Page 102 of On the Breakaway

“Your name?”

“Yes. My name.”

Already moving, I reach for the door handle.

“You can stay. You should stay.”

I’m terrified by the fact that I almost do.

I almost turn around and crawl into his bed. But another relationship is the last thing I want, especially after last time, and that means this only ends one way.

A sharp knock rattles the door, making both of us jump.

“Grayson?” Wyatt’s voice calls from the hallway. “Are you alive in there?”

Eyes closing, I spend one miserable second hoping I’m imagining things and that Grayson’s best friend is not standing outside his hotel room.

Grayson drags a hand down his face. “Wyatt, now isn’t really…”

The pleading look in Grayson’s eyes just confirms that I need to get the hell out of here.

He can’t look at me like that.

I yank the door open, finding Wyatt standing there with a grin that vanishes when he sees me. His eyes flick between us, and understanding hits him like a freight train.

“Shit.”

I point directly at him. “If you say a single word about this to anyone, I will make sure your funeral is closed-casket.”

Wyatt raises both hands. “I didn’t even–”

“Not. One. Word.”

Then I’m gone, spinning on my heel and marching down the hallway before either of them can stop me. Somewhere behind me, Grayson calls my name.

I don’t stop.

By the time I step into the elevator, my face is burning.

I should be upset that Wyatt saw me leaving Grayson’s room. Instead, all I can think about is that a part of me really wanted to stay.

21

Grayson

I slept like shit last night. That is, if I slept at all. The entire night played through my head on repeat, getting stuck on Avery fleeing like my room was the scene of a crime. Add in this morning’s skate around with Coach chirping in our ears to stay focused for tonight, and I’m sick of today.

Normally, game day pulls enough of my focus to keep my head occupied before the game. Instead, today, every mental break gets filled by the same thing.

Avery.

I pull out of the arena parking lot while Wyatt scrolls through something on his phone beside me. My sister’s house is close enough that we can grab lunch and still make it back with plenty of time before puck drop.

“So,” Wyatt starts.

I already know where this is going. “No.”

“I didn’t even ask anything.”