"And you’re done. Nice job today."
As my barre students leave and yoga students start to come in, I take a drink of water and switch the music.
I’m rolling my mat onto the floor when I notice Rhett standing outside of the door. A few girls from my last class are lingering, checking him out. I look around for Maverick. He’s usually here by now, and the fact I even have to look for him should tell me he isn’t here. Johnny Maverick doesn’t enter a room without you noticing.
I still remember the first time he came into one of my classes. It was last year, about a month into his freshmen year. He was reluctant—not that I realized it at the time. But now, after getting to know his personality, I realize that was a much tamer, reserved person that walked into the studio.
Even reserved, I was intimidated. He’s a tall guy, covered in tattoos, dark hair—your basic bad boy. That is until he opens his mouth. Once I got to know him, I realized how nice and funny he is. He’s part of the reason I enjoy teaching this class so much. No matter how hard I push him, he manages to make it look easy.
But he’s not here, and instead, it’s another hockey player walking into the room. He approaches me at the front while others are finding places around the room to unroll their mats.
Dressed in athletic pants and a Valley U hockey T-shirt, he looks too hot to be real. He doesn’t have the same bad-boy look like Maverick. He’s more broody jock. Still, he has this appeal about him that is more than just his pretty face or his amazing arms, which I’m definitely not staring at.
“What are you doing here?” I’m pretty sure the question comes out like an accusation. He puts up all my defense modes like my brain is aware that letting him in would be oh so very bad for my heart.
“I want to apologize.” He holds up a hand when I start to interrupt. “I know, I already have, but I keep getting it wrong. And I’m probably going to this time, too. You seem like a cool chick. Mav has nothing but good things to say, and I guess I just want to make sure we’re good.” He smiles and points to his eye. “I have a matching black eye, and I did a suicide apology this morning.”
“Neither of those was by choice, but the second was pretty amusing.”
“Being here was all me though.” He grins, a boyish charm that I’m sure gets him whatever he wants.
“How’d you find me, anyway?”
“Maverick. Oh, and he wanted me to pass along a message that he has to miss yoga today because he’s meeting with Coach, but he’ll see you on Wednesday.” He nudges me playfully with an elbow. Even that small touch makes my heart rate accelerate. “We good?”
“Grab a mat.”
When my intentions are clear, his deep laughter spills out. The sound makes my stomach flip. “If I stay for class and do some downward dog and stretching shit, then we’re good?”
I smirk. Stretching shit? Oh, this is going to be fun.
5
Rhett
Lying flat on my back, I stare at the white ceiling and moan. She broke me.
The she in question peers down at me with a pleased smile. “Class is over. You can go now.”
“If only my legs worked.” I roll over onto one side and then push myself into a sitting position. I’m soaked in sweat—something I didn’t realize was possible from yoga.
“Tell the truth,” I start once I manage to get to my feet. “You made those poses up, right? There’s no humble flamingo, half lotus, or full monkey. You were fucking with me.”
“Half monkey.” She smiles. “No, those are real poses. Well, not exactly the way you were doing them.”
I hang my head. My hair falls into my face, sticking to my forehead. I need a shower. Maybe two. And a soak in the ice bath.
“Are we even now?” I hold my hands out to my sides, letting her revel in my embarrassment. I’m sweaty and gross, and I just made a complete ass out of myself for the better part of my lunch hour. My stomach growls. And I missed lunch.
“Yeah, we’re even.” She moves to the front of the class, turns off the music, and gathers her things while I mop up my sweat and wipe down the mat.
She glances down at her watch and presses two fingers to the pulse point on her neck, which reminds me what Maverick said about her heart and having to monitor it.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just like to keep an eye on my heart rate throughout the day. Habit, more than anything.” She drops her arm to her side. “See you tomorrow, Rauthruss.” She backs out of the studio. “I don’t think yoga is your calling.” She brings her hands together in front of her, a huge smile on her face. “Namaste.”
* * *
Over the next few days, I don’t have any more run-ins with my new favorite skater. I see her at practice, but Coach keeps us focused on hockey with the threat of running us until we puke.
Thursday late afternoon, I’m in my room finishing econ homework when my phone rings on my desk. I don’t have to look to know who it is, but I glance down anyway. My ex has been calling at least three times a day since last weekend. Yesterday and today, that number has increased dramatically. I feel like an ass for not answering, but we can’t keep doing this.
The first week we were broken up (for the second time in a month), I answered every single time. She cried, begged me to take her back, and I sat on the other line feeling like an ass. I almost caved too. I don’t like that she’s hurting. We were together for nearly six years—that’s a damn long time, and it isn’t like I just stopped caring about her completely. She’s a great girl. She’s just not the right girl for me.
I thought I was doing the right thing by continuing to talk to her and being a shoulder she could cry on, but instead, I think I just gave her false hope. After a three-hour call last week where I heard her out, listening to all the really great reasons she thought we could make it work, I finally told her there was no way I was going to change my mind and asked her to stop calling so much.
She gave me the space I asked for, for a few days, but then the calls started up again after we won the quarterfinals. It sucks. I press silent as Adam fills my doorway.
“Hey.” He leans against the doorjamb, taking up most of it. “You want to go to The Hideout and grab an early dinner?”
“I was just gonna eat a sandwich or something. I’ve gotta finish this and then study for a quiz.”
My phone pings with a new voice message. Fuck, that’s new. She doesn’t usually leave messages.
“You know what, fuck it, I’m starving.” I stand, abandoning my phone on my desk. I hope I’m doing the right thing by holding firm on my decision not to answer. I’ve never disliked having a cell phone more in my life.
It’s just the two of us when we get to The Hideout. We put in our order, and the server brings us our beers while we wait.
“No Reagan?” I ask. It’s a rare evening that Adam isn’t with his new girlfriend, so I fully expected her to show up.
“She and Dakota are running together at the track.”
“Things are good then?” I know they are. I can see it all over my buddy’s face. He’s totally gone for her. They recently had a falling out, and he walked around sulking like I’ve never seen from him. Adam was the king of breakups, moving on within the week or even sometimes the same day.
“They’re great, yeah.” He leans forward, both hands around the glass. His smile goes serious. “What about you? Talked to Carrie?” He tries to come off relaxed, but I know him well. We’ve been roommates and teammates for too long. I see right past his calm demeanor. The team is playing well—even better than people expected from us this season, and he’s worried about me and how my breakup with Carrie will impact my time on the ice. He’s captain, so I guess it’s his job to worry.
It isn’t completely unwarranted. There were a few games after we broke up the first time where I was a wreck. I might have been the one to end it, but it isn’t like I stopped caring for her. We were together for so long and I really loved her. But when I made the
decision to end things it wasn’t without a lot of thought and soul searching. I know it’s right and as the time has passed, I still feel solid in my decision. I’ve moved on even if she hasn’t.
But, I get where Adam is coming from. We’ve got the record to beat and everyone is gunning for us. It’s going to be a long grind over the next month to get to the Frozen Four.
“Things are good. I promise. Carrie is still calling, but I haven’t spoken to her in a week.”
“That’s gotta take a toll. Why don’t you block her number?”
“Nah,” I say automatically. “You think?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Sucky situation all around.”
“Definitely. I think she’ll stop on her own. It’s probably just routine. We spent most of our relationship on the damn phone.” It took me almost two weeks to stop reaching for it the second I woke up every morning.
Our food comes, and we fall quiet as we devour greasy burgers and fries.
“Had any other catastrophic run-ins with the opposite sex I should know about?” Adam tries and fails to keep a straight face.
“No,” I grumble around a mouthful of food.
He leans back in his chair, smiling at my expense. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you have plenty more opportunities in front of you.”
“Not if word gets around that I fall asleep on chicks or give them black eyes.”
Adam chuckles. “You just need a good wingman.” He points at himself.
“What about Reagan?”
“The best wingmen are in relationships. It’s what keeps them from swooping in and stealing the chicks for ourselves. Especially with your weak game.”
“That and knowing Dakota would cut you if you hurt Reagan.”
He nods. “That too. Come on. It’ll be fun. Finish your food, and let’s go to the bar. I recognize a friend of Ginny’s I can introduce you to.”
I’m not really interested in putting on a smile and making small talk, but ten minutes later, I’m following him to the half-circle bar along the back wall of The Hideout.
Adam never looks out of place or uncomfortable. I admire that about him. I don’t know what to say or how to act with girls after being in a relationship for so long. No one expected much from me when I was with Carrie. I was off-limits. That made me more intriguing for some girls, but I just faded into the background for most. I’m good with fading into the background.
“Ava?” Adam approaches a girl with short, black hair at the bar.
She turns in her seat. “Adam, hey!”
She tucks her hair behind her ear and sits a little straighter. She’s clearly surprised we’ve approached her, but Adam being Adam quickly puts her at ease.
“Good to see you. Have you met my buddy, Rhett?”
Her dark gaze slides to me. She smiles politely and raises a hand in a cute, shy wave. “I don’t think so.”
“Nice to meet you, Ava.” I wave back.
“You too.”
Adam shifts closer to me and mutters under his breath, “Ask to buy her a drink.”
I’m pretty sure Ava heard him, but I ask her anyway. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Umm…” she starts.
“Excuse me,” a deep voice says behind me, and I sidestep to let the guy pass. He goes straight for the empty chair next to Ava and takes a seat. He swivels around so that his knees rest against Ava’s.
Ava looks at her lap. “This is my boyfriend, Trent. He’s visiting for the week.”
Awesome. I’m hitting on girls while their boyfriend is in the shitter now. It’s a new low.
Adam clears his throat, hiding a laugh. “That’s great. Where are you from?”
“I go to school upstate.” He’s eyeing us up, trying to decide if we’re a threat.
“Adam is Ginny’s brother,” Ava tells him, and immediately his expression shifts into something much friendlier.
“Oh, cool. You play hockey, right?” he asks Adam.
“That’s right. We both do.” Adam looks to me, and I nod.
“Really cool.” Trent places a hand on Ava’s thigh.
I get it, buddy. She’s yours. No need to pee on her.
“Well, we were just heading out, but it was good to finally put a face with the name.” He’s super handsy while leading his girl away from us.
Adam slumps into Ava’s empty chair after they exit and hangs his head, laughter spilling from his lips.
“Some wingman you are.” I take the other chair.
“I forgot she had a boyfriend.”
“Convenient.” I lift my near-empty beer bottle when the bartender looks my way, and she grabs me another.
“We’ll find you someone else. It’s early yet.”
The TV grabs my attention again. It’s figure skating, and I think of Sienna. A new skater is taking the ice. She poses, waiting for the music to begin.
“I think I’m good. And besides, I’ve been thinking about asking out Sienna.” Again. Maybe this time without stumbling all over myself.
“The chick you gave a black eye?”
I scratch my nose with my middle finger. “Drink your beer so we can get the hell out of here. I need to study.”
“Whatever you say, lady-killer.”
6
Sienna
I leave my dorm early Friday morning to get on the ice before anyone else.
“Didn’t your coach tell you not to be on the ice by yourself? Also, you really shouldn’t be walking in the dark across campus.” Elias’s brows pinch together on the screen of my phone.
“I cleared it with Coach, and that’s why I’m talking to you.”
“What exactly do you think I’m going to do if someone attacks you? Yell at them to please stop?”
“No, dummy. Hang up and call the police.”
He chuckles. It’s three hours later in Toronto, and Elias is already at the rink where he skates with his pairs partner Taylor.
“So, any plans tonight or are you spending another Friday night watching documentaries on serial killers.” He shivers.
“If you don’t like them, don’t watch them.”
“You misled me. You were all ‘This one isn’t that bad. You’ll be fine. It’s a great date night film’.” He shoots me a glare. “That chick ghosted me after I woke up in the middle of the night screaming bloody murder.”
Laughing, I swipe my card against the door reader and let myself in the arena. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you later.”
“No. Don’t call me later. Go out and have fun. One of us has to.”
“Bye, E. Don’t die on me today.”
He makes a cross over his heart before he ends the call.
I stop in Coach’s office to let her know I’m here and then head out to the ice.
“You,” I say when I spot Rhett at one end stretching out.
“Hey,” he says tentatively.
I shake my head. “Seriously? Every time I think I have this place to myself.”
He stands tall and skates toward me. “I could say the same thing about you. Plus, I was here first this time.”
“Can’t a girl get a little peace and quiet?”
He smiles but doesn’t answer.
“I guess you can stay,” I say like I’m the boss of this place. He smirks. “Just… promise not to run me over.”
He grimaces. “You’d think that’d be an easy thing to promise, but I’ll just say I’ll do my best.”
“I forgot my headphones, so I’m going to play music over the speakers,” I say as I skate to the opposite side.
“Sure, yeah, whatever. Pretend I’m not here.”
Which is exactly what he does to me. He doesn’t spare another glance in my direction as he starts skating around his half. I put the music on and fall into my routine. I go through it twice—once without jumps and the second all out. When I finish, I grab a drink and check my heart rate before I forget about my routine and just skate for myself. The cool air hits my face as I move, whichever way the
music takes me. Everything feels lighter here. My legs, my arms. It’s like flying as I move across the ice. Freedom.
My gaze falls to Rhett. He skates around the net, and our eyes meet for just a moment. He gives me his back again and continues shooting pucks into the net, and I do another half circle before I skate toward him.
“Can I try?” I motion toward his stick.
He straightens and pulls his bottom lip behind his teeth, watching me. “This feels like a trap. You’re not going to hit me with it again, are you?”
Rolling my eyes, I say, “No. It just looks sort of therapeutic the way you’re firing shots at the net.”
“I thought you wanted peace and quiet.”
“So did I.”
He hands over the stick. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
I line up with the stick behind the puck. “How hard could it be?”
I eat my words as I hit the puck, and it glides slowly along the ice stopping less than three feet in front of us.
“Harder than it looks, eh?” He grins. “Try again. Put your ass into it.” He squints, looks up. “I’m just realizing how that sounds when it’s not Coach saying it to a bunch of guys.”
“It sounds weird either way. I thought it was all in the wrist and shoulders.”
His brows raise and he cocks his head to the side.
“My little sister plays hockey,” I explain.
Nodding, he steps closer. His scent—a mixture of sweat and some masculine smelling soap wraps around me.
“Move your right hand down a little lower.”
My fingers inch down the stick. I look to him for approval.
“That’s it. Now turn your body at more of an angle.”
This is one of those moments where he could totally put his hands on my hips and show me. He doesn’t, sadly. I shoot again, and this time the puck makes it all the way. It doesn’t go in, my aim is crap, but it slides past the goal line, so that’s something.
Broken Hearts Page 4
