The drive to Bexley U’s rink takes no more than five minutes. That was part of the reason why I loved the proximity of my apartment so much, but now that I knew I was living across the hall from my father’s boisterous hockey players—who will absolutely run to my dad and tell him my every move—I wasn’t so fond of the idea of my new living arrangements.
My dad had already asked me to find a female roommate, and I say that lightly because it was more of a demand, but now I was going to be a hop, skip, and a jump away from his players? Unbelievable.
I slammed my door and stomped along the pavement, ignoring all the parked cars. Practice was about to start, so I knew my time was limited. I gripped my phone tightly. My mother’s texts sat unread as I pushed it into my back pocket. I refused to open them and feel guilty, because that was exactly how I’d feel after reading them. I knew my parents loved me, and I also knew how lucky I was to have such caring parents, but it was a major slap to my already brittle self-respect. The little trust I had repaired with my parents was nonexistent again, and that was almost as disappointing as my entire future slipping through my fingers the moment I slipped on the ice last year.
I whizzed past the empty ice rink—unsuccessfully, I might add—and ignored the pang of regret burrowing in my bones. My confidence was unbreakable until I reached the locker room where I knew what lay behind the door. My hackles rose with my hand on the knob, but I hid from the distant memory.
Ignore the looks and get to the point.
Pushing on the door, it was clear that it was before practice and not after. The team was rowdy, loud, and annoying. The majority of them did a double take and smirked, like I was their reward for after practice.
I gave away nothing. My chin was sturdy, and my mouth tugged my lips into a scowl. The thoughts in my head were unsafe, because if you were a six-foot tall guy covered in hockey pads and attempted to flirt, I was going to plow right through you—or try to, at least.
“Hey, Duster.” I glared across the locker room and caught the eye of Berkley, who was shirtless and clearly proud of his toned stomach.
“Eyes elsewhere,” someone barked from the back.
My cheeks flamed.
I didn’t need a rescuer.
Theo Brooks, the team captain, and his right-hand man, who just so happened to be my new neighbor, Aasher, were standing side by side like a pair of broody bodyguards. Aasher’s brow raised in my direction. Is he challenging me?
I quickly realized that it was my defense mechanisms coming to play, because Aasher’s eyes squinted before he flicked his chin to his coach’s office. Oh, right. My teeth clenched, and my stomps were the only sound throughout the entire locker room.
Control of the situation was slowly slipping from my fingers, which did nothing but irritate me. It was intimidating to walk into a locker room full of arrogant jocks, and the more I stood there, the more flustered I became. Ugh.
I used a little more force than I meant to when I pushed on my father’s office door. He flew up from his squeaky chair at the sound of it hitting the wall. Once he saw it was me, his expression changed from angry to concerned.
I counted the worry lines on his forehead. “Riley? What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”
Not even a breath left my mouth before the question raced past my lips. “You wanted me to move into that apartment because your players are living across the hall from me, didn’t you?” My hands went to my waist, slipping underneath my sweater. I pinched the bare skin above the waist of my jeans to stay present. “Did you ask them to babysit me too?” I lowered my voice and peeked up at my father as he came around and leaned against the edge of his desk. “Do you understand how humiliating that is? Did you tell them the whole reason I’m here at Bexley U?” Kill me now.
“Of course not, Ry.” My dad’s tone softened. I glanced at the dry-erase board behind his desk to hide from the remorse. I was furious. Embarrassed, even. But it was my fault in the end. “I agreed to that apartment because it’s close to campus, in a safe neighborhood, and—”
I dropped my purse on the chair in front of his desk. “And because your players live across the hall.” Don’t lie to me.
The little wrinkles around my father’s eyes hinted at the truth, and I wanted to act like a spoiled child and stomp my way out of his office while shooting every hockey player the middle finger on my way out, but I remained calm.
“Dad.” I tried to move toward him, but my feet were heavy bricks, keeping me in my spot. “I really need you to trust me. I’ll never get back on the ice if you don’t give me space.” To breathe was the last part of that sentence, but I left that out. It was the truth, though. My parents’ breath had permanently coated my neck since leaving Rosewood.
A throat cleared behind me, and I jumped. The blood drained from my face, and I was mistaken to think I was bitten by a vampire. It wasn’t Edward Cullen. Instead, it was Aasher Matthews, standing there with his hand enveloping the doorknob. He briefly caught my eye and raced his gaze down my body before pulling the door closed.
Great, they’re already starting to get all up in my business.
A frustrated breath slowly floated from my mouth as I tried fighting my way back to the girl who was just mere points away from winning the World Figure Skating Championship before everything fell apart. Including me. I was confident and level-headed, and I surely didn’t let a little misstep in my day ruin the entire twenty-four hours. Just like I wasn’t going to allow a few brawny hockey players to ruin my newfound freedom after having my every move watched for an entire year.
I stared at my father from across his office and smoothed my voice. “It’s uncalled for. I don’t need a babysitter.” Especially not his crew of pompous jocks. “You’re going to have to trust me eventually.”
My father, one of the stoniest college hockey coaches in the United States, took off his steely mask when his eyes glazed over. His fists went to his lap, and the sternness in his voice that his hockey players were used to was replaced with something that ate away at my conscience. “I do trust you. I just don’t trust anyone else.” He chuckled, which was his own attempt at hiding emotions. I wouldn’t call him out, nor would I poke the bear and point out how he didn’t dismiss my accusation of his hockey players acting like my babysitters. “I just want you to get back to the girl who was on fire instead of the girl who hides from the fire.” Meaning, he wants me back on the ice.
I tried joking to lighten the mood. “Fire and ice don’t mix, Dad.”
His lips tugged into a smile. I dropped my hands from my hips and headed for the door. I glanced over my shoulder and pushed my hair away so I could meet his gaze. “I don’t want your meaty hockey players watching my every move, so I suggest you take that thought right out of their heads.”
He threw his hands up and skirted around to the other side of his desk. “They won’t be bothering you. Trust me.” He didn’t look me in the eye when he said it. “But if you happen to need anything, they’re across the hall.”
My scoff threatened to fill his office, but I kept it in. I refused to look at any of his trusting hockey players as I left the locker room because, to be honest, I didn’t trust a single one of them.
