Breakaway (Beyond the Play, #2)(8)

I don’t bother knocking on the bathroom door. It’s barely 5 in the morning and Izzy is on her own schedule with her volleyball teammates; she has an away game today. Seb sometimes joins me at the gym, but he’s on a lighter workout schedule because it’s his off-season, so I’ll be heading out alone. I yawn as I try to will away my headache. Why did I choose to get into Izzy’s wine stash last night? Wine always makes my fucking head pound. I could have sulked with a six-pack instead.

The moment I push open the door, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, a shriek fills my ears.

“What are you doing?” someone demands.

I hit the light switch, squinting as the overhead light illuminates the small room. There’s a girl in my bathroom. A very naked girl in my bathroom. She shrieks again, grabbing the nearest towel off a hook. I clap my hand over my eyes, backing away.

“Who are you?” I demand.

“Sebastian said no one else would be up!”

I groan. “You hooked up with him?”

“I’m wearing the towel,” she says, sounding much more collected. “You don’t have to cover your eyes anymore.”

I slowly drop my hand. Now that I can look at her without being an accidental pervert, I see that she’s smoking hot, even halfway through washing away the remnants of last night’s makeup. There are pink streaks running through her dark hair, and tattoos cover half of her right arm. I wouldn’t have taken her for Sebby’s type, but he’s been on a hot streak since the summer. So annoying. Sure, he went out last night, probably to Red’s or a dorm party, and I was stuck at home stewing over my new role as pee wee skating instructor. “Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting anyone to be up.”

Seb appears at my shoulder, a sleepy expression on his face and, to my satisfaction, some dried drool next to his mouth. “Is everything okay?”

I scowl. “Dude. You’re supposed to tell me when you have a girl over.”

He has the decency to blush. “You were already asleep when we came in. I texted.”

Crap. My phone is still on my nightstand, charging because I forgot to plug it in last night. After Coach let me go, I went straight home and played Dark Souls until I passed out. “Still. Knock on my door or something next time.”

“Nice tattoo,” the girl says, gesturing to the piece on my upper arm. “Is that Andúril?”

“Lord of the Rings fan?”

“I was obsessed with it as a kid.”

Sebastian pokes me in the back and says, “Coop, Vanessa is a huge Zeppelin fan. She has a classic rock show at McKee’s radio station.”

I lean against the frame of the door more firmly, crossing my arms over my chest so she’s drawn to my pecs. The tattoo over my heart isn’t Lord of the Rings related; it’s the Celtic knot, same as my brothers, but if she likes tattoos, maybe we can keep this conversation going. She’s not my type, but at this point, I’ll take anything. “Clearly you have good taste.”

She laughs shortly, running her hand through her hair. “Um, yeah. Well, I should go.”

“Why don’t you stay for breakfast?” Seb says. “I know it’s early, but I can run out for coffee while you and Cooper exchange tattoo stories.”

She looks me over, but unfortunately, without an ounce of heat in her expression. “Sorry, but I don’t get involved with brothers. Or athletes, usually. You were a fun exception, Sebastian.” She brushes past me and gives Seb a kiss on the cheek. “See you around, Callahan boys.”

She disappears into Seb’s room. He shrugs, giving me an apologetic look.

“Sorry. I tried my best.”

Annoyance rumbles through me. “I don’t need you to find hookups for me.”

“That wasn’t it,” he says. “I thought you might actually get along.”

“After you fucked her? Gee, thanks.” I go to the sink and splash water on my face. “I wasn’t in the mood for your sloppy seconds, anyway.”

“What’s the matter?” he asks. “She’s a nice girl.”

I huff out a breath. “Sorry. I’ve just been so—fuck, I don’t know.”

Seb’s voice is as dry as the desert. “In need of a lay?”

“I swear, Izzy cursed me last spring. My hookup game hasn’t been the same since Bex’s gallery show.” Or my hockey game. Maybe my mistakes on the ice are throwing me off-balance when it comes to my sex life. Or maybe my nonexistent sex life has led to the sloppy play. Whatever it is, I need to figure it out, especially since I have the chance to become team captain. Even if I play along with Coach’s demands, if I’m playing like shit, he’s not going to put me in charge of the team.

He just raises an eyebrow. “Tell me you don’t actually believe that.”

“You’re the least superstitious baseball player I’ve ever met,” I grumble. “I’ll talk to you later; I need to go work out.”

He looks like he wants to keep talking, but I clap him on the shoulder before pushing him into the hallway. “Tell Izzy I said good luck on her game today.”





I wipe a towel over my sweaty face as I lean back against the gym wall. Throughout my workout, I’ve been struggling not to hurl all over the floor. Depressingly, I look better than Evan, who has gone through the motions of his routine with all the energy of a zombie. When he saw me earlier, he tried to apologize, but it’s not his fault I punched that guy. Coach is right, I should have just put pressure on him next game, tried to get him to make a mistake on the ice, instead of going after him directly. There are ways to make a message clear in hockey that don’t involve fists, but I just couldn’t remember any of them. Maybe I didn’t want to. Letting my temper boil over into violence felt like a great idea at the time.