Page 19 of Play Maker

“You guys have fun,” I replied quickly and turned away. “I’m gonna head out.”

I was halfway down the stairs when Maddox called out.

“Good luck in those extra sessions,” he commented. “And don’t have too much fun getting sweaty with Jace.”

I stumbled, but thankfully, I didn’t fall.

“Asshole,” I grumbled.

The echo of Maddox’s unexpected laughter followed me all the way home.

CHAPTER 8

JACE

THE FOLLOWING WEEK

Iwas going to be late for practice. Shit.

Get up and leave.

I’d sat frozen on my bathroom floor for over an hour, staring at the toilet. Fun times. My gut was churning full force, but I fought hard to let the feeling ebb and flow, to let my nerves ease in and out like a long, shuddering breath. That nagging voice in my head told me it would be so much easier to make myself vomit. Then everything would be under control. The uncertainty would be over. That’s the way it had been since my senior year in high school. Pressure had been coming at me from everywhere, from hockey, to school, to my boyfriend, Preston. Especially him.

But it was the comments that never got out of my head, stuck there like permanent post-it notes.

You’re nothing but trash.

You’ll never amount to anything.

You’re only good for a fuck.

I fought hard to push back against those thoughts. Like hockey, sometimes I won, and sometimes I lost. The only thing I could control was my response.

Just throw up, you’ll feel better.

Plenty of guys vomited before a game. It wasn’t that unusual. Only, it had gotten worse at the end of my senior year, around the time my relationship with Preston came to the breaking point. Never mind puking before the game, I was doing it before class, after every team dinner, and sometimes, in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep. I kept telling myself that it was fine. I had it under control. I was wiry but strong, and the less weight I had the faster I was on the ice anyway.

Until I fainted during practice. My coach pulled me aside and told me if I didn’t stop losing weight, he was going to bench me and call my aunt. She’d already been through enough and had done everything in her power to raise me right after my mom died when I was just a baby. Josie knew something was up with me, but never pushed. That wasn’t her way. I couldn’t lay my problem on her, not when I was so close to getting out of Hillington.

That day, I searched online and found a therapist and used the tips I earned working at Josie’s garage to pay for it. After a month, I confided in her about what really happened. My urges to binge and purge were less frequent. And, feeling stronger, I finally had the courage to put a stop to the toxic relationship that had me questioning every idea in my head and every word that came out of my mouth.

A sudden knock at my bathroom door jolted me back to the present.

“Jace, hurry the fuck up!”

Dane? What was he doing here?

I slowly stood up, washed my hands, and reached for the handle, yanking it open.

“Can’t a guy take a shit without being interrupted?” I snarked as I stared at my friend.

Dane sniffed the air. “You shit pretty clean.”

“Fuck off,” I quipped and stepped out of the bathroom. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m making sure my friend gets his ass to practice so Coach doesn’t give usallextra workout time this week.”

“Gee, thanks.” I walked over and grabbed my puffer coat, my backpack, and a beanie. “Now tell me therealreason you’re here.”

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