someone mumbles. None of us qualified for nationals this year which might make us a touch more bitter than we’d otherwise be.
Coach gives us a look that says, it is what it is, and we take the ice. “We’ll make the best of it.” She smiles. “And they’re here, so let’s get to work.”
We turn and watch as the hockey team files out next to us. When Rhett spots me, his eyes widen, and a gloved hand goes to his eye. His black eye. He pulls on his helmet with a broody look, and I can’t help but smile. I had no idea he got hurt in the fall too. I feel a tiny bit bad even though he was the one that ran me over.
“Sienna, a minute,” Coach calls.
I skate over to the bench where she waits for me. “I heard you took a tumble on the ice last night. How are you feeling?”
“Fine. I’m bruised but no injuries.”
“You really shouldn’t be on the ice by yourself.”
“Technically, I wasn’t by myself,” I mutter to myself.
“I don’t want to put restrictions on you that I don’t require of the other girls, but with your heart condition, I need you to make sure there is someone in the building that knows what to do any time you step on the ice. Okay?”
I nod, feeling guilty and resenting it. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Now, let’s get you ready for the Desert Cup.”
It’s hard to concentrate with the hockey guys on the ice. And not just for me. Coach gives up on continually yelling “Focus” halfway through practice and divides us up into groups to work on skills. Coach Meyers is having the same issue. Jordan and another guy trip over each other while staring at Josie doing a flying camel spin.
“Well, this was a great idea,” I say to Olivia.
"I am loving this. Really peps up my morning. Although, I wish I'd worn something less wrinkled." She holds the fabric up to her nose. "And smelly."
I lean forward. “It's a little musty,” I admit. “But I guarantee you smell better than them.”
We glance back down at the guys. Sweat drips off them.
“He’s cute,” she says.
“Who?” I play dumb, but I know exactly who she’s talking about. Rhett skates toward the center of the ice and gets back into line, staring at me the entire time.
“Your twin, Rhett.”
Sure, he’s cute. And he knows it.
We work through skills, making the best of our time on the ice, even if it’s only half of our usual space. After I complete my turn, I skate to the back of the line. Rhett’s standing nearby, also at the back of his respective line.
“Hey," he says. “How’s the eye? Does it hurt?” He winces.
“I’m guessing about as bad as yours does.”
“I’m so sorry.” The sincerity in his tone catches me off guard. I mean, he sounded sincere last night, but now there’s something else behind his voice. Guilt?
I’m quiet as I study his face, trying to get a read on him. He’s a tall guy, broad. Not too bulky, but solid. Makes sense considering it felt like I ran into a brick wall yesterday.
“I didn’t know about your heart condition. If I had...” He trails off.
Well, now that makes sense. I don’t hide my heart condition, but man, could I make a good case for it because this is just the type of reaction that frustrates me. Suddenly, he feels this greater sense of empathy like I’m some fragile damsel in distress.
“Don’t worry about it,” I clip and turn from him.
He skates beside me, moving up with my line. “You’re okay, though, right?”
“Rauthruss!” Coach Meyers, the hockey team’s head coach, voice booms over all the other noise in the rink. “Maybe you and your friend want to share what’s so important that you’re holding up two practices?”
“Sorry, Coach,” Rhett responds.
Coach Meyers skates toward us. He looks from Rhett to me, and I see the second he puts it together.
He leans on the hockey stick in his hands. “You must be the unfortunate victim of Rauthruss’ clumsiness.”
I don’t know how to answer that, so I just nod.
“Coach Brekke,” he calls over us. “Mind if I borrow...” He looks to me for my name.
“Sienna.”
“Mind if I borrow Sienna for a few minutes?”
My coach gives him a thumbs up.
Coach Meyers is probably my dad’s age. He has dark hair that’s graying at the temples and a few wrinkles around his eyes. It’s easy to see that he has his team’s total respect and attention as he blows the whistle and the action immediately stops.
“We’re going to run an agility drill,” he informs them.
The guys groan.
Coach skates, picking up cones as he goes, then placing four in a square. “Sienna, if you’ll stand in the middle there.”
I do as instructed.
Coach Meyers proceeds showing them what to do, moving and talking at the same time. “Skate around the first two cones with the puck, tight transitions, pivot, quick feet, pass, and then continue around. We’ll do it for time. Anyone over six seconds owes me a suicide before they get back in line.”
“What about her?” one of the guys asks.
“Glad you asked.” Coach smiles.
“Automatic disqualification for touching her. Not even a hair on her head. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” they mumble.
Coach smiles at me. “Feel free to lean in.”
They guys line up. Rhett’s in the back.
“Rauthruss, why don’t you show us how it’s done.”
The nervous expression on his face makes me giggle.
Coach passes him the puck when he’s in position. “Go.”
At his command, Rhett starts around the first cone. He’s a good skater, smooth, and surprisingly light on his feet. I say surprisingly because he sure didn’t feel light when he ran me over yesterday. I hold my breath as he moves around me the first time. It’s sort of a weaving motion—around a corner cone, around me, another cone, and so on.
Rhett gives me a wide berth, not cutting as close to me as he is the cones. And I’m not the only one that notices.
“Tighter transitions in the center,” Coach barks, sending a pass right at me. Rhett pivots and stops the puck before it hits me, then skates backward around me. He doesn’t touch me, but I feel him. So close I could move a fraction of an inch and brush against him.
He finishes and stops, looking to coach for his time.
“Five and a half seconds.”
Rhett’s face relaxes. That is until his coach looks to me.
“What do you say, Sienna? Any contact? I couldn’t see from this angle.” He fights a grin. I doubt there’s much Coach Meyers misses.
I consider lying. It would be amusing to watch Rhett’s reaction if I did. His expressions play out so well on his face. I like that about him, actually.
“No contact,” I confirm.
“You’re sure?”
The guys laugh. I do too.
“All right. Thank you, Sienna.”
“Rauthruss, give me a suicide anyway.”
“What?” His mouth falls open, and he looks between his coach and me.
“Consider it an apology. Should I make it two?” Coach asks me.
I pretend to think about it, bringing my hand to my chin and making him sweat it out for a few seconds. “Nah, I think one should suffice.”
“Fair enough.” He nods to me. “Thanks for your help, Sienna. I think we can manage on our own from here.”
I skate toward my team, sneaking a peek at Rhett skating along the wall. He really is a good skater, and something about seeing him in the full gear after knowing what he l
ooks like underneath really does it for me. Yeah, I’d say I like this apology a whole lot better than his others.
“All right, boys,” Coach Meyers calls. “Keep it moving.”
The rest of practice is far less eventful. Coach Meyers keeps the hockey guys on point, and we work on jumps in small groups. There is no time to look at Rhett. Okay, there’s very little time. And the opportunities I do get, he’s completely focused on hockey.
After morning practice, I have classes until lunchtime, and then I have to book it over to Ray Fieldhouse where I teach barre and then yoga.
My schedule is crazy busy, but I happen to like it that way. And the money I’m making teaching group fitness classes will help pay my rent for a while after graduation. I still don’t have a job lined up, and with only two months until I say goodbye to college, it’s starting to feel like I never will.
How do people choose a career? Trying to imagine myself working forty-plus hours sitting behind a desk, working my fingers to the bone doing anything is difficult. Or maybe I just haven’t found the right thing. My dad thinks it’s the first of those two. “You can't expect to love any job right away. Work hard and be loyal,” he says, every chance he gets.
That has worked well for him. He started as an assistant and worked his way up to an executive at a software company. I’m proud of him, and I think it’s amazing what he’s done, but I’m not necessarily sold on his story being the right plan for me.
I have another interview next week, and I’m hoping that this time when I sit down across from the interviewer, I’ll feel something akin to genuine excitement.
As people trickle into the classroom, I smile and start the music. Barre isn’t my favorite class to teach, but it’s popular and almost always filled to capacity. Today is no different.
For thirty minutes, I lead them through a brutal toning workout using my ballet training.
“Eight more,” I call.
A collective groan sounds under the music. I know I’m an awful person because I love that groan. It means I’ve done my job. I glance up at the clock to make sure we’re on track. A line has already formed for the yoga class that starts next. I love teaching yoga. It’s not quite as popular as barre, but most of the students who attend are pretty advanced, so I can push them harder than if it were a class full of beginners.
Broken Hearts Page 3
