Page 16 of Dear Owen

But I pressed play anyway.

The earbuds slid into my ears, and for a second, there was nothing but silence. And then Hozier’s voice filled the emptiness—low and haunting, like a prayer I didn’t deserve.

Take me to church, I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies…

The sob that tore out of me was so sudden it hurt. My chest heaved, the tears coming fast and hot as the lyrics wrapped around me, squeezing tighter and tighter until I couldn’t breathe.

I ripped the earbuds out, the iPod clattering to the floor as I curled in on myself, clutching the blanket like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.

“Stop,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “Stop, stop, stop…”

But it wasn’t the music I was begging to stop. It was the war inside my head—the part of me that still wanted to believe Owen cared. That he wasn’t a monster. That all of this… all of this was his way of saving me.

He’d found me when I was lost. He’d pulled me back from the edge, hadn’t he? He’d taken me when no one else noticed how close I was to breaking.

And what did that say about me?

You’re pathetic.

The words echoed in my head, sharp and familiar. I pressed my palms against my ears, squeezing my eyes shut as if that could block them out. I didn’t want to think about it anymore. I didn’t want to think abouthim.

Fifteen

The rink was colderthan usual. Or maybe it was just me.

I crouched low at the face-off circle, the echo of the arena pulsing in my ears. The noise—the crowd, the skates scraping across ice, the low thuds of bodies hitting boards—it all blurred together like white noise. My stick trembled in my hands, a phantom buzz crawling up my arms. Focus.Focus, dammit.

The ref dropped the puck. I reacted half a second too late.

Thompson swept in clean and easy, snapping it away before I could so much as blink.

“What the hell, Sinclair!” Coach’s yell pierced through the haze, sharp as a blade. I grit my teeth, chasing after the play, but my legs felt sluggish. My head wasn’t here. Every step, every glide, was heavy. I was playing like a fucking rookie, and everyone could see it.

What is wrong with you?

The answer simmered low and hot in the back of my mind. Kira.

I’d left her alone. I hadn’t wanted to, hadn’t planned for this to stretch out so long. The thought of her down there, in the dark, on that damn mattress, alone and waiting—it gnawed at me. I couldn’t stop picturing her face, those dark eyes of hers, empty and vacant like they had been that first night. I thought I could handle being gone for the weekend, but the distance was ripping me apart.

Thompson crashed into me, knocking me hard against the boards. Pain shot through my shoulder, jolting me back to reality as I stumbled.

“Where the fuck are you today, Sinclair?” Liam skated up next to me, his voice low enough that no one else could hear. I glared at him, chest heaving.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? Then start playing like it.”

He skated off before I could snap back at him. I wanted to care, to feel something other than this strange, gnawing hollowness, but my focus was shot. Every time I tried to play, my mind betrayed me—slipping back to Kira. I couldn’t shake her voice, her small, broken whispers from last night when she’d begged me to stop. I couldn’t forget the way she looked when she fell apart under me, the way she…

No.I squeezed my eyes shut for half a second.Not here.

I forced myself to move, but it didn’t matter. The game dragged on, a disaster in slow motion. I missed passes I should’ve seen, lost face-offs I usually dominated, and every time I tried to make something happen, it fell apart. By the time the buzzer sounded, we’d lost by two goals, and I knew exactly whose fault it was.

Mine.

The locker room was tense, the air thick with frustration.

The guys were pissed, slamming lockers and muttering under their breath. I sat on the bench, staring at my skates, ignoring the looks being thrown my way. I didn’t need to hear their whispers to know what they were saying.

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