Page 74 of My Best Bet

Because he was fucking living with her, she never had a minute to herself, and that meant figure skating was completely consuming her every waking moment– which wasn’t healthy.

Pretty sure Andy was even monitoring her fucking food intake. The two of them would drink these stupid shakes together instead of eating actual food. I tried some of hers one morning and it tasted like fucking saw dust.

I was only supposed to be here in Michigan for a week before I was set to train and work some hockey clinics up in Canada. But now that I’d been back a couple days, I was debating canceling so I could stay here and break her out of Andy’s clutches.

For one, whenever I was around, he’d start touching her more– especially at the rink where I couldn’t say anything. At first, I thought he was just touchy, but then I noticed he’d look at me with this taunting grin on his face while his hands wandered her body. He was goading me, waiting for me to snap.

I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I just had to constantly remind myself that this was a job for her. But that didn’t stop me from envisioning ripping his hands off her.

It didn’t help that they were playing it up for the press that they were dating. Their music and program were just so fucking romantic. She started by laying on the ice, then he leaned overher like he was about to fucking kiss her all over. When he pulled back, she lifted up. Then he basically lifted her and spun around.

It looked sexy as hell.

I hated it.

What’s worse is that right before we went to bed tonight, I caught her taking pills again.

Panic ripped through my chest. “What’s wrong? What hurts?”

“It’s nothing – just some painkillers. Just to get through the season. This is important to me,” she said, blowing out a breath. I watched her gingerly walk to the fridge for a water bottle, rubbing her lower back as she went.

“A doctor gave them to you?”

She didn’t answer.

“Meredith.” My body trembled with panic because this wasn’t okay. “Who gave you those pills?”

“Andy,” she admitted. My eyes closed. “But it’s fine,” she pushed.

“Oh my God, Mer, it’s not fine. Please go to a doctor,” I begged her.

She looked at me in disappointment. “You just don’t like him.”

I couldn’t argue against that because it was true. I hated the guy. “Why are you taking them? You’re in pain?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said stiffly. “C’mon, let’s go to bed, I just want to cuddle.”

But I wouldn't budge. “I have to know what’s wrong, Mer. I’m your boyfriend.”

She blew out a frustrated breath. “It’s just my knee. It just feels a little weak.”

I rubbed a hand over my face. “Your whole body is weak, babe.”

She sucked in a shocked breath. “Why would you say that?”

I shook my head, not knowing where to even start.

“If you don’t like how I train, then don’t watch. I don’t criticize you, Colt,” she said in a harsh voice, but then her face broke and she started crying.

Feeling like a dick, I immediately pulled her into a hug and rubbed her back, trying to put her at ease, but also trying to figure out a way to make her see what I was seeing: that she wasn’t healthy.

“I’m trying so hard,” she said.

“I know.”

“We’re s-so close,” she shuddered. “I just need to push a little more. Please don’t make this harder than it is.”

My head fell back. I couldn’t fucking wait until the Olympics were over. I was beginning to hate figure skating.

---