Page 115 of Mine to Take

I slam into the locker room and throw my stick into the holder before stalking to the bench and chucking my gloves. Only then am I able to unsnap the chin strap and rip the helmet off my head.

Sweat drips from my hair as I draw a lungful of fresh air into my body and bury my head in my hands.

It was a shitty practice.

The worst I’ve had since starting at Western.

I was off the entire time, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t get back into the flow. I wasn’t focused on the scrimmage. When I should have capitalized on scoring opportunities, I missed a handful of easy shots. Then there were the defensive lapses and turnovers. Instead of battling Hayes against the boards when he was driving the puck toward the net, I hesitated and backed off.

Thoughts of Willow have been fucking with my head ever since Saturday night at Slap Shotz.

Before I can calm the chaotic whirl of my thoughts, Coach bellows, “McKinnon, in my office after your shower!”

“Looks like you screwed the pooch this time,” Colby says after the frosted glass door stops vibrating on its hinges.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I mutter as other players stop and stare at the now closed office door and then at me.

Looks of pity fill their expressions as they return to their convos.

I’m sure they’re just glad it isn’t their asses he’ll be crawling up.

Ryder strips off his pads.

A couple months ago, he would have given me shit like Colby and rubbed the predicament in my face. Instead, he remains quiet, his thoughts hidden behind a mask. There’s an unease between us that wasn’t there before.

Not only do I fucking hate it, I have no idea how to move past it.

Especially when the silence that stretches between us turns unbearable.

For a few seconds, I consider heading to Coach’s office now and getting this convo—or, more than likely, ass chewing—over with. It’s better than sitting here and drowning in this awkwardness.

“I didn’t even know you were seeing that chick,” he mutters, staring straight ahead at his locker.

“Willow,” I grumble, irritated that he’d refer to her as “just some chick.”

No matter what happened the other night, that’s the last thing she is.

His gaze flickers in my direction as he shifts. “Sorry. Willow.” After removing his chest and elbow pads, he bends down to unlace his skates. “Why didn’t you mention it? I had to hear about it from Juliette.”

I shrug as anger bubbles up inside me. It takes effort to keep it under wraps. “What else do you expect when you spend all of your time with her?”

I wince, hating how butthurt that came out sounding.

If I could snatch the words from the air, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

But that’s not possible.

They’re out there, demanding acknowledgment.

His brows knit as he frowns before glancing up to meet my gaze. “I didn’t think you had a problem with us being together.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Why does everything need to be spelled out?

I huff out an irritated breath and try to wrap my brain around my thoughts in order to express them. “I don’t.”

Well, not really.

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