Page 22 of All That Glitters

I swallow down my emotions and begin to pack my things. There’s no time for wallowing. I’ve got dreams to chase. Maybe those dreams used to include Jameson, but just because that changed doesn’t mean I give up. If anything, I need to push harder. Prove that I can do it without him. Just like my mom said.

Chapter eleven

Olive Branch

Jameson Sinclair

Walking away from Marigold while she was hurting was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. If I didn’t think I’d make everything worse, I would have stayed. But if I had, I would have ended up giving into my instincts. The ones that tell me to pull her into my arms and never let go. I don’t think she would have appreciated that, given how she essentially told me she wasn’t going to ever forgive me.

I slam a puck into the empty net. Practice is over, but I didn’t get out all of my pent-up emotions during it, so I changed out of my pads and stayed behind. The team probably thinks I’m trying to impress Coach, but it’s more for me than it is him. There’s a maelstrom simmering beneath my skin. I’m liable to snap if I don’t get it out in a healthy way. It’s not anger so much as it is this choking hopelessness that I can’t seem to shake. A vise grip that tightens with every conversation between me and Marigold.

When I go to remove the puck from the net, it keeps sliding away or getting caught. A frustrated growl escapes me. I slam my stick against the bar of the goal over and over until it snaps. Chest heaving, I lift it again.

“What did that stick do to you?” Nash’s voice carries over the ice.

I drop my arms and look to the player’s box where he’s standing. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his sweats. He looks relaxed as ever, unfazed by my display.

“Not in the mood,” I grunt, and start to pick up what’s left of my hockey stick. My hands are freezing from coming back out on the ice without gloves.

Coach won’t be happy if he finds out I broke team property like this. I’ll have to take some money out of my savings and bring it to him along with my apology. If I did impress him by staying late, that’s ruined now.

“You know, when we first met, I thought you fit the stereotype of a future enforcer. Big, brooding, violent.” I grimace at his words. “Then we roomed together, and I realized you’re a pretty chill guy, you just play things close to the chest.”

“Let me guess,” I say as I skate over to him. “You’ve gone back to your first impression.”

He shakes his head.

“No, now I think you don’t just keep to yourself, you bury everything real deep so no one else gets to see it.”

I sigh and slide through the open bench door.

“Are you going to ask me any questions, or are you just going to philosophize until I want to throw something at you?”

Nash chuckles. “If I ask, will you answer?”

I rake a hand through my sweat-dampened hair.

“It depends on the question, I guess.”

“Why do you take out your emotions on the ice instead of—I don’t know—talking about them with your roommate?”

I stare at Nash. He pulls his hands out of his pockets and crosses his arms over his chest. No sign of backing down in his expression.

“I was never very good at talking about feelings. I learned over time to share them with my best friend, and that was ruined, so now I’m not too keen on opening up again.” The words come out before I can censor them. “There. Satisfied?”

“Ah, so this is about Red. I figured as much.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“I wanted to see if I was right.”

I roll my eyes and plop down on the bench to take off my skates.

“Look,” Nash says as I trade my skates for shoes. “I know I’m not her. And that we don’t know each other all that well—though I’d like to point out that is solely your fault.” I shoot him an unamused look. “But I’m here for you. I can be a good listener.”

“When you’re not talking someone’s ear off, maybe,” I grouse.

He laughs. “Touché.”