“Ours are better,” Aubrey says.
“True,” Austen echos.
Chatter fills the room as more girls file in, and I gear up, ready to get out on the ice and see Luke. I looked for him afterthe game, excited to hear his feedback and what he thought of my shutout, but he was nowhere to be found.
“Ready to go?” Grace asks me, tapping her stick against my shins as I pull my practice jersey over my head.
“Yep.” I grab my own stick, tuck my helmet under my arm and follow her out. The air is crisp and cool, a familiar balm to my heated skin as we enter the rink. Coach Maver, Packley, and Holloway are huddled up, looking down at a shared tablet. I skate by, watching out of the corner of my eye to see if he’s going to notice me, but he doesn’t look up.
I try not to let it sting, knowing I can’t expect him to just drop everything the moment I’m in proximity. As Grace and I stretch together, my hips protest. They’re tight, and I only have myself to blame for not stretching them out yesterday.
As soon as the coaches break their huddle and Coach Maver and Packley duck back into the tunnel to the locker room, I excuse myself from Grace and glide over to the boards where Coach Holloway stands on the opposite side.
“Well?” I grin, leaning against the boards. “Got anything to say?”
He pulls his hat lower, shielding part of his face. His jaw clicks but he says nothing. Uneasiness wades through my gut at his silence.
I try to make eye contact with him, but he purposefully looks toward the opposite end of the rink. What the hell?
“Is something wrong?” I ask, nerves replacing the excitement in my tone. Then it hits me. “Fuck,” I whisper. “Does Coach Maver know?—”
He shuts me down immediately. “No.”
The relief is short-lived because he’s still giving me the cold shoulder. “Then what is it?”
His nostrils flare as if he’s trying to keep a rein on his emotions, and I don’t like it. It reminds me of how he used to be, trying to lock everything away from me to be able to see.
“I’m just wondering why you didn’t have me take you to your boyfriends house the other night instead of me risking my ass taking you to mine.”
I rear back in shock at the hostility in his tone, then nervously glance around to see if anyone is within earshot. Thankfully, no one is paying us any mind as everyone warms up.
“He’s not—” I stop myself. It’s actually none of his damn business what Mason is to me. I don’t owe him an explanation. “You were the one who brought me over. I didn’t ask you for a ride after practice, and I certainly didn’t ask for a sleepover.”
He refuses to look at me, instead standing with his arms crossed, feet apart, glaring around the rink like me and this conversation are beneath him. “Go join warm ups.”
“Luke—”
“It’s Coach Holloway,” he bites out. “Go. Now.” His voice is lethally low.
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. Confusion, humiliation, and hurt mix together into a deadly cocktail as I rejoin Grace.
“Are you alright? You look pale,” she asks, concern dotting her face.
If I talk, I might cry as tears threaten to burn the backs of my eyes, so I simply nod and slip my mask on to hide behind it.
She opens her mouth, not satisfied with my response, but Coach Packley calls everyone to attention, and she’s forced to drop it.
Thank God. I just need to get through the next two hours, and then once I’m home safe, I can cry.
The idea that my bed is waiting for me to crash into is the only thing that gets me through the rest of this practice. I go through the motions, trying to ignore the anxiety swirling in mystomach every time I glance over at Coach Holloway. He watches everything in practice but me. As if I don’t even exist.
I’m the first one off the ice when Coach Maver signals the end. Grace side-eyes me in the car on the ride home, but I brush her off. Even if I wanted to talk about it, I couldn’t. What would I say to her? That I think I’m attracted to our coach and I thought he was too, but now he’s pretending I’m not even there?
It sounds so stupid and naive.
As soon as we get into our apartment, I bid her good night and schlep toward my room. I almost scream when I flick on the light to find a man sprawled out in my bed, but the surprise quickly turns into annoyance.
“What’s wrong?” Grace calls from the kitchen. I ignore her to glare at Mason, who currently lounges like he owns the place with his hands tucked behind his head.
