Page 9 of Second Sin

A man who’s been carrying too much for too long, hiding the wreckage behind sharp edges and silence.

I turn toward the door, pulse still a little unsteady, but voice calm as I throw one last line over my shoulder.“I’ll see you at your next session, Wilde. Don’t make me come find you again.”

A grunt follows me out. Low. Dismissive. But not angry this time.

Almost...resigned.

I don’t look back.

But I feel him watching me go.

CHAPTER 4

SEBASTIAN

“Heard you skipped group yesterday. Again,” Kane says, not bothering to look up from where he’s icing his knee.

“Maybe I just don’t feel like group hugs and breathing exercises,” I mutter, shoving my water bottle in my locker.

Truth is, the idea of sitting in a circle and pretending I’ve got something to share makes my skin crawl. There’s a reason I keep to myself. A reason I keep my past where it belongs—locked down and out of reach.

Blake snorts, nodding at my swollen, bruised knuckles.“You’d rather drop gloves with the other team than deal with your own shit.”

I flex my hand, the ache flaring up my wrist, then glare at him. “Better than taking it out on someone in the locker room.”

Kane lifts a dark brow at me and shakes his head.“Coach isn’t gonna keep looking the other way if you keep skipping."

“I was doing something more useful with my time.”

Blake leans back against the bench, stretching out his legs as he tosses his tape in the bin.“Heard Olivia caught you hiding in the gym. Sounds like she wasn’t too impressed.”

My jaw clenches. “She say that?”

Blake shrugs as he tightens the strap on his gear bag.“If you actually attended any of your sessions, you’d realize she’s good at her job.”

I grab my bag and head for the door. “I don’t need fucking therapy.”

“Could’ve fooled us,” Kane mutters, loud enough to hear.

I don’t respond. Just tighten my grip on the bag and head out like I didn’t hear a damn thing.

They don’t get it.Can’t.

This isn’t about talking.

It’s about not unraveling.

But hell, if the woman isn't persistent.

I got her email last night, followed by a text, just in case I missed it.

Hey, rescheduling your missed session. Tomorrow, 2:30 PM. Don’t skip this one.

No lecture. No guilt trip. Just a quiet line in the sand.

Coach backed it up—pulled me aside before practice, told me if I blow this one off, I sit. Doesn’t matter how hard I train or how well I play.

So yeah—I’ll be there.

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