“Right. You just happened to lose your temperthe secondI did.”
My jaw tightens.
He finally turns, eyes blazing. “You gonna tell me that wasn’t about us?”
I hold his gaze, breathing hard.
“No,” I say. “I’m not.”
Todd’s chest rises, like he’s waiting for the rest. But I don’t have the words.
Not the ones that would make this better. Or the ones that don’t feel like pulling my own ribs apart.
He lets out a bitter laugh and looks away. “Don’t worry. Message received. Friday night was a mistake. Forget everything I said.”
That hits lower than anything else he’s said.
“What if I don’t want to?” I snap.
“You don’t have a choice, Brooks,” he bites back. “You told me to go.”
“And you did,” I fire, voice low. “Guess that answers that.”
He blinks, hard, like he wasn’t expecting me to throw it back.
But it’s the truth.
Heleft. And I’m still pissed about it, even if I was the one who told him to go.
The buzzer sounds. Our time’s up. The door swings open. We step back onto the ice side by side.
But the real game’s still stuck in the box.
We win. Not that it matters to me at the moment. If I could shake this stupid anger, I would. God, he’s got me so twisted up inside, and this is not why I came to this school. I came to have a shot at the NHL, not to get in my head about a guy. I need to focus on that. Get my head on straight.
So when the guys mention heading to the club to celebrate, I say yes. I pull on the tightest black shirt I own, spritz cologne at my throat, and make damn sure I look unfazed.
Fake it. Bury it. Burn through it.
I flirt with the bartender. Smile at a girl I don’t know. Shelaughs at something I say—not that I’m paying attention—and I feel his eyes on me before I even turn my head.
There.
At the end of the bar.
Todd fucking Shaw, standing with a drink in hand and a scowl carved into his face. Jaw tight. Eyes locked on me like he’s already picked out the spot on the wall he wants to shove me into.
Good.
Let him burn.
I tip my head, just slightly, and smile like this isn’t eating me alive.
Then I walk—slow, deliberate—down the back hallway past the bathrooms. It’s dark and feels half-forgotten. I lean against the wall and wait.
Two beats later, his heavy footsteps follow.
He stalks down the hallway like he’s ready to throw me into the drywall. And honestly, that’d be fine. At least it would mean he stillfeelssomething.
