Page 5 of All Your Pucking Secrets

“Watch it,” he snaps.

I ignore him, and shove the key into the lock, twisting furiously. My hand is shaking, and if I don’t get to privacy soon, I’m going to hyperventilate.

Finally, the door opens. I step inside, slam it behind myself, and immediately lock it again. The room is empty, and I thank my lucky stars that my roommate, Martina, isn’t around. Unfortunately, she set up a diffuser before she left, so the room smells overpoweringly of vanilla. I don’t mind a little scent, but this is too much.

My throat constricts and tears well in my eyes as I stride to my bed and collapse onto it. I curl into the fetal position and let the tears fall. A sob racks my body.

I grab my phone and mess around until it’s connected to the wireless speakers. I select my bad mood playlist and turn the volume up loud enough that nobody will be able to hear me crying. Then I shut my eyes and relive the horror of seeing Tyler Kinsey again.

My stomach clenches with remembered fear, and my heart throbs from how much he hurt me. Even though it’s been more than three years, the pain lingers on.

I trusted him. I thought he was a good person, but he proved me wrong.

God, did he ever.

I gasp for air, my shoulders shuddering violently. Why is it that he can affect me so strongly after so much time?

Outside, someone hammers on the door.

“Turn down the music!” they shout.

I don’t. It’s either the music or the soundtrack of my misery. I can guess which they’d prefer. They bash once more, then try the handle and leave. No doubt a passive-aggressive note will be shoved beneath my door soon.

I lie there until I’m exhausted, both mentally and physically. I don’t know what it is about crying, but it wears a person out.

I wipe my puffy eyes on my sleeve and check the time. It won’t be dinner for a while yet. I grab my phone, drawn to social media in a way I know isn’t healthy. Still, I can’t seem to help myself. I open the app and search for Tyler’s name.

He appears immediately. Another tear leaks out the corner of my eye and I wipe it, the surrounding skin stinging. Tyler’s profile photo is a shot of him on the ice, clad in full hockey gear except for the helmet. The number 7 is plastered on his chest.

I sniff and click into his profile. Honestly, I’m surprised he’s not one of the many college athletes whose profiles feature photos of their naked chests and abs. As I scroll through his content, I quickly realize that none of the pictures are of him with women, except for a younger blonde I’m pretty sure is his sister.

Strange. I was sure he’d be enjoying all the puck bunnies he could get his hands on.

I roll into an upright position and rest my chin on my knees, still flicking through his feed. None of his photos are all that recent, except for a few featuring what I assume is the hockey team at his former university. From the “C” embroidered on his shirt, I can tell that he was the team captain.

God, he’d screwed them over by leaving in his final year. And he claims to have done it for me.

I snort. Yeah, right. Why would the king of the campus change schools in his senior year because of a girl he used to date in high school?

In secret.

At least, until he humiliated me.

I don’t know what Tyler is planning, but he’s full of shit, and I’m not stupid enough to fall for it. Not again.

Nothing good comes from Tyler Kinsey.

I need to stay away from him, and for the sake of my mental health, I should talk it over with a professional.

I call my therapist Dr. Rodriguez’s office and make an appointment for next week.

Thank God for my scholarship. The benefactor behind it arranged for the scholarship to come with a package of counseling sessions. There’s no way I’d be able to afford to see a therapist otherwise, and after high school, I’ve needed all the therapy I can get.

TYLER

After the security guard stares me down, I return to Full of Beans, the campus coffee shop. Echo’s two female friends have left, but the guy, Ryan, is still at the bar.

Just as we arranged.

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