“What the fuck? I’ve been calling you for days, and you text me that shit at midnight?” Before I can answer his questions, he yammers on. “If you got arrested again, so help me god?—”
“I didn’t get arrested. I’m going to the arena.”
He’s quiet for a second. “What? Why?”
“Because I’m spiraling,” I admit, kicking at the asphalt. “Because I lost Savannah and I deserve it. Because for the last couple of months, everything’s been good, and now it’s all gone to shit. And I almost wish I never knew what good felt like because before Savannah, at least I was naïve enough to believe I was happy. Now I can’t breathe, and my skin feels too tight. Because I love her and I broke her and I hate myself for it.”
The words bleed out of me, pulsing with a vile need to force this negative energy out of my body.
“I’ll meet you there.”
“What?” I scan the road, brow furrowed.
“Go to the arena. I’ll meet you there,” he says. “And Cam, it’s going to be all right.”
The rink is illuminated when I walk down the tunnel. Guess Daniel is already here. During the ride over, I replayed my conversation with Savannah over and over. Dissected her expressions, her body language.
Every single cell in my body tells me I fucked up. By not looking at her—because I was trying to be respectful—I made her believe I was disgusted by her. That I could ever feel anything but a bone-deep need for her is absurd. She’s the most attractive woman I’ve ever met. Yes, she’s gorgeous on the outside, but her heart is where her true beauty resides. And her personality. With her, my heart feels like it’s beating outside my chest. Because itbelongs to her. No one has ever come close to making me feel so important.
So if she hurts, I hurt.
The familiar sound of skates scraping over ice hits me as I push into the arena.
A laugh echoes around the huge empty space, and a puck goes flying into an open net.
“You’re getting slow in your old age,” Daniel taunts.
I step in farther and discover Brooks, who is shaking his head as he skates toward the net. What the fuck is he doing here?
“I told you I wasn’t ready.” He crouches and picks up the puck, then spins around. “And I’m not playing goalie without gear, asshole.”
“You’re grumpy tonight.” Across the ice, Aiden does a fucking pirouette.
“It’s after midnight,” our former goalie mumbles.
“I’m here.”
I spin around at the sound of the voice.
War steps through the door I just entered, wearing a pair of sweats and a long-sleeve black shirt. It’s the same outfit he was in when I left his place hours ago, though he’s added a backward Bolts hat.
He nods at me when he spots me. “Hey, how’d it go?”
I pull on my neck, fighting the stinging behind my eyes. “Obviously not great since you’re all here at fucking midnight.”
He slaps my shoulder and guides me toward the ice. “We’ll figure it out.”
It’s about as cold in here as it was outside, but once I’m moving, my blood heats. There’s nowhere in the world that I’m more comfortable than in this rink. It’s home in a way no other place ever has been.
Other than in my bed with Savannah in my arms. Or in my kitchen with her. Or my couch. Basically with Savannah in my arms, I always feel at home.
Right now, she’s right: neither of us has a home.
“We playing a game or just hitting?” Brooks asks as we gather at center ice.
“We can’t talk while playing. Let’s do slapshots at the net,” Daniel declares.
It’s a relief, letting him make the decision. I’ve got no plan and no energy to put one in place. Though just being here with my closest friends has taken the edge off the stabbing pain in my chest.
