Page 20 of Second Chance with the Enemy CEO
This was not just anger. It was her. Hazel.
How dare she? How dare she?
I grip the edge of the sink in my bathroom, staring at my reflection. The man looking back at me seems calm and composed, but my knuckles are white, and my jaw is locked tight. I have spent years mastering this façade - perfecting the art of being untouchable. But one glance at Hazel, and it all came crashing down. The careful walls that I built? Useless.
I run a hand through my hair, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. And why in the hell do I care?
When she bumped into me, and I saw that it was her, it was like time stopped. As much as I hate her, it took everything in my power not to, at least, touch her.
I am pissed off…, at her, but most importantly, I am pissed off at myself for feeling a twinge of excitement or the way my heart turned to butter when I saw her face. I am pissed off that I felt a tiny bit giddy about hearing the voice of the person who broke every piece of me before, when, and after she left.
Damn it.
The way she looked…, it wasn’t fair. Hazel always had this way of stealing the air from a room, but tonight, it wasn’t just the shock of her presence. She is sharper now, more refined, more confident, especially in the way she carried herself. Her hair…, still that striking auburn shade…, was tied back in a way that made her look effortlessly put together. And her eyes…, they were the same. The same piercing, almost defiant gaze, and spark that used to drive me mad in more ways than one and could cause me to lose myself.
I do not even realize I am gripping the sink so hard until my knuckles ache.
Her smile, that polite, distant thing she flashed me, made my jaw tighten. How could she stand there, so cool and composed,when I felt like I had been sucker-punched? But the thing that got me? The way she looked at me. Like I was nobody.
“If we’ve met, you clearly didn’t leave an impression.”
That damn line has been echoing in my head ever since she said it, clinging to me like a burr I cannot shake off. It followed all through the night, taunting me through the silence of my empty house, and now it is still there, rattling around my skull like a bad song stuck on repeat as I slam my locker shut at practice the next morning.
The metallic clang reverberates through the room, drawing a few sideways glances from my teammates. I ignore them, shoving my water bottle into my bag with a little more force than necessary.
“Alright, what’s got your panties in a twist this early, man?” Logan asks, leaning against the next locker, arms crossed.
“Nothing,” I snap, even though my tone says otherwise.
“Yeah, right. You have been scowling like someone stole your dog since you walked in here,” he presses, “come on, spill?”
The laugh that escapes me is sharp and bitter. “Hazel’s back. In town. And is one of the photographers we hired for the campaign..”
That gets a reaction. His eyebrows shoot up, and he whistles low under his breath.
“Wow…, that’s…,” he is cut off by Matt, who enters the room.
“Yo, Callahan, you gonna stand there brooding, or are you actually gonna join us?”
“On it,” I bark, grabbing my helmet and heading to the rink.
He exchanges a glance with Logan, who shrugs. “He is wound tighter than a spring today. What is up? You know? Scratch that, you will always know…”
“Hazel is back in town, and she is one of the photographers for the campaign. That means, she is back in Liam’s life…, workwise…”
I ignore them, focusing on the drills. Or trying to. Every pass, every tackle, every sprint feels mechanical. I cannot shake her from my mind. It is infuriating. I push harder, running drills at full speed, and the burn in my muscles is a welcome distraction.
It has been just a day, a freaking day, and it is ridiculous how much she affects me…, still affects me. The moment I saw her, I was right back to where I was five years ago. But that version of me does not exist anymore. I have moved on. Or at least, I thought I had.
I have moved on. My brain is still accepting the thought of seeing her again, but after today, I have let her into my system again.
Coach whistles low as I slam into the tackling dummy, sending it flying. “Okay, what the hell is going on with you? You are playing like you are trying to exorcise a demon.”
I glare at him, wiping sweat from my brow. “Maybe I am.”
He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. Do not glare at me, young man. Just get your head in the game.”
The rest of practice blurs by, but the ache in my chest does not ease.
