Improve my image. Get back to the ice.
That’s the fucking plan.
But looking at her, there’s a pull in my chest, a tightening beneath my ribs that doesn’t seem to agree.
I’m going to blame the fire-hot jealousy knotted inside of me as the reason that I’m stalking toward the bathroom.
Which conveniently will take me right past their table.
Blame the fact that Legros touching her in front of everyone, laughing with her, reminiscing over stories together, getting tohave Maisie in ways that I will never be able to, has driven me to the point of being this reckless.
The jarring realization that all we’ll ever have are stolen moments, cloaked in shadows that only darkness can afford us.
And I fucking hate it that this is all we’ll ever have.
I shove my phone into the pockets of my gym shorts and force my attention straight ahead, fixated on the hallway as I walk by, pretending like I haven’t seen the table with my players, or the girl who’s beneath my skin in ways I’ve never experienced.
“Coach?”
I stop walking and glance over at Devereaux, his brow pinched in a mixture of surprise and confusion.
“Devereaux,” I say, fully turning toward the table, nodding at him. “Legros.” Finally, I glance at Maisie, swallowing down the possessiveness threatening to split me in two. “Ladies.”
The greetings are clipped. Without emotion.
Just like I’ve always operated.
“What’s up, Coach?” Legros quips, his lips curved into a cocky smirk. “I’ve never seen you in Jack’s before. First time?”
I swear to Christ the motherfucker is toying with me, his fingers brushing along the ends of Maisie’s silky, honey-colored hair as he says it.
Might break his fingers. Jury’s out.
I lift a brow. “Half that wall is of articles from when I played, Legros. So, obviously not.”
Devereaux snickers, and his friend changes the subject. “Jack’s is the perfect place for a little date night. Yeah, Mais?” Legros says, tearing his attention from me and looking down at her.
“What?” she mutters. “What ar?—”
“Have a good night,” I cut her off, giving them another nod before I turn and walk toward the bathroom.
I’m a fucking ticking time bomb, and I feel the fuse shortening with each step, each breath, as I push through the door and slam it shut behind me.
Fucking hell, it feels like I’m going to burst out of my goddamn skin.
I’m glad I walked away when I did because I feelunstable.
Like so many times before when it comes to… this, I don’t feel in control of the battle raging on inside of me, my temper flaring to the point of doing something entirely fucking reckless.
Something inherently stupid.
I turn to the mirror, the reflection of the man staring back at me both familiar and foreign at the same time.
Maybe I’m actually losing my damn mind.
The doorknob of the bathroom jiggles, and I bark out a rough “Occupied.”
Immediately, it stops, and I sigh.
