Page 99 of Only Ever You

I tighten my grip on the phone until my knuckles ache. “Fuck,” I hiss, locking the screen. I toss the thing aside and flip over, burying my face in my pillow. My head buzzes, and nausea washes over me so powerfully, I worry I’ll throw up all over the bed.

After everything that’s happened tonight, after Isla showed up, after our argument and the kiss, after she ran away and I discovered all the pictures of her life—a life I know nothing about—after seeing her with this Dean guy, and then these comments…it feels like I can’t catch a fucking break.

A slow, pounding thought rises through the fog in my mind—I want to go home, just for a day. I need a little break. Clarity. Reassurance from my dad, who always knows what to say to support me. Even though he doesn’t know how much I struggle with the constant comparisons. With the pressure to prove I’m more than my last name. I just…I don’t want to make him feel like I’m not proud of him while he’s always been my role model.

Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Tomorrow. I’ll go to class, go to practice, and then head home for one night.

Tonight, I want a night of dreamless sleep.

From the moment I wake up, I feel off, like I’m moving through the day underwater. Classes and conversations. Even at practice, I feel disconnected, the world muted. My mind keeps looping back no matter how hard I try to shove the thoughts away.

The image of Isla in my room. The sensation of her mouth on mine. Her private profile. Dean’s profile. The pictures of them together. And then the comments.

The fucking comments.

I’ve dealt with this my whole life. With condescending remarks about my abilities. With constant comparisons to Dad. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been called my dad’s shadow. I’ve had to carry the weight of my last name, constantly aware it’s more important than what I can do on the ice. This noise is not new to me, but it feels different today.

And I’m struggling to get out of my own head.

That’s why I need to go home. Because for once, I don’t trust myself to shake it off alone.

Coach doesn’t look up from his tablet when I knock on the office door after practice. “Yeah?”

“I won’t be here for morning conditioning tomorrow,” I say. “I need to go home for a day, but I’ll be back before my first class.”

He snaps his head up, his eyes narrowing. “Everything okay?”

I nod. “Yeah.” It’s not a complete lie, even if it’s not the truth either.

He studies me for a second longer, suspicion in his expression. “Don’t make a habit out of this, Thompson.”

“I won’t.” With a dip of my chin, I step back into the hallway. Then, focusing on only the floor in front of me, I head out of the building. Ash is standing beside my car, the trunk open. I toss my hockey bag into the trunk, slam it shut, and pat the roof once out of habit.

“I’ll be back tomorrow before class.” I open the door and drag my motorcycle helmet out of the back seat.

“Okay.” He nods, studying me with a look of concern on his face. “Thanks for lending me your car.”

“Of course.”

“Say hi to your folks.”

“Will do.” I stride toward my bike. “See you tomorrow.”

I mount the bike and then pull out my phone to check the time. It’s seven, and I still need to drop by the dorm to grab my laptop. So, at best, I’ll be home by nine. I called Mom before practice so she knows I’m coming.

My phone buzzes in my hand, and, despite my better judgment, I tap on the notification that appears. It redirects me to the tagged picture, where even more comments have appeared. They’re new ones. Kandi already took care of the worst ones earlier today.

With a lump forming in my throat, I clench my jaw. This is fucking bullshit.

Home. I need to go home.

So, I stuff my phone into my pocket, pull on my helmet, and drive.

Four minutes in, I know I shouldn’t be riding. Not like this. Not when my heart is thrashing against my ribs and a voice in my head is reciting every shitty comment under that post.

The evening air is cool for September, the chill slipping beneath my hoodie as I speed down empty streets.

I promised Asher I wouldn’t go to Isla’s practice, so I haven’t seen her today, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been preoccupied with thoughts of her. With questions. Did what happened between us rattle her the way it did me? Or is she completely unaffected? What if she couldn’t care less about the kiss?