Expelling the breath I was holding, I spin around, expecting to find the boys still yapping about whatever dumb thing was on topic, but instead they’re all facing me, shit-eating-grins on their faces.
In tandem, all four of their mouths open—to say something annoying, I’m sure—but I beat them to it.
“Not. One. Word.”
“How long have you been banging the new PT?” Costy asks with a smug smirk, and I glare at him. He chuckles and shrugs, counting on his fingers. “What? That wasn’t one word. That was nine!”
“I’m going to kill you,” I say deadpan.
Kos clears his throat, looking as stoic as ever. “We’re waiting.”
“For what?” I scoff, my hands flicking upward at my sides.
He smiles. “For you to open your damn mouth and tell us what’s going on between you and her.”
“For real, JD, I’ve never seen you heated like that over anyone before. What’s your guys’ deal?” Burnsy asks, hearts in his lover-boy eyes.
“What?” I get defensive, knowing damn well none of them are buying my denial. “There’s nothing going on.”
They all burst out laughing, and I flip them off before skating off the ice to head to the locker room.
I know that’s not the end of the conversation, but it is for now because I can’t handle their teasing and jokes with the way my knee is throbbing. I need to get my leg up and ice it.
Better yet, maybe I’ll hop in the ice bath quickly before heading home. The staff usually always have a couple ready to go, and we never let them go to waste. They aren’t my favorite thing in the world, but the cold might be a nice shock to the system, especially with how hot-blooded Lainey is making me.
I change in the locker room and rinse off before heading to the recovery room, where the ice baths are set up.
Thankfully, only Franco, a defenseman for the Nighthawks, is in here, in one of two baths, with an eye mask on and headphones, giving me all the privacy I could want.
Setting my clothes and belongings down on the bench next to the free tub, I jump up and down a couple of times, primarily on my right leg, hyping myself up to get in.
I count myself down from three.
Three. Two. One.
Inhaling a big breath, I step into the freezing cold water and lower myself down with my arms on the edge. Fucking hell, I don’t remember it being this cold last time.
Sinking deeper into the water, I sit down on the bottom, letting the waves rise to my chest. It must be too cold this time or something because, suddenly, my chest feels like it’s going to collapse, and my lungs can barely open up.
I hear splashing next to me, and I realize that I must’ve closed my eyes at some point. Forcing them open, I watch Franco get out of the tub, dry off, and exit the room without a word, leaving me all alone.
My breathing suddenly quickens, and I push down on my arms, lifting myself a little higher out of the depths. My eyes flutter shut, and it’s like a train slams into me out of nowhere.
I’m flying off that bridge all over again, crashing into the river. Everything’s ice cold. Every breath strangled. Every second longer than the last.
Oh God, I’m still in the car. I never fucking left.
I can hear the water filling up. I can smell the old air freshener Carly used to hang on her mirror. I can hear Adam Levine’s damn voice.
Oh God, I’m really there, aren’t I? Did I ever get out? Or was everything since then a dream, conjured up in my state of panic?
My eyes burn, my fists clench tightly around something, and I can’t move. I can’t move a single muscle. I’m frozen solid.
Why is this happening right now? I didn’t freak out the last time I took an ice bath. Why, all of a sudden, is my past attacking me?
“Jensen.” Carly’s voice cuts through the silence, and my heart tears in two all over again.
I can see her in my mind as clearly as I thought I could that day, in the seat next to me, telling me to escape.
