Page 6 of Breakaway

I take a deep breath.

I can go around and around in circles forever, or I can try to break the pattern. I can keep letting Preston into my life, or I can bury his memory with new experiences. I glance back down at The List. The first item, Oral Sex (Receiving), stands out in my neat handwriting.

I started it to give myself some sense of control. But what’s the use of control if I never do anything with it? What’s the use of desire if I don’t honor my own?

One item at a time. One experience at a time. I can do this.

I nod, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes to stop the tears that are threatening to fall. “Okay.”

She lurches forward and hugs me. “Okay?”

“Okay.” I take in a big, gulping breath. My heart is racing, and my body feels all tingly, but I feel good. Steadier already. I never want to be that girl again, splayed out on the ice, caught like a butterfly pinned underneath glass. Beautiful and broken. Scrutinized by everyone I knew. My entire school and half the town saw the birthmark I have next to my bellybutton, and whenever I think about that for more than half a second, I need to work hard at staying in the moment.

I’m sick of it being the end of the story. I’m not sixteen anymore. I’m an adult, and I deserve to be in control. The fantasies I have and the stories I write only go so far. Mia’s right. If I’m going to have the future I want, I need to take the risk.

I pull away from her embrace and sit up straighter. “I don’t want to be scared anymore.”

Mia gives me her biggest, rarest smile as she tucks her hair behind her ear. “You’re so badass. Think of it as research for your book.”

When she goes, shutting the door behind her, I dart off the bed and scoop Igor up. I don’t feel badass, but I definitely feel better, and that’s going to have to do for the moment. I need to clean him, and it’s not like I’m going to get off now, so I just shimmy into clothes and run a comb through my hair, then shove my laptop and chemistry notebook into my bag.

I check my phone for the time. I’d planned to go to the Purple Kettle early to write for a few minutes before Dad meets me for our weekly coffee date; since the semester kicked into gear, my half-written novel has been languishing on my laptop like a forgotten houseplant. Now, though, I’ll be lucky if I make it on time. Listening to him grouse about his hockey team will be a distraction, at least. I’m the reason he works here instead of Arizona State, and since going to the games gives me hives, this is the best I can do.

Chapter 4

Penny

I pick up my drinks from the counter and thank the barista, Will, who nods at me before moving on to the next patron. I don’t know all of Mia’s coworkers, but he’s one of the few she talks about without distaste. Usually, the boyish vibe bothers her—she prefers a partner whose hand won’t shake when it goes up her shirt—but I think he reminds her of her many siblings and cousins.

I take a fortifying sip of my drink, a pumpkin chai, as I walk out of the student center and into the chilly air. I might’ve grown up on the ice, being a former figure skater with a hockey coach for a father, but I still prefer the warmth to the cold. When I’m skating, at least my blood is pumping. Standing at the edge of the quad, looking at the maples with leaves just beginning to turn, means that the cold is running straight through my jacket.

“Penelope.”

I turn with a smile as my dad approaches. He pulls me into a hug, careful not to spill the drinks, then takes his black coffee. “Thanks, bug.”

His nickname for me, which hasn’t changed since I was four, makes my smile widen. Maybe some people wouldn’t want to go to college at the same place their dad works, but I’m grateful to be able to see him like this whenever I want. It’s been the two of us ever since Mom passed, so I try not to take his presence for granted. The fact we even have a weekly coffee date is a miracle, considering the mess I made of things at sixteen and how distant we were before that. Our relationship isn’t the same as it was when I was younger, even years after Mom’s death and everything that happened with Preston, but he’s trying, so I’m trying.

I just wish this was happening at Arizona State instead of McKee.

“How are you?” he asks as we walk along the edge of the quad. The cold has never bothered him; he’s in a lightweight jacket with McKee’s logo over the chest, although his nose, broken when he played hockey and crooked as a result, is bright red. “Did you do well on that microbiology exam?”

“Um, okay?” I fiddle with the lid of my cup. What I’d like to say is that I don’t give a crap about becoming a physical therapist like he thinks I should, but I don’t, because that will just lead to a conversation that I’m not ready to have. You don’t come to my dad with wishes—just with plans, with concrete steps. Telling him I want to change my major, and oh, maybe write smutty romance novels for a living, would lead nowhere. “I mean, I thought I did well. Mia helped me study.”

“And how’s Mia?”

I think of the Igor situation and hold back a wince. I need to make it up to her. “She’s good.”

“Good.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Hey, bug. I’m sending one of the guys to help you out at the rink.”

A couple of afternoons a week, I work at the skating rink in town, helping with the lessons. Since I can’t skate competitively anymore, it’s a way to keep myself on the ice—and not McKee’s, because I’d rather give up my favorite pair of Riedells than run into Dad’s players. I make a face at him as I sip my chai. The guys stay away because they know I’m their coach’s daughter, but I’ve heard enough about them to be able to picture each one in my mind. Like most of the male athletes on campus, they think their athletic prowess means every girl should count herself lucky to have even half a second of their attention. Hopefully it’s not Callahan. I’m surprised the ice doesn’t crack from the weight of his ego every time he steps on it.

“Someone from the team? Who?”

He scratches at the back of his neck, shaking his head slightly. “Callahan.”

Crap.

“Cooper Callahan? Seriously?”

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