‘Are you okay? I am so sorry, Ty.’ Gracie kneels down beside me, running soft hands across my jaw as if she can’t believe what just happened. I narrow my eyes, shove her hands away, and push myself into a sitting position. I don’t bother looking at the hurt expression that I know she’s wearing as my rejection stings her fresh wounds. Instead, I get to my feet. The room spins. Great. Just what I needed. Another fucking concussion.
‘Where are you going? You need to go to the doctor!’ She’s fuming now. She spins around and pins me in place with a glare.
I scoff and dismiss her with a shake of my head, stalking out of the room. Her footsteps echo behind me as I walk down the hallway, her overbearing stubbornness not allowing her to leave me alone. Fuck, the Huttons are stubborn as hell.
‘Screw off, Gracie. I’m not in the mood,’ I mutter. I walk into the bathroom and slam the door shut behind me, twisting the lock quickly before she has a chance to follow me in.
I inwardly wince as soon as I turn to look in the mirror above the sink. A subtle blue has made its way over my olive skin, almost perfectly outlining a set of knuckles. My lips are swollen too, only I don’t think that’s from Oakley’s beat down. Turning on the tap, I splash my face with cold water, hoping it will cool my raging body temperature. I lean my elbows on the counter and hang my head.
What the fuck am I supposed to do now? My best friend hates me. My other ones are probably right there with him, and I’ve muddled lines I swore I would keep crystal clear.
‘Can we at least finish talking about what happened? I don’t want to keep pretending there’s nothing between us!’ Gracie shouts from the other side of the door.
My fingers tug on my hair as I groan louder than I probably needed to and yank open the door. ‘There’s nothing to talk about. There’s nothing between us,’ I snarl, my nostrils flaring in anger. ‘You need to move on. I’m done.’
My words hit her like a slap. Her jaw drops and her tears well in her eyes. The ache in her chest is reflected in the film across her baby blue eyes before she drops them to the ground. Her fingers curl into fists, and for a second, I wonder if she will do the same thing as her brother and actually toss one at me.
‘You know something, Tyler?’ she asks, her sad eyes lighting up with a fire so fierce I feel my mouth dry up. I set my jaw, and raise an eyebrow in response. I cross my arms and lean back. ‘I feel sorry for you.’
Heat rushes through my body, forcing its way over my tingling skin and through every inch of muscle as she stands in front of me, wearing a grin so smug I want to suck it right off.
‘You what?’ I seethe through clenched teeth.
Her smile is enough to convince me that I should push her up against the wall and remind her what happened earlier. Probably not the best idea though. ‘Maybe you are just as broken as everyone says,’ she declares confidently, but I don’t miss the anger she tries to hide behind her words.
I take a menacing step towards her, and her eyes widen slightly. ‘And maybe you’re smarter than I give you credit for, princess.’
She swallows visibly. She parts her lips the tiniest amount and continues to gawk at me. Her cheeks flush a deep shade of pink.
‘What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?’ I blow out, bending down to let the soft words touch her ear. I softly nip her earlobe and a powerful shudder racks through her body. Her head falls on my shoulder. ‘I am broken. But don’t ever feel sorry for me. I don’t need your sympathy.’ I back away from her, letting her head fall into empty space, startling her. She regains her composure and narrows her gaze. I am walking around her and heading for the front door before she can speak another word.
‘You’re coming out with me tonight. You’ve been sulking for like the past week,” Braden demands. His stern tone leaves no room for negotiation. “Enough of this bullshit.’ The jingle of keys is the only sound on the quiet street as he locks the gym’s front doors and shoves them back in the pocket of his hoodie. Inhaling the end of the cigarette hanging from my lips, I fall into step beside him down the chipping sidewalk.
‘I’ll pass,’ I mumble, trying to fight him anyway. We stop beside his blacked-out Honda and he scoffs. ‘Funny, I don’t remember giving you the option.’
I roll my eyes and take a last puff of my cigarette before stomping it out with my shoe, turning to him with a scowl. ‘I’m going to take a shot in the dark and say it won’t be just us. Am I right?’ I ask, opening the passenger door once the beep sounds from his remote starter.
The thick smell of body spray clings to the car’s small, red-stitched interior, and I nearly cough. Like any playboy with an inability to keep his dick in his pants longer than a few hours, his car reeks of past conquests. It doesn’t surprise me. Braden is as douchy as they come with his adoration for beautiful women. His fleeting expression answers my question, and I snort when he pretends that I didn’t notice.
‘Would that be so bad?’ he asks, sticking his key in the ignition and starting the engine. A pained groaning noise echoes through the once quiet neighbourhood.
‘Oakley won’t come.’
‘Yeah, he will. Ava will make him,’ he chuckles, stealing a look at me before looking back at the road.
The first drop of rain that hits the windshield makes us both groan. One thing this city does not need is more rain. Despite having to spend most of the year driving in the frequent downpours, drivers here seem to lose all sense of direction the second they hit a wet road. They either start going fifteen kilometres under the speed limit or fifteen over it. There’s rarely an in-between.
‘You really think he isn’t going to smack my head against a brick wall the second he sees me?’ I challenge. I don’t miss the fleeting scowl that appears on his lips just before it disappears. ‘It’s only been a few days.’
‘Not if he wants Ava to let him come home anytime soon. He has a home game in two days, so unless he wants to spend his night in a hotel room instead of at home with his girl, then he needs to talk to you. Not slam your head against a wall.’
I close my eyes and lean back against the headrest. ‘Does he know I’ll be there?’
‘I already told him,’ the sneaky fucker says, bursting with pride.
‘You’re a pretty brave guy, just assuming I would come.’
‘That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.’ He sniffles and lifts his thumb to wipe an imaginary tear from his cheek. He turns to look at me with a dramatic pout.
‘Fuck off.’ I shake my head and let the quiet music from the radio wash over us as we sit in silence for the rest of the drive.
The effects of the whiskey Braden made me gulp down before we left hit me as we pull up outside the small bar. This bar used to be the place to be during hockey season in college—back when the team was at the top of the social circle, I guess.
‘Everyone else is inside already.’ Braden opens his door and rolls up the sleeves of his plain black shirt to show off the detailed sleeves of black tattoos on his forearms as usual. We step out into the warm rain. Thankfully my nerves have been calmed by the excessive booze my liver is trying to filter through, and I follow after him.
‘Always gotta be fashionably late eh, buddy?’ I tease as we walk up to the entrance. I pull open the door and walk inside. It’s nearly empty here. The only people present are the bartender and the massive huddle of hockey players with their plus ones. They take up the back of the restaurant, taking up all of the brown booths.
‘About time!’ Matt slurs as he stumbles in our direction, skimming the bartender’s shoulder as he does so.
‘Careful,’ Braden laughs and places a hand on his shoulder to steady him as we make our way over to the group. My eyes land on Oakley. He stands with his back to us, a full drink in his hand and the typical Seattle cap resting backward on his shaggy hair, his back straight. His shoulders are squared as he nods his head to whatever Adam is spewing in his ear. It isn’t until Braden shouts some inaudible greeting at the group that he turns around and sees me for the first time since throwing a fist into my face.
We both freeze, our feet glued to the floor as we glower at each other. The air grows thick with tension as the rest of the group catches sight of our stare-off. Adam is the first one to speak up with an over-exaggerated shout.
‘It’s about to be one hell of a night, boys!’
