Bitter Sweet Heart (Lies, Hearts & Truths #2)(12)

“I know.” Or at least I think I do. This hasn’t been my best season so far, but the whole I-slept-with-my-professor thing has been a bit of a mindfuck. “I promise I’ll get it under control. You don’t have anything to worry about. And I won’t be late for practice again.” I say all the things I know he wants to hear.

I’m almost at the gym, and I’d really like to spend the next hour purging all the demons in my head and wearing my body down enough that I can sleep without dreaming. They’ve been vivid lately. And not entirely pleasant.

He sighs. “Okay. Your mom and I will try to come down for a game in the next couple of weeks.”

“Sure. That’d be great, Dad.” Most of the time I love having my dad at games, but I’ve been off the last couple. And the pressure of having my hockey-legend dad watching me can be a lot to handle under the best of circumstances.

We hang up, and I push inside the building. The regular gym is pretty quiet at this time of night—only a few girls on elliptical machines and a couple of hardcore dudes whose entire life seems to revolve around lifting weights, based on their thick necks and massive shoulders.

I’d prefer as much solitude as possible. I’m not in the mood for people, particularly not my teammates. Or socializing. I open the locker-room door and make a face at the smell. This happens on very rare occasions. There’s some kind of issue and the showers back up. It makes it super rank—a combination of urine, smelly sneakers, body odor, and dick cheese. But I’ll deal if it means I can avoid running into guys I know.

I pull on a pair of compression shorts followed by a pair of running shorts—because no one needs to see the outline of my junk while I’m running—and my tank. Then I shove my feet into my running shoes, grab my towel, and toss my stuff into a locker.

I head down the hall to the main gym, passing the pool as I go. I pause, considering. A swim might be good. We closed our pool in September, and I miss doing laps. This one is overly chlorinated, but it’s better than nothing. And I could swim in my running shorts, if I had to.

I think I’m in luck and it’s empty, but as I reach for the door handle, a head pops out of the water and arms pinwheel in slow, deliberate strokes, legs kicking without making a splash, propelling the person forward. I watch as they reach the end and flip over onto their back. It’s a woman, based on the black one-piece meant for laps.

I shake my head. “Don’t be a creeper.” I let go of the door handle and continue to the main gym.

I hit the treadmill, running off the pent-up energy and the frustration over everything that happened today.

As far as my creative writing assignment goes, I should have put in more effort than I did. I figured I’d get a slap on the wrist for it being short, though, not a failing grade. Professor Sweet called me on my bullshit, which isn’t something most of my professors would do. Many of them know who my dad is, and that I’ve been drafted to Nashville. And sometimes I do use that to my advantage. It’s shitty, but then, a lot of people use their connections, so why shouldn’t I? There’s a good chance I’ll never use this degree anyway, at least not if I get called up after graduation. Eventually I’ll be making high six figures a year, or more. I doubt I’ll earn what my dad did, because I’m not as good as he was, but I’m decent. Good enough.

Not the best, though.

Not like Kody, who seems to be naturally good at everything. He makes hockey look effortless, although I’m aware he nearly kills himself to be as good as he is on the ice. And when he fucks up, he punishes himself with workouts and drills. He’s an interesting guy. We grew up together, but sometimes I wonder if he’s my best friend just because we’re both in hockey, and maybe also because our friendship kept him close enough to get to my sister.

I don’t know that his brain is wired to use people like that, though.

I mean, he spent nearly a decade self-flagellating over Lavender and thinking he wasn’t good enough for her. I don’t know that he could handle the mental and emotional toll it would take to straight-up use me.

He’s another reason I don’t ever want to get attached to anyone.

Not him specifically, I guess, but the way he carries around the burden of loving someone. It’s like a noose waiting to tighten and snap the life right out of you. Or worse, suffocate it out. It’s fucking terrifying.

I’m all up in my head, not paying attention to the time, so at eleven, the kid working the front desk comes over and tells me he has to shut things down. I end my run and leave him to lock up. I know him from parties, so he lets me take my time getting out of here.

I nod to a couple of stragglers in the locker room and make small talk with one of the guys who I’ve run into here a few times in the past. Eventually, the locker room empties, and I wait until everyone else is gone before I head for the sauna. I open the door and gag. There must be a backup for sure. It smells like baked urine and ball sweat in here.

I could head to the team’s facility, but then I’d have to get dressed and risk running into my teammates. Or I could go home and use the hot tub, but there’s a chance there are people over, using it already—maybe River and his football buddies, or my cousin BJ and our friend Quinn. They have their own hot tub and live two doors down, but they’re always over at our place, using ours instead. Kody doesn’t invite people over because he generally doesn’t like them—people, that is.