Page 75 of Make Me Mean It

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THEO

Idrop my forehead against the cool tiles and let the water stream down my back, heat sinking into sore muscle, easing some of the tension there in slow, heavy waves.

It does fuck all for the rest of me.

My knuckles throb where the skin’s split open, each pulse of my heartbeat pushing fresh pain through them. My lip isn’t much better. The cut has started to clot, tight and swollen, and every time I move my mouth it cracks enough to sting.

I tip my head back beneath the spray anyway, water running over my face, catching the split in my lip.

“Fuck,” I hiss, scrubbing a hand down my face.

The sting cuts through some of the fog still sitting in my head, but it doesn’t touch the ache beneath it. If anything, it makes me more aware of everything. My ribs. My cheek. My hand.

The restless energy that beating the shit out of Davey did nothing to get rid of.

The locker-room door creaks open, and I still beneath the spray, my head tilting as I listen over the rush of water.

Footsteps.

I frown.

The guys shouldn’t be off the ice yet.

Shutting the shower off, silence rushes in around me, broken by the faint squeak of shoes against tile.

I knot my towel low around my hips, pushing open the cubicle door, barely making it a step before freezing.

Connor is leaning against the lockers, his eyes flicking up, locking onto mine, neither of us saying anything.

I stare at him longer than I should.

Story of my fucking life lately.

“Marcus isn’t here,” I say, turning away before I can make the mistake of looking anywhere below those stupid blue eyes.

I cross to my locker and yank it open, putting my back to him.

Footsteps sound behind me, slow against the locker-room floor, each one bringing him closer while I stand there pretending I can’t feel every inch disappearing between us.

“I know.”

My hand stops inside the locker.

“He’s still on the ice.”

My hand stays buried in the locker as I turn that over. He knows Marcus is still on the ice. Knew it before he walked in here.

So what the fuck is he doing here?

I snatch the towel from my locker and scrub it over my hair.

“Okay,” I say bluntly, slamming the locker shut.

Connor flinches, his scowl rising quickly, blue eyes narrowing on me, the familiar irritation after days of nothing slipping straight under my skin.

“What are you doing here, Reid?”