“Fuck off, Feisty Mouse. I don’t love Killian.”
The second the words leave my mouth, something flutters in my stomach and my palms start to sweat. Like Killian said, we’re past hate.
But it’s not love.
He’s just mine or some shit.
“So, why him?”
I roll my eyes. “Because bad decisions make the best stories.”
Eli giggles. “Love stories.”
That’s it. Need to get out of here because if I stay, they’ll poke more. And now, different kinds of feelings are bubbling up, ones I’m not ready for.
Not when Alexei flops down beside his boyfriend and wraps his arms around him. I don’t need to hold someone the way Alexei holds Eli nor want to be held like that.
Or so I keep telling myself.
But seeing them together, seeing the way they fit like two puzzle pieces sliding into place . . . it makes me wonder, makes me question all the things I thought I knew about myself, about what I need and want and deserve.
It's terrifying. And exhilarating.
But it’s a problem for another day.
“Going for a walk.” I stand, then slip on my sneakers. “Need to find some Motrin and food.”
And it’s not a lie. But not entirely the truth.
Between the pain and all the unchecked emotions, I’m suffocating. So, before they can offer to help or stop me, I leave, hoping getting some fresh air will calm the chaos.
Chapter 9
Jackson
I step out of the pharmacy, the small paper bag containing the extra-strength Motrin clutched tightly in my hand. Each movement sends a fresh wave of agony radiating through my chest, and I grit my teeth against the pain, my breath coming in shallow, careful inhales.
The late March air is crisp and biting, and I shiver as I make my way across the parking lot, my steps slow and measured.
But I can't let anyone else know I'm hurt this bad. Alexei will keep his mouth shut and he’ll control Feisty Mouse.
I wouldn’t be the first person to play with broken bones. Guys in the NHL do it all the time. One had a broken wrist throughoutthe Stanley Cup playoffs. And that body part is needed to score. My ribs, not so much.
Leaning against the side of a building, I struggle to get the childproof cap off. My fingers are clumsy and uncoordinated, and it takes me three tries to get the damn thing open. I shake out four pills, a prescription strength dose, and swallow them dry.
I should probably see a doctor, but I can't risk being benched. This has been my best season yet and I want to finish out strong. Prove to Winnipeg that I’m worth a contract.
Prove it to myself too because Killian’s taunts about being a late pick bother me more than I let on.
I just hope the Motrin keeps the agony at bay enough to get through the next few games. Once I’m back in Rosewood Bay my father can have our family doctor prescribe something stronger.
But my hands are tied right now.
Pushing off the concrete wall, I head down the block toward the pizza place. One thing I learned from my mom is not to take ibuprofen on an empty stomach as it causes ulcers.
“Hey.”
I grimace at the sound of Killian’s voice. Why the fuck is he here and how did he find me?
