Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(91)

If it weren’t for practice and games, being able to see his face and hear his voice, I think I’d have gone crazy by now. Even with those few moments, I still feel my sanity slipping. This silence is deafening, echoing through the gaping hole in my chest that only grows every day we don’t speak.

Today, it’s been unbearable. To the point where I do the one thing I swore I wouldn’t do, not only to myself, but to Cam, Holden, and Theo the night everything blew up.

I go to him.

And as I knock on his door, a mixture of anticipation and anxiety rip me to shreds. Gripping and pulling me in opposite directions; between what I know I should do, and what my heart is aching for.

I just need to see him.

Outside of practice.

There, he’s expected to be put together and on point with every move he makes. Zeroed in with focus, feelings and emotions flicked to autopilot.

No, I need to see him without the pads and skates he wears like an impenetrable suit of armor.

I need to know he’s okay.

Too bad for me, Quinn isn’t the one who answers the door a couple seconds later. Hayes does. And from the frown marring his face, he’s not happy I’m here.

“Get lost, jackass. He doesn’t wanna see you.”

“Hayes—” I start, but he’s already shut the door halfway on my face.

Shit, shit, shit.

“I don’t wanna hear it either, Reed,” he says, the door already swinging closed.

My hand darts out, stopping it before all hope I have of talking to Quinn disappears. “Please, Hayes. Let me talk to him. I need to see him, if it’s only for a minute. I need to tell him—”

The door is suddenly ripped back open, leaving me off-balance to the point where I almost topple through the doorway and into the person on the other side.

And when I catch my balance enough to look up, I’m surprised to find it’s Quinn.

My heart lurches at the sight of him, pounding against my chest with an unbearable ache. One that’s been ever-present since the moment he walked out of my room—and life—weeks ago. And the ache grows into an agonizing throb as Quinn’s icy blue gaze lands on me, only for me to find his eyes completely vacant.

No ounce of emotion in them at the sight of me.

His attention shifts away, falling on Hayes instead. “Thanks, man, but you don’t have to.”

“You sure, Q?” Hayes eyes me dubiously before looking back to Quinn. “I don’t mind kicking his ass all the way back to his place.”

He lets out a soft sigh and nods. “Yeah. It’s fine. I’ll take care of it.”

As happy as I am to get to speak to him privately—which didn’t look to be the case a minute ago when Hayes answered—I can’t help but cringe internally at his word choice.

It.

Like I’m nothing more than a pile of trash that needs to be taken out, or a piece of gum to be scraped off the bottom of a shoe.

Then again, that’s exactly what I feel like, so if the shoe fits, I guess I’ll wear it.

Hayes leaves us, shuffling back into the apartment, but not without giving me a death glare first. One I’m willing to admit I deserve.

It’s only once Quinton and I are finally left alone for the first time in weeks when he meets my gaze and speaks.

“What are you doing here, Oakley?”

I shake my head, because now that I’ve finally gotten a moment to speak to him, I’m not sure what to say. Not sure where to start. “I…don’t know.”

His brow arches, and he crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re really gonna keep lying to me?”

Fair point.

I wouldn’t blame him for not believing a thing to come out of my mouth ever again, so I might as well go all in with the truth. I’ve got nothing left to lose.

“I guess I was just worried.”

“Why?”

“Because I saw you at practice today.”

“You see me at practice every day,” he counters.

“Yeah, but today was different. You were on autopilot and—”

He scoffs. “And you’re worried it would translate into the games we’ve got coming up. Well, don’t worry your pretty little head on it, Reed. I’ll make sure I’m fully present when the time comes so you can win your stupid championship.”

The way he calls me by my last name might as well be a knife to the heart, but not nearly as much as the accusation he’s tossing at me.

“What? The championship? That’s the furthest thing from what I care about right now.”

“Then what do you care about?”

“You! I fucking care about you, or I wouldn’t be here right now just to make sure you’re okay.”

He steps out into the hall, the door snicking closed behind him. “Tell me something, Oakley. Do I look okay?”

I take a second to look at him. Really look at him, and I hate what I see.

I noticed earlier this week he’s dropped some weight, having watched him adjust the fit of his pads before practice. Not a lot of weight, but enough to see his chest and shoulders don’t fill out his shirt the way they used to.

My gaze travels up, finding a vacant expression etched into his features, starting with his eyes. Ones that used to be full of light and fire, but now just look empty.