Page 84 of Frozen Hearts
How could that have been fake?
Does it matter, even if it wasn’t all a lie?
Maybe she never had any ill intention toward me, but she still fucked Grayson over. She might not have lied tome, but she has lied to others. About others. Lies that decimated a family and have had severe and lasting consequences.
There’s a rain cloud the size of Texas and threatening hailstones hanging over my head as I step off the ice. One that cracks with an impending thunderstorm when Coach calls my name.
“Astor, I want to see you in my office ASAP.”
Double fuck.
I can’t say I’m surprised, given how completely useless I’ve been on the ice these last few weeks. Specifically since that night. She was technically only with me for a total of three games, and yet it changed everything for me. She really was my lucky charm—my unlucky lucky charm. A cursed lucky charm, if such a thing even exists.
Now I can’t get back into the groove I had before she infiltrated my life.
Is that what she wanted? To fuck with my head? Most women want a ride on my dick or the bump in social status from hanging around me, but this chick has proven before that she’s a vindictive cunt. Is this how she planned to screw me over? By messing with my game?
I could tell the first time I talked to her in Statistics that she disliked me. She wasn’t impressed by my popularity or ability on the ice. At the time, I thought it was refreshing. Now, I’m not so sure. Perhaps from that very first moment, she was deliberating the best way to fuck with me. I bet she’s having a good laugh now, watching me tank my fucking career because I can’t get her stupidly beautiful green eyes out of my head.
Vibrating with humiliation, hurt, and anger, I grunt out a response to Coach before stomping in my skates down the hall toward the lockers.
The mood in the changing room is subdued. I don’t have any words of encouragement or inspiration for my team. Hell, I don’t even have words for myself. I’ve been fucking up recently, and I know it. Coach does too, if he’s calling me in.
So I keep my head down and mouth shut, ignoring the disappointed glances from Gavin.
Once I’m freshly showered and dressed, I grab my bag, but he catches me before I can escape out the door.
“Yo, a bunch of us are going out. You in?”
“We lost,” I deadpan.
“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock,” he retorts, a tic in his jaw. “Figured it might do us good to get out of our heads for a night. Have a couple of drinks. Let off some steam. Regroup.”
Well, shit. Being the captain and all, I probably should have thought of that.
Blowing out a breath, I try to let go of some of my tension as I nod. “Yeah. Sounds good.”
God knows I could do with regrouping.
Maybe what I need to push her out of my head is to get drunk. I rarely drink during the season. The odd beer at The Depot or post-Saturday-night game. However, if I could just stop thinking abouther, perhaps I could get my mojo back and stop fucking up on the ice.
“A few drinks and some downtime sounds like a great idea,” I tack on more enthusiastically. “Where are you going? I’ll meet you there once Coach is done flaying my balls and making a pretty necklace out of them for his wife.”
The guys laugh, and for the first time in weeks, I don’t feel so alone. So stuck in my head.
“Guys voted for Lux.”
His words pop my fragile bubble of contentment and I can hear the air wheezing out of it as I stall on the threshold of the locker room, glancing back at him over my shoulder.Seriously, can I not escape this girl?
He’s too busy stuffing his gear into his duffel so he doesn’t see the look on my face. I contemplate suggesting somewhere else—a bar on campus, a frat party. I really don’t give a shit, just anywhere but there. However, that seems selfish. If that’s where the team voted to go, then that’s where we should go.
Maybe I could back out…
No. You’re the team captain. You need to start acting like it.
Besides, it will only raise questions if I back out now.
Fuck.
