Page 14 of On the Breakaway

Nothing.

When I try a third time, it doesn’t even click over. It’s total silence, and I give up, dropping my head to the steering wheel.

Bad karma strikes again.

4

Grayson

When I step out of the store with my bags hooked over my wrist, I’m still trying to figure out how buying someone groceries turned into whatever the hell that was.

I’ve replayed it twice in the thirty seconds it took me to check out, running through the moment where everything shifted from what’s become our normal banter to her looking at me like I’d crossed a line I didn’t even know existed. I keep landing in the same place every time: the groceries.

After seven years in the NHL, I have more money than most people dream of and definitely more than I need. I saw a video once about paying it forward and immediately adopted the habit of buying groceries for whoever was in front of me at the store. It’s harmless, and it’s never been rejected so fiercely.

I knew trying to do it with Avery was risky. The woman hates me, but it’s also a habit. I figured maybe she’d thaw a bit. Instead, she’d frozen over entirely.

My eyes scan the parking lot without thinking. I expect her to be gone already, having disappeared as soon as she had the chance.

But there she is.

Avery Holt is sitting in the driver’s seat of her car, a few rows over, one hand gripping the steering wheel while the other turns the key again, the engine clicking uselessly in response.

I hesitate for half a second. I should leave it alone and give her the space she wanted when she stormed out. Then she tries again, frustration obvious when her head drops to the steering wheel. Unfortunately for us both, leaving things alone is not in my nature.

I head over before I can think better of it, stopping a few feet from the driver’s side window and tapping lightly against the glass.

She startles, just slightly, before turning her head. When she sees me, her expression shifts from frustration to embarrassment.

“Just pretend I’m not here and keep walking,” she says, rolling the window down partway.

I laugh, more out of disbelief than anything else, resting my hand against the top of the door. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

“I was trying to leave before you came out.”

“Why? So I wouldn’t, what, try to buy your gas next?”

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

She exhales slowly, looking away from me as she turns the key again, the engine giving the same click before dying out entirely.

“Great,” she mutters under her breath.

I lean down, glancing toward the dashboard. “Battery?”

“Seems like it.”

“I’ve got cables in my trunk,” I offer. “I can jump it.”

She shakes her head. “No. Don’t bother.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’ll start, and then it’ll just die again when I get home like it’s been doing for weeks.” She steps out of the car, slamming the door. “It’s cheaper to tow it from here than from my apartment.”

“It’s done this for weeks?”