Page 75 of Twisted Collide

I’m certainly not giving it my all.

If anything, I’m barely functioning these days.

I need the little hellfire to leave. I just haven’t figured out a way to tell Coach she has to go without getting her in trouble.

I’m torn.

I need her gone, but I don’t want this to look bad for her.

She didn’t do anything wrong, but she’s too damn tempting, and the more time I spend with her, the harder it is to remember why I can’t just grab her in my arms and kiss the ever-living fuck out of her.

I head toward the edge of the rink. My teammates are long gone, leaving the showers open. I had been in my own little world, skating around and thinking about Josie, and I completely lost track of time.

I see movement to my left and skate around to see who’s here, and when they come into view, my jaw tightens.

Can’t this girl just stop with the bullshit? Is she trying to push me overboard?

Yes . . . yes, she is. She’s tempting me on purpose.

“What are you doing?”

The question comes out harsh, and I immediately regret it when I get close enough to see her face. There’s no mischief there. None of the typical bullshit she’s been pulling to seduce me.

No. She looks almost . . . sad.

“I’ve never been on the ice before. I was just waiting until everyone was gone to get closer.”

My mouth drops open. “What do you mean you’ve never been on a hockey rink?”

“I’ve never been on the ice.” She lifts her hands and gestures around. “Any ice.”

“How is that possible? Your father is one of the best NHL coaches in the world. Surely, you grew up on the ice.”

She stiffens, not answering me, but fuck is my mind going crazy.

“Didn’t your father—” I start, and she lets out a dry laugh.

“No.” She shakes her head. “That would imply I knew my father before I came to work here.”

I widen my eyes, and the ground beneath me feels like it’s quaking. Did she just say what I think she did? Little puzzle pieces start to fit together and make a pattern.

“You didn’t know your dad?”

“Nope.”

She tries to make it sound like that doesn’t bother her, but I know better. I can see the sadness in her eyes. I know that look all too well. I’ve seen it too many times on Molly not to recognize it for what it is.

“So, how did you end up here?”

“Isn’t that the question we all want to know?” Her voice sounds stranded, and I take her in. Really take her in.

Her hands are by her side, digging into her leggings, and her features seem strained and tight.

There’s no way she’s going to tell me anything right now, and the truth is, I’m not even sure she knows.

She looks heartbroken, and usually, from past experience, it means you have too many questions and not enough answers.

“Come on.” I extend my hand.

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