Page 51 of Bitter Sweet Heart

Maverick

Ispend the rest of the day mulling. I mull over what BJ said, especially the offhand comment about me dating girls I’m not interested in. And the fact that Clover is married to a guy who’s probably fifteen years older than me.

I don’t like the gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach, or the tightness in my shoulders that I can’t shake, or the way I’m grinding my teeth every time I think about the way her not-quite-ex dismissed me.

I also don’t like that I’m over here telling her my fucking secrets, and Clover didn’t even tell me she’s still married. I feel like I’m being strung along, and I don’t like it. I thought we were on the same page, that we were waiting out the semester until I’m not her student anymore. She said she’s having trouble maintaining boundaries, but maybe I’m making this into something it isn’t.

That thought reinforces all my insecurities, and I’m starting to realize I have a lot of those. Most of which I try to keep buried under smiles and jokes.

So when I hit the ice later that evening for our game, I’m in a sour mood that only gets worse when I miss a tap in during the first period. Luckily, Kody recovers the puck, scoring the goal I missed.

He takes his seat next to me on the bench and Quinn Romero, his roommate and our teammate takes the ice. He’s working on his master’s thesis and while he came here on a hockey scholarship, he wasn’t ever drafted. It doesn’t seem to bother him, though. He plays because he loves the game, not because he feels like he has to.

“You all right, man? You seem . . . tense tonight.”

“Just having an off game.” I can feel him looking at me, but I keep my eyes on the ice.

“You wanna run some drills tomorrow afternoon? Just you and me? Maybe we can grab a bite or something?”

“Why? My sister busy or something?”Fuck. I’m being a dick.

That conversation with BJ comes back to me. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m the one making this harder on both of us. I turn to Kody before he has a chance to call me out. “Sorry. I’m in a mood. Yeah, sure, we can run some drills tomorrow afternoon.”

“We could also grab something to eat after the game, if you want? I haven’t seen much of you outside of practice and games. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. Just trying not to fail my classes and get through exams, you know? And yeah, a bite to eat after the game would be good.”

“Just keep it low-key? You and me?” He motions between us.

“Like a date?” I arch an eyebrow.

He grins, and then his expression sobers. “I kinda thought you were pissed at me.”

I clap him on the shoulder, not wanting to put my shit on him. “I’m not pissed at you, just trying to figure this whole dynamic out, you know? It was you and me and the guys for three years. It sort of feels like shared custody now that you and Lavender are a thing.”

“It’s good the holidays are coming up. We’ll have a break from all this.” He motions to the ice. “And we’ll have more time to hang out.”

The refs blow the whistle, and Kody and I rush back out onto the ice for the faceoff. He’s center, and I’m left wing.

Russo, the player across from me, taps the end of my stick with his. He gives me one of those chin tips. “First time on the new skates, Waters?”

“Fuck off,” I snap.

“Must suck when even the rookie players are better than you,” he goads.

The puck drops, and because I’m distracted, I miss the pass, and he steals the puck, shouldering me out of the way and racing down the ice.

I’m a second behind him, but the mistake has already been made, and I need to get the puck back into our team’s hands. I panic and make a bad play, my stick sliding between his legs. He goes down, and they blow the whistle, giving me a two-minute penalty for tripping.

The next time we’re on the ice together, he makes another comment about my shitty playing and shoulder-checks me. I shove him back, and he spins around, getting in my face, calling on the refs to give me another two minutes. And like an idiot, I give them a reason because I haul off and punch him.

It isn’t until I’m sitting in the box again that I notice my dad four rows up at center ice. “Fuck,” I mutter, and he cocks a brow at me.

He does this sometimes, showing up at a game without telling me. And of course there’s a scout from Nashville here, too. As if I need the added pressure.

We end up winning by one goal, thanks to Kody.

“You still want me to hang around since your dad is here?” he asks when we’re back in the locker room.

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