That kiss felt… different. Special.
And then she clapped back withthis never happenedten seconds later.
Stabbing me straight in the gut and twisting.
I climb into my car, fire up the engine. I’d love to gosomewhere, do something. But I’m a hostage here in this stupid small town with nothing to do besides train.
Resigned, I hit my blinker, make a right into traffic, and drive straight home.
The second I pull into the condo parking lot, I automatically scan for Tori’s Range Rover. Then I hate myself for it.
Pathetic.
This probation thing’s taken more out of me than I thought.
Back in my condo, I mix up a protein shake and chug half of it in one gulp. Instant indigestion.
I burp, swiping my hand across my mouth.
Fuck.
Her perfume’s on my fingertips. The intoxicating floral scent lingers beneath the chalky vanilla of the shake.
God, her lips were perfect.
Sweet and soft. Slightly desperate.
Needy.
That kiss wasn’t one-sided. I fucking felt it.
But the way she went cold. Acted like nothing happened. Like she didn’t feel a thing.
My chest tightens and I grip the island. Try to ground myself, even though inside I’m reeling.
Tori’s got me off my game.
And I don’t like it.
I catch a glimpse of the black-and-white therapy journal buried under the stack of mail. Dr. Sparks gave me homework at our last session and I haven’t done it yet.
FML.
Snatching up my phone, I scroll through the calendar. Shit. I have another mandatory session with her tomorrow, right after morning ice time.
I stare at that notebook, willing it to disappear.
No dice.
The stupid journal’s still there, taunting me.
If I walk into the session without the homework, I risk Dr. Sparks ratting me out to Prince or Coach, or worse—the league. I can’t afford to break the terms Prince set. I want to be off the bench for good, playing hockey with the team again.
Grabbing the notebook and a pencil off the counter, I crash down onto the sofa. I open the notebook and copy down the prompt:
What’s the one thing you’re most afraid will ruin your career?
I gnaw at the pencil, hard enough to make small indentations in the wood.
