“No.” My finger shot up. “Let’s make one thing clear—I never have and never will want you naked. I wanted to—” I swallowed and my eyes fell slightly, but I lifted them to his again. “I wanted for you to see me in a way you never did, to seduce you, I suppose, and then—to humiliate you, just when you thought you had it all,” my voice wavered, and his expression shifted as the smirk on his face fell.
“Harper.”
There it was again. “Please stop saying my name like it meant something to you. Like you reallydohave regrets, because I still am the only one with them. You will never change. You’ll never feel what I felt and… that’s just not fair.”
His Adams apple bobbed and his jaw tightened. There was a conflict in his eyes I’d probably never understand but it didn’t matter at this point. I needed to go.
When he didn’t say anything, I shrugged. “Maybe someday you will, but it won’t be because of me.”
I stormed off and pushed through the back door. When it wouldn’t open, I flashed my card in front of it and the red light flashed.
Not green.
Fuck.
I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. Turning to face Troy who watched me with a void expression.
He took a step toward me and glanced at the bleachers. “Sit.”
Sit? Before I had a chance to argue, he turned at the sound of his name.
“Hartman, get your ass in uniform. Now,” the coach called from the bench, pointing his clipboard toward the blue doors which I imagined led to the locker room.
Troy didn’t nod, but he didn’t move either. Instead, his eyes shot to the team’s alternate captain, Ryan Flemming. The guy who was with Troy last night at Finnigan’s. Ryan skated over, whispering a few words to the coach, who shook his head in response.
“Time? What do you mean he needs time?” He turned to Troy who was already a few feet from the rink. “You have ten minutes to get your ass on the ice.”
His face blank, he retrieved his phone from his pocket and disappeared down the hall.
I wondered how long I was supposed to sit here. I looked around for another visitor—or anyone who could wave their pass for me so I could slip out.
But I was alone.
Great thinking, Harp. Another one for the books.
Fifteen minutes had passed before Troy came back. He was in full uniform, minus the helmet and looking angrier than I’d ever seen him.
Man, hockey players can be hard on themselves.
Ryan seemed nervous for some reason as he watched number nineteen—Troy, step onto the rink. Was there usually this much drama during practices?
If I were a reporter, this would be a field day for me.
With that thought, I withdrew my sketchbook.
Troy froze at the brink and did a quick scan. He banged his stick against the side twice. That was new.
I wondered if his hesitation or anger had to do with me coming here or something I said. His jaw had been clenched so tight since the moment he’d found me here, it was hard to believe this was about anything else. His eyes were distant, and even though I couldn’t see his face well, I knew he didn’t entirely have his head in the game—yet he was undoubtedly and completely aware of everything around him.
He missed the first pass from whoever number thirty-two was and then another one from an unexpected passer. He straightened, rolled his neck around once and started gliding in circles, almost as if he were warming up to the ice, feeling it beneath him. He moved so smoothly, barely moving his stick. You’d think he was in a trance. Until he slammed a puck that came flying at him straight into the net.
My eyes flicked to Ryan who froze at the goal and then passed him another, watching as Troy moved with it, practicing puck control and blocking.
I watched for another half hour, glancing down at the book that sat on my lap, adding shading and sharpening the edges. My lips quirking every so often as I perfected every inch of number nineteen.
The coach called practice for the night and Troy glanced my way. I let our eyes lock for a moment before he disappeared once again, this time with the rest of the team.
I wasn’t sure how much time passed but I was ready to go. I stood and attempted my pass at another door, knowing the result.
