Page 24 of Bound

And even as I try to convince myself of that fact, even as I know that I’m a fucking idiot playing with fire, it still takes everything in me to not stalk out of the room and back down the hall, to not rip her out of Smitty’s arms, to not demand she tell me what in the fuck all she’s in cahoots with my teammate about. As much as I try to tell myself it doesn’t matter, it’s not about me, that more distance is better, that it makes things less complicated, makes it easier for me to just do my fucking job…

I don’t fucking believe it.

I want her to obsession. I need?—

My watch buzzes on my wrist and I glance down.

My fucking pancreas to stop being an asshole.

But at least it pivots me from the hot mess in my mind.

I move to the bench, plunk down, and take care of the high notification—not a surprise since it’s not just food that affects my numbers. Emotions and hormones and exercise, lack of sleep and too much stress (like trying to ignore the draw I have toward Claire) can fuck with keeping my glucose in range. Hell, half thetime, I would swear that the lunar cycle affects how much insulin I need.

But that’s life with diabetes.

It’s rolling with the punches, adjusting to changes on the fly, and functioning on interrupted sleep.

It’s also easier to deal with than the bullshit swirling in my head about Claire, about my past, about why I have to stay the fuck away from her.

I inhale, shove those memories down.

And then I focus on my own shit.

Not Smitty walking into the locker room, smirk in place, knowing glint in his eyes.

Not Claire bringing snacks and leaving my sandwich on the table instead of handing it to me like she normally does.

Not the Sierra, now the second most annoying team in the league to play against.

Not even the crowd, which goes crazy when I score three fucking goals and then blow off some steam when the Sierra try to claw their way back by fighting Lake Jordan. The bastard is far too pretty and smug for his own good, and though I can’t call the on-ice fist exchange in my favor, I, at least, wiped the smirk off his face and got in a few good blows before I sat my ass in the box.

We win handily—which is a fucking feat against the Sierra on a normal night and something I would normally be celebrating.

But tonight, my gaze connects with Claire’s the moment I push into the locker room.

And I’m right back to that night years before.

Right back in that nightmare.

Right back where I was when I realized that Claire knew the secret that can end my career.

Right back to when…

I realized exactly what kind of monster I am.

CHAPTER NINE

Claire

Smitty is a giant bully who makes people do things they don’t want to.

Or I’m a pushover who’s doing something I don’t want to do.

Or…

Some combination of both those things is likely.

My cell dings and I straighten from the bar, pulse speeding through my veins, making me feel more than a little lightheaded.

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