Page 214 of On the Breakaway

I gasp, “Do you even have a couch yet, or are you still sitting on the floor?”

“You said my carpet was comfy.” Sloane points at me.

Harper finally joins in, “Sloane, babe, no one’s carpet is that comfy.”

The room is quiet for a second until we all burst out in a fit of giggles. It’s exactly what we needed to lighten the mood.

Every single one of us is on the cusp of a major life change, and I feel so lucky to go through it all with them. And even though everything is different, it’s still the same.

My phone buzzes on the counter, and I pick it up to see Grayson’s name flash across the screen. Okay, so it’s mostly the same, but there are some things that are better.

Grayson. He’s better.

42

Grayson

I hate watching hockey.

It’s ironic considering I’ve dedicated my entire life to playing it, but it turns out I don’t actually enjoy the sport nearly as much when I’m forced to watch everyone else do the job I should be doing.

I should be out there on the ice. I should be helping my team close out a series that should’ve ended days ago instead of watching them clean up a mess I created.

Three games.

Three fucking games of pure torture.

Coach Rylan had been right; the league didn’t care that Woods was an asshole or that I’d never been involved in an on-ice fight before. I dropped my gloves during the conference championship series, and captains are supposed to know better.

And they’re right, so I kept my mouth shut before three games became four or more.

Luckily, I can still go to practice and travel with the team, so I’ve been able to be around, but come game time, my ass is in the team suite watching from afar.

Even still, every time I catch a glimpse of the bruises still blooming across his jaw, a petty little part of me feels satisfied. The rest of me knows it wasn’t worth it, but that petty part still thinks he deserved worse.

Months ago, I would have never thought I’d care about anything more than leading my team to victory. But months ago, I had no idea just how much Avery would mean to me.

For the first time in my life, instead of worrying about holding everything together, all I cared about was her. I’m paying the price for it, and I hate that I let my team down, but that night also ended with Avery telling me she loved me. I honestly don’t know if I’d make a different choice.

She loves me.

Avery Holt, who swore she wanted nothing to do with love or relationships, loves me. It still feels impossible.

Before I can lose myself in the thought of her, the buzzer blares, signaling the start of the second period. The scoreboard hanging over center ice flashes two to two as the game restarts.

It takes exactly one shift before I’m pacing the length of the suite as if wearing a groove into the carpet will help my team score. The back of my knees catch the chair, and I force myself to sit, knowing there’s not a damn thing I can do but watch.

Thirty seconds later, I’m standing again.

Up here, I can see every bad line change or missed assignment. My fingers twitch against my knees as one of the Yeti players cuts through the neutral zone with speed.

“Gap,” I mutter under my breath.

Drew backs in half a stride too far, giving them too much space. They take the shot, but it sails wide of the net. I exhale slowly. Drew still has some work to do, but he’s come so far in only a couple of months.

Beside me, one of my assistant coaches snorts without looking away from the ice. “You know they can’t hear you, right?”

“Yeah, I know.”