Shut Out (Bayard Hockey #1)(14)

Still chuckling, we pick up our stuff to go work out. I drive to the arena myself, though I offer the guys a ride, but they all came together in Buck’s Mustang. The DeWitt Center is a huge gym and rink facility, state of the art and pretty damn cool.

My new coach has impressed me so far. Coach Klausen is in his early forties and has a great track record. The guys told me there are rumors the NHL is interested in stealing him away from Bayard, but he’s still here. He’s tough but has a way of knowing exactly what each player needs from him. We had a one-on-one meeting last spring before they’d even started the process of trying to get the rules bent so I could play NCAA hockey, and although he was serious, I felt like we clicked. That’s important.

In the locker room, I change into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and make my way into the weight room.

I love lifting. It makes me feel strong. Plus, after sitting in classes all morning, I really need to burn off some energy. Sitting still for a few hours isn’t easy for me and I’m ready to get physical.

I pair up with Buck and we alternate sets of clean and jerks, deadlifts, and various other tortures while the music of DJ Rapture blasts around us, accompanied by the clangs of dropped weights and grunts of effort.

Dripping sweat, I grab my towel and swipe my face, loving the heat in my muscles, which means I’m getting stronger.

“You pressed one-ninety,” Buck notes as I pick up some dumbbells to do biceps curls. “Impressive.”

Hey. A compliment. “Thanks.” I shrug. “I worked really hard over the summer. Still aiming to bench-press my weight.” Since I hadn’t even been able to play in the playoffs, it was a long summer for me. I’d taken out my frustrations in the gym in the spring, then did a high-performance training camp in the summer. I’m in the best shape I’ve ever been in. My new strength and conditioning coach, Jaegar, who’s across the gym watching Soupy lift, has given me a workout schedule that will build on it.

I’m determined I’m going to kick ass here this year.

“Ten reps at one-ninety is great.”

Warmth spreads through my chest at Buck’s approval.

As I lift the dumbbells, my mind goes back to Skylar. I’m going to be seeing a lot of her this week. That’s not a bad thing—she’s hot and I really like her. But it’s uncomfortable after how things ended Friday night, and I don’t know how to make it right.

The idea of being honest with her floats through my brain as my biceps burn with another rep. Nah. She’d hate me even more if she knew the truth about me.





Chapter 6


Skylar


I can’t believe Jacob ended up in one of my training groups. It’s a pretty big freshman class this year, along with students transferring in, so we split everyone up into smaller groups.

Which means I’ll be seeing him every evening this week. Screaming Jesus on a Ferris wheel.

When I saw him sitting at that table this evening, my heart leaped in my chest and my belly did a flip. Damn, he’s gorgeous. And charming.

I was hyperaware of him all through that hour. I felt his gaze on me a lot. At times, I sensed his discomfort, which made me curious.

I walk into the house to find Ella, Nat, and Brooklyn sitting in the living room doing Limoncello shots, music blasting. They all have laptops open on their laps and are laughing like crazy about something.

“Whoa, guys, it’s Monday night.” I drop my purse on the coffee table and sink into an armchair. I kick off my shoes so I can wiggle my toes on the cool, bare wood floor.

“So what?” Ella gives me a tipsy smile.

I’ll admit that last year, my first year living away from home, I was quick to get a fake ID so I could go to bars and buy booze. I loved the freedom of cracking open a bottle of Moscato anytime I wanted without parental supervision. We partied a lot our freshman year. I’m not turning all teetotaler, but Ella’s drinking every night bothers me.

“You have class in the morning,” I remind her.

“You sound like my mom.”

Yeah. I hate sounding all parental. I don’t want to nag her; I’m just worried about her. But my attempts to bring this up are always met with defiance and denial.

“Chill, Skylar,” she adds. “At least I don’t have FOGO.”

I grit my teeth. While I think she goes out too much and is using alcohol and sex as unhealthy coping mechanisms, she has accused me of having “fear of going out,” or FOGO, because of what happened with Brendan. Of course I deny that. I’m not afraid to go out. I just don’t want to.

Really.

“Here.” Nat hands me a shot glass full of yellow liquid.

After the day I’ve had, I accept it and toss it back. Does that make me a hypocrite? Very possibly, yes.

When Ella and I are alone moments later, I lean forward. “You sure you’re okay, El?”

She frowns and blinks. “Of course I’m okay.”

I tuck some hair behind my ear, not sure what to say. “You seem different…since Brendan died.”

Her lips push out and she nods slowly. “I’m still sad. I still miss him. But I’m okay. Really.”

I nod, though I’m not completely convinced. “I’m still sad too.”

There’s a distance between us that never used to be there and I hate it.