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In trying to protect myself and my identity, I hurt the one person I’ve come to care about. I’d do anything for the chance to rewind time and make different decisions.
Better ones.
“I love you,” I whisper, needing him to understand what’s in my heart.
Moisture gathers in his bright blue eyes as he jerks his head into a tight nod and swings away. Tears burn the backs of mine as the door to the apartment closes with a soft click.
As the silence settles around me, I realize that even after walking away from my life in LA and leaving behind everything familiar, I’ve never felt more alone than I do in this moment.
34
COLBY
The past twenty-four hours circle around inside my head, and there’s nothing that makes it stop.
After leaving Britt’s apartment Sunday morning, I headed back to my house. Somehow, I’d managed to convince myself that the spotlight would shine brightly on Britt—or Bebe—and I wouldn’t have to worry about any spillover.
Ha!
That just proves what an idiot I am.
News spread through campus like wildfire. By the time I pulled up in front of the house, my phone was blowing up with messages.
Are you really hitched to Bebe?
Did you know who she was before marrying her?
Are you moving to LA?
I’m not sure what possessed me to blurt out our relationship status in front of the crowd. Had I been thinking clearly, I would have kept my big trap shut and quietly walked away.
Unfortunately, hindsight is twenty-twenty, and it’s too late for that.
The damage is done.
It took less than two hours for my parents to call and ask if I was all right. It sucked to admit that I was just as much in the dark regarding her identity as everyone else.
Dad told me not to worry. He’d already reached out to his lawyer and set the divorce wheels in motion. Even though this situation isn’t like the one in high school, all I can think about is how our name will be dragged through the mud. Gossip sites will pick up the story and run with it.
They’ll make a mockery out of my marriage.
I fucking hate that it’ll be the cause of any embarrassment for my parents.
I’ve always done my best to keep my nose clean and stay out of trouble.
Now, I look like a flaky athlete who got hitched to a reality star on a drunken weekend in Vegas.
How fucking cliche.
It’s only when a sharp whistle fills the air that I’m knocked from the thorny tangle of my thoughts as the players burst into motion.
Everyone but me.
Fuck.
Madden gains possession before passing it up to Ford who takes off, blades digging into the ice.
“Get your ass moving, McNichols,” Coach bellows from the benches.
There’s a turnover near the crease and Maverick snags the rubber disc, crossing the red center line before flicking it to Hayes. I keep pace with him, waiting for a pass.
Just as I glance away, I get hit from the side and crash into the boards. The air is knocked from my lungs as I struggle to find my balance before dropping to the ice.
For a second or two, I lay there, trying to catch my breath. It feels like my lungs are being squeezed in a vise.
With narrowed eyes, I look up and find Garret Akeman, a second line defenseman, staring down at me with a smirk twisting his lips.
Fucking douchebag.
And if I could wrap my lips around words, that’s exactly what I’d say.
“Maybe if you don’t make it in the pros, wifey will give you a starring role on her garbage reality show.”
Rage hits me like a freight train. In all honesty, it’s been bubbling up since I discovered the truth. I’ve been able to keep it locked up tight where it couldn’t see the light of day while it simmered.
The last thing I want to do is make an already shitty situation worse.
Except…that hit rips away the thin layer of restraint I’ve been clinging to.
Even though my body is screaming with pain, I scramble to my skates as Riggs, Hayes, Maverick, and Bridger press closer.
Tension ratchets up in the chilled arena air.
“What did you say, motherfucker?” I wheeze.
Garret sneers. “To paraphrase, I said that you suck at hockey and maybe Bebe will give you a job. You can be her himbo on the show.”
A red haze obscures my vision as I skate closer. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, and keep Britt’s name out of your damn mouth!”
Malice glitters in Garret’s eyes as he lifts his chin. “Or what, McNichols? What are you gonna do?”
I don’t bother responding to the taunt. Instead, I dive at him. My gloved fist slams into his helmet as we crash into the ice a tangle of limbs. He hits the unforgiving surface with a grunt.
Can’t say the sound isn’t satisfying.
