Page 2 of These Wicked Hearts

I brace my palms on top of my knees to still the shaking. My nails dig into my skin as I try to breathe. One, two, three, four. I am happy for him. I really am. Five, six, seven. Grey is the best man I know. Kind and patient still, even after everything I put him through. Eight, nine, ten, eleven.

I close my eyes, finally feeling the pressure ease a little.

Twelve, thirteen, fourteen.

Fifteen.

I am happy for him, but it’s tangled up with something sharp and ugly I can’t shake.

I couldn’t imagine my life without him, which is why I had to leave.

They’re moving on. Both of my best friends. Oli got married over the summer. A wedding I nearly fucked up when I got drunk and kissed Grey, my best friend. And Grey is with Felix. A relationship I nearly fucked up when I kissed him at the wedding and Felix saw.

Years ago, when I was drafted to the Otters, I don’t think I was ready. I was just some Jersey kid who could skate fast and hit even harder. Moving to Portland to join an AHL team messed me up more than I expected.

Then I was signed with the Otters and met Grey.

We were roommates—Coach’s orders because I was a fucking disaster. One night my thoughts grew too loud, and I needed to quiet them. Images began to circulate in my mind. My brain likes to twist and bend my memories.

Sometimes I see her lifeless body. I’ll look down and see my bloody hands as if I pushed her. I didn’t. I know I didn’t, but still. My brain likes to make up monsters to torture me, as if the truth of what happened isn’t bad enough.

Just breathe deep through my nose and out of my mouth.

One night on the road with Grey, I lost it. I remember looking in the mirror in our hotel room and I hated what looked back. I was already drunk, but it was one of the few times the alcohol didn’t numb my brain. Instead, it only sharpened the things I wanted to forget.

Something snapped and I shattered the mirror with my fist before collapsing on the floor bleeding and screaming. I just let everything burn up inside me. Grey came in and sat with me. I remember that. I don’t remember what he said. I just remember the deep calm of his voice as he talked me through the rage and grief inside me.

That night I told him everything. Oli, our captain, came down soon after I calmed to see Grey. Then it was just the three of us. My best friends.

Now one of them is married and the other is not far behind, I’m sure.

And me? Well, I’m just me.

Atlas Sgarbossa. Fuckup extraordinaire. Alone in this new fucking state with no fucking friends and nothing to distract me. That tickle of dread begins to web and wind through my lungs.

A knock at my door pulls my attention. I don’t even care who it is. I just need a distraction.

When I open it, relief hits me.

Knox.

I don’t know what’s happened these past few months, but I’m glad he’s in my life. He doesn’t treat me like a disappointment. I guess I haven’t given him enough time to realize it yet. Knox is slightly taller than I am, and his wavy auburn hair is damp from the shower he must have taken after practice. I could have ridden back here with him, but I wanted space at the time.

His green eyes smile at me, and I can see the tattoos covering both his arms in the sleeveless shirt he’s wearing. He peeks around me, scrubbing his short beard. “Still haven’t unpacked?” I let him inside and he shuts the door. “Damn. Your place is bigger than mine.”

“It’s nice. Thank you for helping me get it.” Knox wrote me a recommendation to the owners of this high rise. He’s lived here since he moved to Virginia and became a Viper nearly ten years ago. “Sorry about practice.”

“Sorry about yelling at you.” He grins, looking not very sorry at all.

He didn’t really yell at me. We have a game in two days, and my head was elsewhere today. I need to pull it together. “You don’t think Kuli barked at me a time or dozen?” Although Knox and Oli have completely different captain styles. “I’m just tired. Getting used to everything. I’ll get my shit together before the game.”

I hope.

“How are you holding up?” Knox takes a seat, sinking into my couch. “Atlas?”

“Huh, sorry what?”

He smooths his palm along the couch. “This is fucking comfortable.” He stretches out like he may fall asleep. “I asked how you were doing? The move, time difference . . .” His lips press into a flat line. “Grey.”