Page 66 of One More Time

“Ausssieeeeee! You celebrating tonight?”

This time, the guys were meeting at a local bar before the after party at the hockey house. I had to think about it, knowing I’d be leaving Jamie alone. “I don’t know, man. I don’t want James to be all by himself.”

“Bring him!” Mouse suggested like he’d just discovered gravity.

Thankfully, Jarman came to my rescue. “He’s not bringing his fourteen-year-old brother to a college party.”

I gave him what I hoped was a grateful gesture. I hadn’t really looked Jarman in the eyes since finding out he knew about me and Hunter. But looking at him now, I could tell that he was someone I could trust. I pulled my eyes away, not wanting to think too hard about the gold-eyed Boston boy standing next to me. Even though I knew that would be near impossible.

Jamie all but shoved me out of the dorm that night. “Dude, I can be alone. I am not five. I have my PlayStation and you meal prep enough to feed a shelter. Go have a night out.”

I pulled out my dark jeans, my black Henley, and a thin black jacket, throwing my parka over my shoulders. Cal waited by the door, his eyes scanning me up and down. “Dude, are you robbing a bank or something, or did you just listen to Paramore too much in 2009?” “Don’t diss Paramore,” I argued, nudging his shoulders. “They’re a vibe.”

“I am just saying: normally you’re a Folklore era kind of guy—Not Reputation. You’re even wearing combat boots, my man.”

I rolled my eyes. “Nothing wrong with Reputation either; it’s a vibe too.”

Cal just scoffed. “Boy, did Hunter do a number on you. If you get with another guy, I am totally getting the boombox out and blasting ‘Look What You Made Me Do.' outside your bedroom door”

We headed to his car, the whispers in my mind clinging onto that part about the other guy.

Maybe it was time to move on.

Chapter thirty-four

Hunter

Iwas sitting in my room when I heard the chorus of yells downstairs.

“Aussie!”

My body straightened at the sound of his name. I looked down, suddenly regretting the choice to be a couch potato—gray sweats. Because knowing he was downstairs only gave me enough time to grab a hoodie and rush out the door.

I watched him smile as the men from the team jostled him about in greeting. His auburn hair stood out against his all black clothes, his cheeks flushed from a combination of the cold and the attention from the team. I stood frozen on the stairs, silently begging him to look my way, just once.

Almost on cue, I watched his shoulders stiffen., I saw him blink a few times and knew that if I were standing closer I’d be able to see those dark lashes fan against the sun-kissed freckles scattered across his cheekbones. He was fighting it, telling himself not to look up, not letting himself get drawn in by my presence. But like me, this thing between us was too big to ignore. His head slowly rose, like a puppet on an invisible string and his eyes connected with mine. His Adam’s apple bobbed at the sight of me, and I knew he was taking in my disheveled state. He was seeing me for the first time—the real me. The one behind the cocky smile, behind the mask I put on for the rest of the world.

His eyes held mine for what felt like an eternity. I watched Jarman come beside him, his eyes flicking between the two of us. We were completely oblivious to the party going on around us. We were apart, yet he was my home base, his heartbeat with mine, his mind and mine connected. I was dying to cross the inevitable barrier that held us apart.

Jarman said something to Aussie, and I stood in anticipation because it looked like he was saying to give me a chance. If I was reading his lips right, that was—he was telling him to talk to me. Aussie gave me one final glance over and slowly shook his head. With every shake, I felt my heart cracking. I tapped my fingers on the railing, then retreated back to my room.

Chapter thirty-five

Tyler

Do not think about how broken he looks. Don’t you dare.

My head pounded, and I told myself it was the stress—the constant racing thoughts battling each other like prize-winning boxers. Their blows pounded against my temples, further intensifying my headache. It was all his fault—I’d had the headache since the game the day before. No matter how many shots of whiskey I downed, it didn’t drown out the voices and pictures in my mind.

How sexy he looked under me, how sexy he looked over me. “I’ll look after you, baby.,“

That vulnerable look as I took in the bruises on his body.

“Baby…” The rejected look just before I closed the door on him.

His tousled hair as he stood on the staircase meant he’d been pulling at it the way he does when he’s stressed. I could see the tracks from fingers sliding through the roots and where he attempted to flatten it, but there were always a few strands that protested.

Then a different face flashed to the forefront of my mind; Zane Matthews. My gut churned at the hate in his eyes, that fucking slur being sprayed across the ice.

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