Page 134 of Lose You Twice

Chancing a glance back toward him, I find his eyes again. He’s just standing there, wet hair falling over his forehead, towel low on his hips, one hand braced against the locker like he needs it to stay upright. His lips still swollen from mine.

Gathering every ounce of willpower I have, I walk down the hall and into the parking lot.

Once inside my car, I rest my forehead against the steering wheel.

I am weak as can be when it comes to a certain brown-haired hockey player that truly has the best abs I’ve ever laid eyes on.

If there was a line that we couldn’t, shouldn’t cross, it’s long gone now.

20

KAI

Wren isn’t at practice.

I know this because I’ve literally checked every place I’d normally find her.

Obviously, my brain chooses the worst possible scenarios to play through my mind on a never-ending cycle.

Or maybe she’s avoiding you after the other night.

That’s the thought I’m stuck on while I sit in my stall, lacing my skates. The tension is fine, I know it’s fine, yet I pull it loose anyway, thread it through, and start over.

She regrets it. The shower was too much.

I was too much.

I told myself I’d let her lead after that. Give her space. Let her decide what happened next, but not because I wanted space. I’ve wanted the complete opposite of space since she walked back into my life.

But because this job matters to her, and I refuse to be the reason she loses that.

“Dude,” Weston says from two stalls over. “Your skate owe you money?”

I pull the lace too tight.

“No.”

“You sure? Because you’re looking at it the same way I look at cardio, which is with pure hatred.”

Asher glances over while taping his wrist. “He’s spiraling.”

“I’m not spiraling.”

Weston’s head pops up. “Oh, that was too fast. Denial is the first stage.”

Grayson steps into the row, helmet in one hand. His eyes flick from my skate to my face.

Great.

The last thing I need is Grayson’s quiet observation. Weston’s noise is easier to deal with. At least he says something stupid enough to be annoyed about.

I stand. “Anyone seen Calloway?”

Weston’s mouth opens slowly, a knowing gleam in his eyes.

I point at him. “Don’t say shit.”

“I haven’t said anything.”