Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“Had to use the john,” I lie, trying to keep my tone casual. “Are you ready to head out?”
The arena has always been a safe space for me, but that’s not how it feels at the moment. I just want to get her out of here.
“Yup.”
“Good. Let’s get moving.”
She raises a brow. “Hmmm… Who’s the bossy one now?”
Despite my lingering unease, her teasing tone melts the tension coiled tight inside me. I can’t help the smirk that tugs at my lips. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah, Tink,” I murmur, stepping closer. “It’s definitely a promise.”
Her laughter echoes through the empty arena as she reaches out and tugs on my hoodie, pulling me toward the bench where she’s left her skate guards and duffel. The easy banter between us feels natural, like we’ve known each other far longer than just a few weeks.
The sense of protectiveness I feel toward her settles deep in my chest as she packs up her bag. I debate whether to tell her what I saw before nixing the idea and deciding to keep what happened to myself. At least for the time being. For all I know, it was nothing. A weird coincidence. She’s got enough on her plate without worrying about some random creep.
But I’ll be more vigilant from here on out.
I’m not about to let anything happen to my girl.
Once we’re out of the arena and walking toward the parking lot, Ava glances at me, her expression softening.
“Thanks for coming with me.”
“Anytime.” I slide my hand into hers and give it a gentle squeeze. “I enjoy watching you skate. You’re so damn talented.”
Her eyes sparkle in the early morning light. “I think you might be biased.”
“Nope. Not at all.”
As we reach my truck, I realize that I don’t just like being around Ava.
I need it.
I need her.
31
Ava
I tap on the frosted glass of Dad’s office door before pushing it open. The familiar sound of game film plays in the background. Dad sits in his chair, eyes glued to the screen as he studies the plays. The moment he sees me, he clicks off the video and turns with a smile.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, glancing at his watch. “I didn’t think you’d be here for another twenty minutes.”
“The professor let us out early.” I drop my backpack to the floor and settle on the seat across from him. “So I came straight over.”
“Good to know I’m getting my money’s worth for your education.”
I smirk. “Thanks to your position at Western, I’m getting a free ride, so you really can’t complain.”
“Hmm. Guess you’re right. Speaking of classes, how are they going this semester?”
“They’re fine,” I say with a noncommittal shrug, avoiding his probing gaze. His desk is cluttered with papers, the remnants of what looks like an intense game analysis. His laptop is open next to his desktop, and I can see a familiar spreadsheet on the screen with stats and player rankings.
The disarray makes me itch to straighten it out, but I resist the urge. I learned enough in therapy to understand that controlling my surroundings is one way I cope when everything feels like it’s falling apart.
“Any closer to figuring out a major?” Dad presses. “You’re almost through your first year. It’s about time to decide, don’t you think?”
I shift on the chair. “No, I haven’t made any decisions.”
Even though I’m twenty-one years old, I only started college last fall, which makes me a freshman. Most of my classes are general education. Biology, English, math, psychology, and a graphic arts class.
The concern lurking in his eyes has guilt mushrooming up inside me for not having an answer. For not having my life figured out. For still being a mess.
“You could always visit the career counseling center and speak to someone.”
I shake my head, brushing off the suggestion. “I’m not interested in talking to anyone else.” I force myself to add, “At least not right now.”
Just as he’s about to push the subject, the door swings open and Mom breezes in, a large paper bag in her hands and a bright smile on her face.
“Hi!” she chirps, setting the bag down on Dad’s desk. “I didn’t think you’d beat me here! I thought you had class.”
“He let us out early,” I repeat, my tone softening as I watch her move around the room. There’s a certain warmth to my mom that makes everything seem a little less overwhelming.
“Perfect timing!” She plants a quick kiss on Dad’s cheek.
They’ve always been so in love. Always holding hands or sitting next to one another. There were times when I’d walk into the kitchen and find them hugging or kissing. When I was younger, their affectionate displays embarrassed me. I remember grumbling under my breath that they needed to keep their hands to themselves. Now, I think it’s sweet that after twenty-five years, they’re still so in love.