Page 19 of On the Breakaway

“Did he expect anything in return?”

I hesitate. “I mean, not explicitly.”

Harper’s mouth curves slightly. “Avery.”

“I’m just saying,” I push on quickly, “that’s how it starts. It’s small, and it seems harmless, and then suddenly it’s not.”

Her expression softens, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Are we ever going to talk about him?”

My body stills.

She doesn’t mean Grayson.

I should’ve known she’d see it. Of course, she’d pull on the one thread I’m desperately trying to leave alone.

Damon.

I never told them how bad it got. I never explained how something that didn’t start as control turned into it anyway. I never said out loud how easy it was to miss it at first and how hard it was to leave once I finally saw it clearly.

“No,” I say, sharper than I intend. “We’re not.”

We’re not talking about Damon. Just like we’re not talking about how sitting in Grayson’s car was the most alone I’ve been with a man since him.

It hadn’t been as bad as I expected.

My body relaxes, remembering the heat that blew onto my hands from his vents and the pine tree smell that radiated from his old air freshener. I bet Grayson is the kind of man who chose that scent specifically because it was winter. He’ll probably pick some stupid spring scent next. Something that smells like blooming flowers or fucking rainbows.

“Okay, we’re not talking about him,” Harper murmurs slowly, bringing me back to the moment.

I shake the memory from my head. I don’t care about his air fresheners or him or the fact that he’d kind of saved my ass.

She watches me, considering how hard to push, but then lets it go, shifting topics like she always does when she hits a wall she knows not to push through.

“Then Grayson gave you a ride home.”

“He practically kidnapped me.”

She laughs, the sound cutting through the tension. “He kidnapped you?”

He did threaten to throw me over his shoulder. Sure, I pushed him to say that intentionally. And yes, his tone had circled my mind, causing heat to pool low in my stomach, but he’d still done it.

“Yes, kidnapped me in his fancy car, and he talked to me like we were friends the whole way to my house.”

It was an annoyingly expensive car, which served as another reminder that all hockey players are douchebags underneath the facade.

“The horror.” She widens her eyes. “He tried to buy your groceries, drove you home when your car broke down, and was friendly, too.”

“No,” I say automatically, then sigh. “Yes. But…”

I sound crazy. I know I do, but he’s the one making me crazy.

“Doesn’t sound like you have much reason to hate him.”

“I don’t hate him,” I snap, not even realizing I’m saying it until the words are out.

Her expression shifts, interest flickering there. “Oh?”

I drag a hand down my face. “You know what I mean.”